Anywhere (15 page)

I stared at him, didn’t respond.

“What?”

“That’s just not the way people in my world think. Blaine knew exactly what he wanted to do—work in finance—and I have no doubt he’ll do that for the next forty or fifty years. But for me, thinking about doing one job for that long makes me break out in hives.” So did the fact that I almost married him. “Though with his family’s money, I suppose I could have just spent the rest of my life doing nothing.” Which sounded horrible to me—I mean, what a waste. I wanted to
do
something with my life. So what if I didn’t know what that was yet, I still wanted to do, to be a part of
something
.

“So why didn’t it work out?” Asher said, playing with a blade of grass.

“Why didn’t what work out?”

“You and Blaine. Why didn’t you marry him?” he said, and held up his hands at my expression. “Not that I’m complaining or suggesting you should have. AT ALL.” And he laughed. “I’m personally thrilled that you didn’t.”

“Well, you may be the only one.”

“You’re not thrilled?”

I pressed my lips together. “Okay, you’re one of TWO. But I’m not sure
thrilled
is the right word because of all the trouble it’s caused. I’m relieved, for sure. And grateful I didn’t go through with it. But I’m still pretty much hip-deep in guilt about it all. I think I’m on the road to Thrilled but it may take a while to get there.”

He nodded. “So, then why?”

Well, that was a complicated question. I stared out at the mountains. What was it about this place—basically all of Europe—that made me want to tell Asher things I wouldn’t tell anyone else?

“Blaine is a good guy. He really is. And I used to love him, but it just wasn’t right.”

“Why not?”

“He’s a lot like my mom, actually. He’s a take charge kind of guy. He knows what he wants, he’s got his whole future outlined in bullet points and has this idea of what constitutes the perfect wife. And he never strayed from that vision.”

“I don’t really know what that means.”

“He wanted me to be something—to fit a mold. And I did. For a while. I tried really hard to be who he wanted, but…I don’t know. It’s really hard, you know?”

“Being something you’re not?”

“Yeah, basically. He just never really listened to what I wanted. Everything we did was what
he
wanted to do. If I brought something up, he’d talk about it, but then he’d turn it, change it, until it was the way he wanted it. I guess he just assumed I wanted that too.” I glanced at Asher and he looked confused. “Okay, take this trip, for instance. I’ve been planning to backpack in Europe for the past four years. FOUR years! All of my friends knew about it because I talked about it a LOT. Blaine knew, had listened to me daydream and muse over my travels. We talked about him coming too. But then he completely disregarded my dreams of this trip when he chose our wedding date. And yes, before you even ask,
he
chose the date. My dreams didn’t fit into his master plan to meet his future wife in college and get married right after graduation. He didn’t want to wait until fall. Or get married and then come on this trip as a honeymoon. He wanted to get married, find an apartment, and start working right away, building for our future.” I looked off at the mountains again. “No, not
our
future.
His
future. It was always his future. I was just along for the ride.”

And that had never been more apparent than when we’d gone looking for an apartment in New York City. I’d said from the start that I didn’t want to live in the City, but Blaine hadn’t listened. Living in Manhattan was a part of his Master Plan, always had been, and he finally wore me down. I agreed to try living there for a year or two, with the understanding that we’d move upstate afterwards.

So he’d set up all these appointments to see apartments—huge, really expensive-looking places, and I kept saying that I didn’t see how we could afford them, but he’d brush me off. After we’d chosen one and he signed what I’d thought were rental papers, that was when he told me.

The apartment was ours. As in
we now owned it
. His parents had told him, but not me, that they’d buy us an apartment in the City as a wedding gift. So he’d scoped out the best locations with the best schools (I almost passed out when he said THAT) and taken me to see them so I could pick the one I wanted.

He
knew
, he’d told me in all sincerity, that I’d come to love the City as much as he did and would never want to leave. And he’d believed that. That’s the thing about Blaine—it wasn’t malicious, it was complete and utter ignorance combined with a touch of self-absorption. If he wanted something, well his perfect wife would want the same. It just made sense in his mind and it never occurred to him that I might not. That it might turn out to be the thing that finally woke me from my stupor and prompted me to call the whole thing off.

From where I stood now, I was eternally grateful he’d told me about the apartment before the wedding. Thank god he didn’t have a clue how pissed I’d be. Otherwise I wouldn’t be staring at the more-beautiful-than-life Swiss Alps with Asher.

“He’s really not a bad person. He was kind, wanted to take care of me. But I want to be a participant, not an accessory.”

“You should be more. You should be a full-fledged partner.”

He was watching me with the strangest expression, and I had no idea what he was thinking. Probably that I was just shy of being a complete pushover, and he’d be right. Only I didn’t want to be that girl anymore.

“So,” I said, trying to fill the space. “That’s why.” I glanced at my watch. It had been a couple of hours since we’d left the workshop. I stood up, started gathering our things. “We should go pick up Paige’s bell.”

He took my hand as we walked back up the hill. “It took a lot of guts to not go through with it. You’re a strong person, Skye. I like that about you.”

My heart filled at his words—I’d never thought of myself as strong, but I liked that he did. I liked so much about him.

And I tried not to think about leaving.

eighteen

W
e spent the next couple of days swimming in the Aare, taking a raft trip around the city, checking out the markets for cheesy souvenirs, and being totally devastated that we couldn’t take a tour of the Toblerone factory (okay, maybe that was
just me
).

“I stand Triumphant!” Asher said. He looked around the marketplace. “Look at this: spoons, steins, plates, cow bells, postcards of the Alps. Where’s the kitsch? I can’t believe we found the tackiest souvenir as soon as we started looking. What kind of Quest is that? They’re supposed to be arduous and challenging, full of intrigue and danger. Come on, people sometimes die on quests!”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “One of us is supposed to die?”

“No, not
us
.” He rolled his eyes at me. “We’re the Heroes of the Quest. The Heroes don’t die. God, it’s like you’ve never even been on a quest before. No wonder this isn’t working right.”

“Or maybe it’s
because
of me that we completed it so quickly. Maybe I’m your Lucky Questing Charm.”

Asher peered at me and started to nod. “Maybe you are. I could see that.” Then he looked thoughtful. “But if that’s the case, if
David
’s schwanz boxers—”

“Ooh, nice one.”

“Thank you. If they really are the tackiest souvenir—and I maintain that they are—then we are in desperate need of a New Quest. A Hero always needs one. Without it, a Hero is a Zero.”

“I would have a hard time ever thinking you were a Zero,” I said, grinning at his fabricated logic.

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about me,” he said.

“Hey!” And I smacked him on the arm. He just laughed and grabbed my hand, pulling me away from the souvenir stalls.

We made our way to the market to pick up food for the train to Germany. Half an hour later, packs heavy with Swiss treats, we headed for the station. I was a little sad to be saying goodbye to Switzerland. It was probably the most beautiful place I’d ever been.

I had a little over two weeks left in Europe. That sounded short when I said it in my head, but it was starting to feel like a lifetime the more time I spent with Asher. It felt like we had all the time in the world, even though I knew we didn’t.

We watched the Swiss countryside go by and morph into the deep green, forest-laden lands of Germany. Sun filled the train car, wrapping itself around me, kissing Asher’s hair with a golden light. I kept stealing glances at him as he stared out the window.

He was so beautiful, more so the more I knew him. Oh, and when he smiled…I could feel it shine all the way through me.

He aimed one of those smiles at me when he caught me looking. “You checking me out?”

I could feel a blush coming on. “I might be.”

“Good,” he said, his smile growing wider before he turned back to the window.

I glanced down at his hand laying on the armrest between us. He had strong, thick fingers, skin roughened by work and play. His hands were one of his best features—there was just something about them. Strong, but unbelievably gentle. My hand reached for his before I even realized what I was doing. As I slowly slid my fingers across the back of his hand, he opened his fingers to welcome mine. We sat like that, our hands intertwined, until our train pulled into the station in Munich.

Just before we arrived, though, Asher got out his phone and took a picture of us. It was one of the best photos that had ever been taken of me because I looked truly happy. And I felt it.

Happy to my core for the first time in my life.

I turned to look at him, still grinning, and he snapped another pic of us. When he showed it to me, all I could do for a few moments was stare. It was perfect. I was smiling into his eyes and he was gazing at my lips. It gave me butterflies—it was the picture of love. I made him text it to me right away.

And honestly, I wasn’t fool enough to really believe Asher was in love with me. And I didn’t think for a moment that I was in love with him.

But it was there in that photograph. Love. Loud and clear.

I looked at that picture a lot.

Finding the hostel was fairly easy, and we paid for a private room. Then we headed out for dinner at the Hofbräuhaus because OF COURSE. Where else do you go on your first night in Munich?

The place was loud—crowded with a good mixture of raucous (aka drunk) locals and tourists all drinking beer from these huge glass steins. A small brass band played up on a stage at the far end of the hall, the musicians dressed in lederhosen.

It felt as if we’d walked into the World’s Biggest Kegger. Okay, I’m guessing the Oktober Fest would actually win that distinction, but this had to come in at a close second. It was a little overwhelming. And I had no doubt that it was like this every night.

Since it was a beautiful warm night, we walked out to the picnic tables in the beer garden. This part of the restaurant was packed, too—the only space available was at an almost full table of college students. We took it.

Women in traditional Bavarian dress (looking just like the Swiss Miss girl, I kid you not) carried four liter-size steins in each hand, a Very Impressive Feat because those glasses had to be heavy. I was so busy looking at everything going on that I hadn’t realized Asher had spoken.

He nudged me with his elbow. “This is Skye.”

I smiled and nodded at the people we’d sat down with. They were all young—my age, give or take—and they each had a stein of beer in front of them. Rosy-cheeked smiles, half-mast eyes, and sweaty, they looked as if they’d been enjoying the place for a while.

“Where are you guys from?” Asher said as he accepted the menu they passed over.

“Sonja and I are from Stuttgart,” a blonde named Iris said in a heavy German accent. “And the boys here are from America.” She waved her hand at four guys sitting around her.

They’d met in Marseille—the two Germans on vacation and the Americans backpacking—and had traveled back to Germany so Sonja and Iris could show them around. The guys had wanted to stop in Munich just so they could come here.