Inconceivable! (15 page)

We sat at the large, long table. The staff poured wine, and John’s father cleared his throat. “Hatty, tell us how you decided to study journalism. And why you came here.”

“Well, I’ll have to tell you a little family history.”

“Please do.” Leo raised his glass of wine, nodded, and sipped, a kind of silent toast.

“My grandfather was a photographer during the early part of the Korean War, but he spent most of his career at
Life
magazine. His biggest assignment was a cover shoot in 1952 of Marilyn Monroe. He also did serious stories. One of his favorite assignments brought him here. He did a photo essay to show how Toulene had changed a decade after VE day. About a dozen photos wound up in the magazine. The rest he kept in a big red album in his study. I used to flip through the pages and imagine walking along a cobblestone street in Roeselare. Even the name of the capital enchanted me. He made journalism sound like glamorous, hard, heroic work.”

Henri cut in: “Like a knight wielding a notebook and pencil.”

“The pen is mightier than the sword!” John and I said it at the same time. Everyone laughed, and John squeezed my thigh under the table. We began eating the small enticing salads sitting in front of us.

“I remember when
Life
magazine ran that article and your grandfather’s photos. My parents felt he did an exceptional job capturing the spirit of our people,” Leo remarked.

“Thank you. It means a great deal to hear you say that.”

During the meal, I answered their questions about my parents, life in Missouri, and my move to Toulene right after high school. “It was a tough transition because I missed my mom and dad. But I was ready for a dramatic change. I was the only person from my town to move overseas for college.”

The servants came around to offer coffee with our chocolate mousse.

“And what do you plan to do after you graduate in May?” John’s father asked as he poured cream into his cup.

“Part of me wants to go back to the U.S. and take my journalism skills for a test drive in a statehouse. Grad school is an option, too. There are so many exciting possibilities.”

“And now that you’re dating my son, is a relationship with him also an exciting possibility?” Leo kept his eyes on his coffee as he stirred it slowly.

“Yes. It is.” Such a blunt question. What I actually wanted to say was this:
My life is not a Choose Your Own Adventure book that requires me to pick either John or my career. Also, this weekend is technically our first date. Just sayin’.

As we finished dessert, John graciously changed the subject, and we talked about the horseback riding he had planned for the following day. It was a bummer that rain was in the forecast.

We said goodnight to Henri and John’s father before making our way upstairs. I asked John to unzip my dress before I slipped into my room to change. His finger traced my spine as he pulled the zipper down below my waist.

I quickly changed into my nightgown and let him into my room. I climbed into bed.

“You were brilliant tonight.”

“Do you think so? Your dad made me kind of nervous.”

“He just wants to get to know you better. That’s all. Sleep well, Hatty.”

He kissed me goodnight and left.

As soon as he was gone, I sat up and clicked on the little bedside lamp. I reached for my purse and fumbled around for my phone. Music. I needed music. The first song that came up was one I used to play when I taught aerobics classes. That was two sizes and two years ago. Even though I loved to work out, the campus gym became no-man’s land, a place where I might run into Jack. So, I stayed away.

Before I had a chance to overthink it, I hopped out of bed, threw on a T-shirt and sweatpants, picked up the phone, and dialed 201.

“How may I assist you?”

“This is Hatty. Is Astrid available to come to my room?”

“Yes, miss.”

The line went dead. In about three minutes, there was a soft tap on my door.

“Astrid. I really need to exercise. Is there a place in the palace where I can work out?”

“There’s a gym on this floor. I can take you there.”

“No, that’s okay. I don’t want to disturb any of the family.” In addition to John, Henri and Leopold had bedrooms on this floor. “Isn’t there another place I can go? I really just need an open area where I can move.”

Astrid’s lips pulled to one side, like she was conflicted about something. “Follow me.”

She took me to the far end of the hallway, and opened a door that revealed a stark white staircase, probably a service area for the staff. We descended several flights before arriving at the bottom. She withdrew from her pocket a small fob and waved it in front of a panel, causing it to beep. The door clicked and she turned the handle.

“Honestly, Astrid. You guys have keyless entry but still use rotary phones?”

I coughed as we walked through the dank air filling the hallway. She stopped in front of a door on our left. As she flipped on the overhead lights, I followed her inside. The wall opposite the door was covered in mirrors, and a ballet barre ran across them. In one corner, there was a small stand holding a turntable and a stack of records. Two speakers sat nearby on the floor.

“What is this place?”

“This is where the princess used to dance.” Astrid spoke softly, with her hands folded as though in prayer.

At first, I didn’t get it. Then I realized she meant Princess Beatrix, John’s mother.

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to be down here? I don’t want to cause any problems.”

“Please. Go ahead. Call me on the phone here on the wall when you’re ready to go back upstairs.”

“Thank you.” She left me alone in the room. It wasn’t overrun with dust, so someone came in here and cleaned on a fairly regular basis.

I didn’t waste any time. I still had traces of adrenaline in my body from dinner. Quite frankly, I felt a surge of anger at Leopold’s question about my future plans; it hit me wrong. Honest to freaking goodness, I thought Europe was supposed to be a bit more progressive in this regard. But John had warned me his father is very traditional, especially in his views of gender roles.

After sliding my phone into its armband holder, I put my ear buds in place. My finger searched the playlist until I found one of my kick-ass aerobics tunes, and started into a routine. My body protested when I forced it to do high impact moves to get my heart pumping.

The music ripped into the final verse, and something in the small window of the door caught my eye. I kept moving, convinced I was just freaking myself out. After all, I was in the subterranean studio of a dead princess.

As the song wound to its climax and then the powerful, punchy end, I saw it again. Just a quick movement. I yanked the ear buds out and defiantly strode toward the door. I swung it open and found five staff members in the hallway.

I stood there, unsure what to say.

Astrid spoke: “I’m so sorry, miss. We were just curious about what kind of exercise you do.”

The sound of my heavy breathing filled the hallway―I still hadn’t caught my breath. “Come in and I’ll show you.” I turned my back and walked inside.

Since I had no way to plug in my phone and play music through the speakers, I went over to the stack of records. I flipped past several classical music options and came upon Journey’s Escape album. In the upper right hand corner, the name “Bea” was written neatly with flowing curves. With great care, I slid the record out of the cover, placed it on the turntable, and switched it on. I moved the needle around until I found the beginning of the song I wanted. I silently thanked Plato for letting me tag along with him on some of his DJ gigs where I occasionally helped with the turntable.

“Okay. Let’s go. We’re going to start by stretching our neck muscles.” Astrid and the others looked at me with confused faces. “Don’t you guys ever do aerobics?”

No one spoke. As the opening of the song continued, I stretched my neck, and gave instructions, hoping they’d join in.

Since I didn’t have a routine ready for “Don’t Stop Believin’,” I just free-styled my way through the first two verses.

“C’mon, you guys!” The intensity of the song picked up.

In the mirror, I saw Astrid and another young woman do hamstring curls with me in time to the music. They followed along as I stretched both arms into an arc over my head with the long note at the end of the phrase.

“You guys look great!” I shouted over the music.

All five of them moved with me, getting most of the moves right. They smiled and I hit my stride. So, I started singing.

I busted out my harmony as I looked at my happy little group in the mirror. And there he was. John stood in the back of the room, his arms folded across his chest. I gasped and did my best not to miss a step.
This is who I am. Take it or leave it, baby.

As the song faded, I ran over to the turntable and stopped the music.

Astrid and the others filed out, nodding deferentially to John as they passed him. Calling over her shoulder, Astrid said, “Thank you, miss. Will you need anything else?”

“No. I think I’ve got an escort to take me to my room.” I smiled at John though his face looked… broody. Isn’t that the word Tilda had used?

We were alone with the door closed. “John, I’m sorry about being down here. I just wanted to exercise without disturbing you.”

“I’m just surprised. That’s all. This section of the cellar is secure. Whenever anyone accesses it, my father and I get a text telling us who has opened the outer security door. When I saw it was Astrid, I was concerned. She almost never comes down here.” I saw that teeth-clenching line on his jaw. It was dangerous and sexy.

“I’m really sorry if I’ve done something to offend you. I just needed to relax.”

“So being with me and my family isn’t relaxing?” Definitely in full-out brood mode.

“To be honest, dinner wasn’t very relaxing. It was enjoyable, but not relaxing. I don’t know why or how I’ve upset you.” Wrap. Unwrap. I twisted the earphone cord around my phone.

He ran his hand through his hair, making it look a little greasy and unkempt. Even so, it was lovely.

“Hatty, do you know why this area is secure?”

I shook my head.

“My mother’s things are down here.”

“Astrid said this is where your mother danced.”

We stood about five feet apart. Should I go to him or give him space? I teetered on the balls of my feet.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and exhaled. Opening his eyes, he walked over to a corner where a little wooden stool sat. “I haven’t been down here in years. I used to sit right here and draw while she danced. She did ballet mostly. Those records were the soundtrack of my childhood. Tchaikovsky, Brahms, Chopin.”

“And Journey, right? You sang that song to me the night we met.” I walked closer to him, but didn’t insinuate myself into his personal space; a physical and emotional chasm gaped between us.

He pinched the area between his eyes, frowning. “Are you ready to go to bed?”

“Yes.” I walked to him and took his hand.

At the door to my room, he said goodnight. I wasn’t sure a good night was possible after what had just happened―and
hello
, no kiss? I watched him walk down the hall and turn the corner. Irritated that he was mad at me for no good reason, I slammed my bedroom door, hoping he heard it.

When I got out of the tub the next morning, a tray of fruit, muffins, and coffee sat on my bed, along with a note saying Astrid would come to my room at 9:30 and take me to meet John. Per John’s instructions, I put on the same unflattering riding clothes I wore the first time I set foot in the palace. I looked in the mirror at my amplified thighs and pressed my arms to my side. It helped hide the flare, but I couldn’t walk that way.

Astrid took me down the service staircase, but instead of stopping on the main level and going outside to the stables, she kept descending.

“I thought we were going riding.”

“He’s waiting for you in the studio.” She flashed her fob in front of the panel and the door clicked.

In the studio, John sat on the floor with his back to me, his head bowed into his hands. I walked over and touched his shoulder; it moved with each breath. He grabbed my hand and kissed it. I sat on the ground next to him, unsure where things stood between us.

“I’m sorry for how I behaved last night. It just came as a shock to see you in this room. It brings back a lot of memories for me.”

“I’m sure it does. It’s okay. I’m sorry I came down here.”

I reached out and stroked his cheek. Turning his head, he kissed my palm, which imbued the moment with a heightened sense of intimacy.

“I should have left as soon as Astrid told me this was your mother’s studio.”

“No. It actually felt good to see you in here dancing and making Astrid and the others so happy.” He stood and reached his hand out to help me up. “Hatty, will you dance with me?”

“I’d love to.”

Flipping on the turntable, he delicately placed the needle, and I again noticed how adept he was with his fingers. The opening notes of Journey’s “Open Arms” engulfed us. We leaned into each other, and I rested my head on his shoulder. Even in this hushed moment, the heat between our bodies intensified as we swayed. It was like a scene from Dirty Dancing, minus the dirty. Instead of acting on the attraction that connected us like a live wire, we simply held each other.