The Wonder of You (3 page)

“How bad was it really, Ames?” Vivie said.

Amelia leaned back, stared at the stars overhead. More Elvis
 
—“Love Me Tender”
 
—drifted out from the reception. Maybe Seth was on his way to rescue her.

What she really wanted to do, though, was put the car in gear and drive away, flee the humiliation
 
—not to mention her future, the one she saw before her like handwriting on the wall.

Not quite the life she’d dreamed of when she jetted off to Europe last fall.

“Start with where you two met. Was it romantic?”

The Charles Bridge at sunset, turning the Vltava River to deep crimson; the sky mottled with tufts of light purple, maroon, and burnt orange.

The smell of roasted pork and cinnamon
trdelník
, the taste of adventure rich and full as she caught the laughter of nearby lovebirds tossing wishes from the bridge.

“It was Prague. Everything in Prague is romantic.”

Ree glanced at Vivie. “And this is why I want to escape Deep
Haven and see the world. I’d like to meet a handsome man in some exotic location.”

“What, you don’t think covering the doings of the city council for the
Deep Haven Herald
is exotic enough?” Vivie said.

Ree ignored her. “What did he say
 
—first thing
 
—when he met you?”

“That wishes come true if you touch the cross of St. John of Nepomuk.”

The voice, low, sharp with accent, belonged to a man dressed in a pair of crisp jeans, a gray printed T-shirt, and a blue cardigan
 
—open in the wind
 
—that only accentuated the mottled blue of his eyes. He wore a messenger bag over his shoulder, held a camera . . .

“Oh, Amelia . . .” Vivien rested her head on the seat, sighing. “What happened?”

What happened? Was it possible to look at someone and just . . . know? To see your own future in his eyes? Probably not. Amelia blamed the magic, the adventure, of Prague.

“He . . .”
Made me feel brave. Smart. Beautiful. . . . Foolish.

“I heard he was older than you. Hmmm,” Vivie said.

“Five years, but it didn’t seem that way. He was just another photography student in my group. Then, by the time I found out, it didn’t matter. I met him first on the Charles Bridge, then in Old Town Square; then we started working on assignments together. Anyway, of course he was charming, and I read way too much into it.”

“Oh no.” This from Ree.

“It was after we’d spent Christmas together on the same trip to Italy, Switzerland, and France that I thought we were . . . Well, I thought I loved him. Then, one day, after we got back to Prague,
I was walking to class and saw him on the Charles Bridge, in the arms of another woman.”

“Jerk!” Ree again.

“We had a big fight. I was so angry, I refused to talk to him, even after he claimed they were just friends. And then he left the country. Vanished. No explanation, nothing. And I realized I had read way more into the relationship than he had. In fact . . . that’s when I put it together. He didn’t have a job. He spent money like he didn’t care where it came from, and he knew food, art, wine, and
 
—”

“Women! Oh, Ames, you fell for a European playboy!” Vivie said, clamping her hand over her mouth, eyes wide. “Girl, I didn’t know you had it in you!”

Amelia winced but didn’t contradict her. Yes, that was the worst part
 
—feeling like just another conquest by a man she thought she could love. Not that it went that far, but the realization horrified her.

Humiliated her.

“No wonder your father dragged you home,” Ree said.

“He didn’t exactly drag me home. He and Mom came to visit for Valentine’s Day, and by then Prague had lost its luster.” Or rather, her bravado had vanished and left behind a girl she didn’t know. Afraid. Unseated.

“And two months later, Roark has the nerve to show up at your house and ask your forgiveness?” Ree said. “Okay, your brothers are heroes in my book for chasing him away.”

“Wow, you dated a European playboy.” Vivie seemed caught on some version of Roark that Amelia knew needed amending. “Did you kiss him?”

“Once. On New Year’s Eve.”

“That’s it? A New Year’s Eve kiss?”

Even Ree shook her head.

“See, maybe we weren’t even dating. Maybe I just made it up in my head. Maybe I overreacted to the whole thing. And now I feel even more foolish. Thankfully, it’s over. He’s gone, and I can just . . . start again.” Except, three months after returning home, she still struggled to get her footing. She’d forfeited the rest of her one-year photography course by fleeing home
 
—too late, sadly, to enroll in another program. And maybe she didn’t even want to.

Maybe this simply proved she wasn’t the adventurer she hoped to be.

“But wait
 
—Roark came all the way over here. Faced your
family
. Playboy or not, that sounds contrite to me,” Vivien said. “Even romantic. Apparently you made more of an impact on him that you thought. Please tell me you forgave him.”

Amelia leaned back, lost herself in the swirl of stars. So much light against the darkness. So many what-ifs.

Like, what if she had forgiven him? What if she had believed him when he said he hadn’t meant to hurt her? What if she’d held on to her courage, stayed in Prague?

She might be having a summer of adventure in Italy instead of sitting in a parked Mustang, trapped between a Prius and a Chevy Silverado.

“How was she supposed to forgive him with a wall of Christiansen brothers standing there, glaring at him?” Ree said.

“I’d do just about anything to have even one of the Christiansen brothers glance in my general direction,” Vivie said. “But that’s a dream that’ll never happen. So
 
—did they really run him off the property?”

Amelia sighed, remembering Casper’s disbelief, then Darek’s
suggestion that Roark leave. Not to mention the sudden hovering of her brother-in-law, Jace, and her sister Grace’s fiancé, Max. As if they’d adopted the family role to meddle in her life.

“It wouldn’t have been so bad, maybe, if Casper hadn’t spilled to the family just how much he hurt me, adding in a few of his own suggestions about Roark being a European playboy. Roark didn’t contradict them, and my dad asked him to leave, and he . . . he just stood there. As if he wasn’t leaving.”

“Oh, it’s so
West Side Story
!” Ree said.

“No, it was scary! It got very silent, and my father took one of those deep breaths, and then he made the face.”

“The one he made when he found us playing spin the bottle in the basement with Seth and the guys?” Ree said.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Oh, I remember that face,” Vivien said. “No wonder Roark ran.”

“That’s the thing
 
—he didn’t exactly run. My brothers pushed him out into the yard, and even after he drove away, he stuck around, calling
 
—”

“And you never talked to him?” Vivie shook her head.

Amelia closed her eyes, and suddenly the sight of Roark, dressed in his oxford and suit coat, every inch the dashing European hero, except for the contrite expression, shuffled through her mind. “I . . . should have. I wanted to . . . but . . .”

“But he’d already humiliated you once. You didn’t want to give him the chance again,” Vivien said, the sound of experience in her tone.

“Something like that.” More, it had to do with the fact that she couldn’t bear to repeat her mistakes, lead with her foolish heart. Disappoint herself again.

“So, after a week, he finally checked out,” Ree finished for her.

The thought turned Amelia’s throat raw all over again.

“Oh, Ames,” Vivien said, wrapping a hand over Amelia’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

She brushed her cheek, found it moist. Took a breath. “Yeah. It’s more than the fact that he hurt me. We’re from different worlds, and I see that clearly now. I’m a small-town girl from Deep Haven. And maybe that’s all I’ll ever be. Maybe this is the life I’m supposed to have. Besides, it’s not like he’s going to jet over here, settle down in one of the cabins, and become a lumberjack. Even if he isn’t some kind of rich playboy, he clearly has a big life
 
—a European life
 
—and we don’t belong together. Not really, despite the fairy tale I bought into last year.”

The question of who she belonged with went unasked. Already answered.

Because the
who
suddenly appeared, ambling down the driveway, his hands tucked into his pockets, a casual mass of muscle that could probably wrestle down a moose. Seth Turnquist, high school sweetheart, defensive end for the Deep Haven Huskies, and the man most likely to meet the approval of the Christiansen mob.

“So what are you going to do now? Stay in Deep Haven? Go to college?”

“I don’t know, okay? I always thought I was . . . well, the adventurer of the family. I think maybe I ventured too far.” Amelia turned to Ree. “I’ve got an interview at the paper, so maybe I can get on as a freelance photographer. Maybe get more wedding gigs and senior photos. I’m pretty good at capturing the lives of others.”

It was her own that seemed, over the past few months, out of focus.

It wasn’t just her colossal embarrassment with Roark. It was that she no longer trusted her own instincts.

“I’ll put in a good word with Lou at the
Herald
,” Ree said.

Seth edged up to the car. Whistled. “Hot wheels, Viv.”

Vivie was probably grinning at him from the backseat, flirting. Seth leaned down, caught Amelia’s eyes, and lowered his voice into something soft, husky. “They’re getting ready to throw the bouquet, and I thought you might want to be there to, you know, catch it.”

“Of course.”

He grinned, slow and sweet, and it syruped through her, into her pores. Then he popped a kiss on her lips, just like old times.

It wouldn’t be a tragedy for her to end up living happily ever after with Seth Turnquist.

He backed up, opened her door, winked at Ree, and narrowed an eye at Vivie.

“What?” Vivie exclaimed, but Seth ignored her and took Amelia’s hand.

“It’s a beautiful night,” he said, lifting her hand to kiss it. Then he tucked it under his arm, pulling her close, his body warm, strong. Solid.

She didn’t need instincts to figure out that she had a happy ending waiting for her, right here.

Time to stop looking back and start living the rest of her life.

“You’ve had some crazy ideas in your life, Roark, but this time you are certifiably off your trolley.”

Ethan Barlowe folded his arms, creasing his Alexander Amosu wool suit, and sat on the settee in the living room, watching as Roark St. John finished signing the last of the stock transfer agreements and real estate contracts.

“Instead of selling the place, how about we just rent it out?
Please.
”

Outside the open window, pigeons cooed, perched on the metal railing that overlooked the four-story drop to the street. A sweet, jasmine-laced breeze fluttered the chiffon drapes. The Eiffel Tower rose to dissect the cityscape just across the river.

Roark would miss the view of it at night, the cascading lights on the hour, the memories he’d shared with Francesca. But the place wasn’t his
 
—not really
 
—and never had been. Time to let go. “No. Sell it, Ethan. And transfer the cash and the shares into my account.”

“This is it, you know. The last of your father’s equity in the company. The walkabout is over. You’ll be officially broke if you don’t take over the company as your grandfather instructed.” Ethan shook his head. “Billions to broke in a day. This girl better be worth it.”

“I’m hardly broke. Keep your horses in check. I plan to take the helm, and then yes, I’ll inherit the family stocks.”

“Good, because I was starting to think
if
more than
when
you take over. Two years is a long time to grieve.” Ethan got up, took the file off the table. “I know you loved Francesca. And blamed yourself
 
—”

Roark held up his hand. “Enough. I can’t fix that mistake. But this
 
—this I have the power to fix. I promise I’ll be back by July’s quarterly board meeting.”

“That’s what you said last July. You offered your so-called scouting report, as if you were seriously looking for future locations, sold more stocks, and took off again. I got that, then. But now
 
—be serious, Roark. This girl dumped you. I know that bruised your massive ego, but it happens to the best of us.” He shook his
head again. “There’s no such thing as true love, mate. I promise you that.”

But, see, that was the problem. There was. He’d found it, finally, in Amelia.

Roark had never been the type of guy to believe in love at first sight. It wasn’t until after she’d left the country that he’d figured out how to put feelings into words, but yes, something different and real and terrifying had happened the day Amelia Christiansen wandered into his viewfinder on the Charles Bridge in Prague.