by Stella Gray
“Ha ha, I don’t know…”
“Yes. Come with me. If you want to see the best view of Vienna, there is no other way.”
He tried to pull me off the stool and I couldn’t help but giggle. Sure, I barely knew the guy, but by this point, the third drink had really begun to kick in…and I was starting to wonder what would be so bad about engaging in a little innocent sightseeing with my new friend. Sneaking out with him would be fun, romantic, adventurous. Essentially everything my honeymoon wasn’t—but should have been.
“You said it’s open ‘til midnight?” I asked.
“You will love this tower. I swear it.”
His hand rested lightly on my arm but I still held my cocktail. I lifted it, drinking it down slowly, stalling for time. Did I want to go with him? After all, it was clear that Stefan had absolutely no intention of staying true to me, so why shouldn’t I do the same? Maybe this was exactly what I needed—to find a hot European guy I’d never see again, and just get the whole virginity thing out of the way.
There was no doubt this French guy fit the bill. He was hot, if a bit cartoonish, and clearly attracted to me. I would bet all the designer clothes I’d bought that day that if I asked to skip the sightseeing and go straight to his room, he’d be more than happy to oblige.
“Why don’t we have another drink?” I said. “We have plenty of time before twelve.”
“But of course.” He motioned to the bartender for another round, and we were quickly served.
“You know the French invented the word affair,” the Frenchman said meaningfully.
“That is not strictly true in the sense that you intend it,” I informed him, raising my fresh drink for emphasis. “Though the term ‘afaire’ originated in Old French, the connotation of it being a ‘to do’ of an illicit nature didn’t come into popular use until the 18th century, and that was the English.”
My new friend looked perplexed. “I…see.”
“Though of course the English were repurposing the meaning of the French phrase ‘affaire de coeur,’” I plowed on, really hitting my stride, “which at the time referred to an episode of passion—but not in the sexual sense. So I guess you’re technically right and wrong.”
I smiled proudly, took a loud slurp of my drink, and plunked the glass down on the bar. Four drinks in, and I could still whip out my etymology knowledge with relative ease. Not bad.
“That was…very interesting,” he managed after a moment.
We talked for a bit, and I learned all about Rouen and why Paris was the most romantic city in the world. I was surprised to find that I was enjoying myself. For the first time on this trip, I was getting some real social interaction. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been missing it.
Of course, this guy may have been gorgeous—with a sexy accent and no trouble expressing his interest—but he couldn’t hold a candle to Stefan’s rugged, masculine intensity. Or those green eyes that burned straight through me. Just thinking his name had gotten me wet.
I took in the soft light reflecting off the curves of the amber bottles behind the bar, the murmur of voices around us, and I came to a decision. If I couldn’t have sex with this guy, then I might as well get totally hammered. At least it would make the evening more fun. C’est la vie.
I swiveled on my bar stool toward the Frenchman, intending to tell him I was happy to hang out for a bit, but that I was in no way going to be leaving with him tonight. But as I did, I spotted a familiar figure striding into the bar. It was Stefan.
As he scanned the room his eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched. I knew he would see me.
I glanced at the clock and was shocked. How was it past eight already? He’d probably been waiting for me at the restaurant this whole time. I was tempted to check my phone to see if he’d called or texted, but didn’t want to give any indication that I was hoping to hear from him.
Feeling bold, and a little vindictive, I twirled my hair around my finger and turned back to the Frenchman with a winning smile on my face. “Tell me again about the Danube Tower.”
“It’s located in Donau Park, and as the tallest building in Austria, it offers the best—”
I tilted my head back and laughed loudly, for no other reason than Stefan’s benefit. The Frenchman was clearly surprised by the abrupt reaction on my part, but it didn’t slow him down. Not for a moment. Instead, he leaned back and gave me a long, flirtatious smile.
“So I take it you’re excited to see the…tower?”
“Oh, yes,” I said, tossing my hair aggressively. “Very excited.”
My current cocktail was still about half full, so I quickly downed the rest of it, prompting a raised eyebrow from my new companion. I was definitely feeling the warm, mind-hazing effects of all the alcohol at this point, but I didn’t care. In fact, I felt great. I was wearing a new dress, my skin was glowing, and my hair and makeup looked fantastic.
And the way the Frenchman was looking at me—like he would be more than happy to help me slip out of that sexy dress of mine—made me feel pretty damn good. Especially since I knew Stefan was watching.
As the Frenchman waved the waiter down and ordered me another fruity concoction, I peered surreptitiously through my hair around the bar, zeroing in on where Stefan was still standing. His face was stormy and his fists were clenched.
My heart skipped a beat at the sight of him and I was instantly annoyed at myself. Why couldn’t I just be attracted to the guy sitting right next to me? The one who’d actually shown interest? Why was it that Stefan—and only Stefan—got me all hot and bothered?
I looked back at my new friend. Our next round had magically appeared in front of us.
“Cheers,” he said, raising his glass.
I did the same. “Cheers,” I said. “To new friends.”
The Frenchman grinned at me, that grin full of sexy promises. Promises that would never be fulfilled. I’d already decided it wasn’t going to go any further. I was flirting in full view of Stefan merely to give him a taste of his own medicine. I wasn’t a cheater like he was, but he wouldn’t know that I had no intention of following through with this stranger.
“To new friends,” the Frenchman echoed.
I winked at him.
It was a mistake.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Stefan barreling toward us. His expression was one of fury. My heart raced—what was he going to do?
“Victoria,” he said when he reached us, his voice hard. “It appears you’ve lost track of time.”
I could hear the barely controlled rage in his voice, though it was doubtful anyone else would have any idea just how angry he was.
The Frenchman was still smiling, though his brow had creased in confusion.
“Victoria? You know this man?” he asked, looking at me.
For a moment, I didn’t know what Stefan would do. Would he tear this poor guy to shreds or simply punch him in the face?
I definitely was not expecting Stefan to reach out his hand. The Frenchman shook it, the uncertainty still evident on his face.
“I’m Tori’s husband,” he said, politely. “And you’re leaving. So get the fuck off that barstool and step away from my wife.”
Immediately, the Frenchman grew somber. “Wonderful to meet you. I wish you both a pleasant time in the city.” He withdrew his grasp and fled.
Before I even had a chance to glare at Stefan, he had his hand around my arm and was yanking me out of the bar. It was hard to tell what he was angrier about—that I had missed dinner or that I had been flirting with a stranger. Either way, he was furious. More furious than I’d ever seen him before.
He towed me across the lobby and practically shoved me into the elevator, and I almost stumbled on my high heels. Being drunk didn’t help, though his anger was doing a lot to sober me up quick. We were alone in the elevator when the doors closed, but Stefan wasn’t even looking at me. Wasn’t even facing me.
He had his back to me, and I saw him take a deep breath, his h
ands clenching and unclenching. It was hard to tell if he wanted to throttle me…or kiss me. Because I had seen the blazing hot passion in his eyes when he had gotten a good look at my dress.
He was angry, but he wanted me too. I felt exactly the same way.
I could almost imagine him slowly counting to ten before he let out a string of harsh, angry curse words. He didn’t look at me for the rest of the ride and by the time we got to our floor, I was fairly subdued by the tense experience.
The elevator doors opened and he stalked toward our room. I hurried after him as he swiped his keycard and walked inside.
“Aren’t we having dinner?” I asked. “I need to eat something.”
“Then you should have been on time for our reservation,” he said as he whirled to face me. “Because I already ate. At seven.”
“But—” I barely got the word out before he fixed me with a stare.
“Call room service,” he said. “I don’t have time for this. And you’d better ask for some aspirin while you’re at it. You’ll need it in the morning.”
Then he turned on his heel and went to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
I sat down on the couch, my eyes wandering around the luxurious but cold, silent room, and in that moment I felt utterly alone. What had I done?
I had thought this marriage would be my escape.
Instead, I’d traded one gilded cage for another.
Tori
Chapter 12
As I sat in another private jet, this time en route to Budapest, I barely registered the luxury all around me. I had a pounding headache and a sour stomach, just as hungover as Stefan had warned, and it was all I could do to keep from getting sick. Besides the aspirin I’d taken this morning, he had ordered me a ginger ale and forced me to eat some crackers when we’d first taken off—all of which had helped, but I’d learned my lesson. I was never drinking again. At least, not like I had last night.
Our in-flight lunch was ash in my mouth as I kept reliving my argument with him from the night before.
I knew that I shouldn’t have provoked him. Especially since I’d never truly entertained the possibility of cheating on him with that other man—Stefan might not wish to concern himself with honoring the marriage vows we’d taken, but I wasn’t a cheater. However, I was sick of being treated like an annoyance or an afterthought. No one had told me that this whole vacation would be a business trip, or that my new husband would seem to have next to zero interest in getting to know me better. Or that he’d be sleeping around with other women before we’d even consummated our marriage. If that’s really what I’d seen about to happen.
While I had been sitting on the couch last night, stifling my tears and picking at the food I’d ordered to be delivered to the suite, the only thing that had made me feel better was thinking about why I was doing this. This meaning the marriage to Stefan.
I was doing it for myself. For my future. For my love of language.
It had helped me in that moment to remember why I loved it so much in the first place.
Too dizzy from the alcohol to be able to close my eyes, I’d spent the next few hours going over the etymology of words in my head until the floor stopped tilting and I was finally able to drop off to sleep. The word game was a trick I’d learned when I was little. On nights I couldn’t sleep because my father had been out of town for too long (and he’d missed too many goodnight phone calls), I’d hide under the covers with my flashlight and his massive old dictionary. Paging through the definitions and roots, inhaling the comforting, almost-vanilla musk of its paper-thin pages. With that dictionary, I was able to look up any word I could think of—or one I’d chosen at random—and completely lose myself in its meaning. Most of the time I’d wake up with the book still sprawled beside me, not even remembering when I’d drifted off.
“How’s the work going?” I asked, finally giving up and setting my fork down.
“Hmmph,” Stefan grunted.
He was taking up all the seats across the aisle from me, his laptop and phone and a thick file of model portfolios spread out on all the tray tables in his row.
“Let me know if you need anything?” I said. He nodded noncommittally.
My husband hadn’t spoken any full sentences to me since our argument. Instead, he’d woken me up this morning and barked out brief orders for me to pack and be prepared to leave by a certain time. Since then, nothing.
I hoped his reticence would dissipate by the time we landed.
Despite this rough patch, I was looking forward to our time in Budapest. Vienna—regardless of all my frustrations with Stefan—had been absolutely beautiful, and though I’d only gotten a glimpse of all it had to offer, I couldn’t wait to explore another historic city. Even if I had to do it without my husband. At least one of us was going to enjoy this honeymoon.
I was determined to take advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime trip. I would just have to find a way to reconcile myself to the fact that this truly was a marriage in name only, and that Stefan had no intentions of consummating it—or letting things go any further than the confines of a transactional relationship. I still wasn’t sure if he had been more upset that I’d stood him up for dinner and more or less disappeared on him, or that he had caught me flirting with a stranger. Either way, he didn’t strike me as the kind of man who would allow me to seek out a lover over the duration of our marriage…even though it seemed he was fine sleeping with other women himself. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. Rules were different for men like Stefan. Men who were rich, powerful, and intense. Men who were used to getting what they want.
Not that it mattered what kind of rules Stefan set for me. I’d already realized that when it came down to it, I didn’t actually want to sleep with anyone else.
It seemed I was destined to remain a virgin for the foreseeable future.
Budapest came into view from the plane window, and I leaned closer to take it in. I saw a spire-topped building that resembled a wedding cake, a bridge spanning a winding river, and a sprawl of boxy buildings in pastel colors. Already I could see it was a beautiful city, full of history and gorgeous architecture. It would be an exciting place to explore and learn about.
I had prepared for this trip in my typical nerdy linguist way, spending the flight scrolling through an e-book I’d downloaded on Hungarian, the official language. I’d wanted to research Hungarian words, particularly ones that had no direct English synonyms. Those were some of my favorite words in any tongue. I loved the way the specificity of other languages revealed cultural quirks or preferences, or was a necessary means of ensuring survival. For instance, the Sami people who lived in northern Scandinavia had almost two hundred totally unique words to describe all the different types of snow and ice. How amazing was that?
Elmosolyodik was one such unique word in Hungarian, with no exact English equivalent. It was also a mouthful. It meant ‘to smile,’ but in a very particular way. It was the act of starting to smile, but in a manner that was subtle. Similar to a smirk, I supposed, but without the smugness or conceit.
I had thought of Stefan when I first found that word. He smiled sometimes, yes, and I’d seen him laugh enough times, but there were times when I would catch him looking at me—just before he’d turn away and pretend that he hadn’t been—and the expression on his face would be something that I could have sworn was the first hint of a future smile.
For some reason, it only made me want to coax him into smiling more, even though I knew he probably wouldn’t appreciate my persistence. He seemed to put a lot of effort into coming off as gruff and unfeeling, but I knew he had feelings. I knew he had desires. No one worked as hard as he did, or was as driven to take over his family’s business, if he didn’t have some sort of emotional reason behind it.
It wasn’t just elmosolyodik that reminded me of Stefan. There was another Hungarian term that described our situation so perfectly that it almost hurt. Elvágyódás wasn’t any easier to pronounce, but of c
ourse I tended to love any term with an overabundance of syllables. The word was roughly defined as ‘the feeling of wanting to get away.’ Not specifically the desire to travel, per se, or go anywhere in particular…just knowing, innately, that you’re missing something from your current reality and that you want to escape and go find it.
The word perfectly applied to my feelings about our marriage, which was definitely missing something (beyond emotional engagement and sex) that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Because it wasn’t simply that Stefan was being distant or cold or cagey. I got the sense he was acting that way purposefully: holding himself back from me, putting things between us, and for a reason. I didn’t understand why, but I wished we could leave behind all the struggles we’d been having and get away. Go out into the world afresh, find what we needed to make this relationship work. I didn’t want to just flee this arrangement—I wanted to take Stefan with me.
I glanced over at Stefan, wondering if some part of him was feeling elvágyódás too. Maybe he’d always felt that way. Maybe that was why he buried himself so deeply in his work. To get away from his life. But what if we could both get away—together?
“Elvágyódás,” I whispered, slowly sounding it out.
“Hmm?” Stefan said, turning my way.
I smiled. “Nothing. Just looking forward to this.” He nodded and went back to his work.
That was the thing about words. They never let me down. There was always a word out there that I could use to explain the way I was feeling. I just had to find it.
We descended low over the Danube before landing at the local airport. As we got closer to the ground, I could even see a funicular climbing a hill toward what looked like a historical landmark. The whole place seemed magical in a way that was similar to, but also different from, Vienna. I loved these old cities, their history and culture. I wanted to immerse myself as much as I could, especially in the language. I was looking forward to meeting our translator and being able to pick their brain about Hungarian—maybe I’d even learn a few more interesting words.
