Page 47 of What Happens in Amsterdam

On our way there, Roos swings by the kitchen for a bottle of champagne and a pair of glasses. Her mother is right behind her with three more.

“A toast!” Roos declares once we’re all outside, popping open the bottle and pouring some for each of us. “To Wouter and Dani. Op het bruidspaar!”

Wouter turns to me, sheepish, and the expectation dawns on me a split-second later than it should.

They’re waiting for us to kiss.

I am a colossal idiot for not anticipating this. For not preparing, though I’m not sure any length of time could prepare me for the tentative way Wouter bites down on his lower lip. We were able to avoid it at city hall because there were so many other people waiting to sign their own marriage certificates. After we exchanged rings, we fell into an awkward hug, and that was that. No one bangedsilverware against a champagne flute and demanded anything more.

Now he once again asks for my permission with a lift of his brows, even after we established we were fine withanything short of mauling. Which of course, of fucking course, would include kissing.

Still, it means something that he checks in with me. That he doesn’t just go for it. I answer him by stepping forward just as he dips his head, my heart hammering against my rib cage.

Wouter van Leeuwen is about to kiss me for the first time in thirteen years.

With an audience.

He floods my senses—the soap I see in the bathroom every day, the peppermint shampoo—and because he is soclosein this moment, my mind goes completely blank. There is only him, an overwhelming dizziness and his hand poised on my cheek as he tips my face upward.

His lips brush against mine so briefly that by the time I close my eyes, it’s over.

All of them clap, and Roos holds two fingers to her mouth and lets out a whistle. I pull back, slightly dazed, my lips warm with the memory of him. It was only a peck, wasn’t it? Barely a kiss. And yet it’s enough for them to believe it, all of us clinking glasses and sipping champagne.

Maybe it’s because, more than anything, theywantto believe it. This family has already had so much tragedy, and all I want is to give them something good.

Even if it has to be wrapped in a lie.

“Maybe—maybe we could still celebrate,” I say as an idea forms, remembering what Wouter said in the guest room. “Nothing big, just the immediate family and friends. A little party?”

Anneke’s features soften, a new calm on her face. “That sounds wonderful,” she says, and so much of the tension I’ve been holdingon to since we left Amsterdam eases from my body. Wouter smiles too, that dimple showing up for at least the twentieth time today—and if his cheeks are flushed, it must be from the champagne.

If mine are, I’m sure his family will think it’s just that newlywed glow.

Roos turns to me. “Dani and I could go dress shopping!” she says, and I wish I didn’t love the sound of that so much.

“Is there any chance your parents would be able to join us?” Anneke asks.

“I’m not sure,” I say, the lie bitter on my tongue. “It’s not easy for them to take time off work. You know how Americans are with their vacation days.”

“We’ll take a million pictures,” Roos promises, with a kindness that tugs at my heart. “It’ll be very gezellig.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

Wouter’s arm is around my back again, and it’s too easy to lean into the solid heat of his chest.I tend to be a very touchy person, he said that first night in the apartment. Because this is just who he is. Because it doesn’t mean anything.

“There’s no direct translation,” he says. “It’s the relaxed time you spend with friends and family in a cozy, comfortable place. A feeling of togetherness.”

Roos continues, “So a party can be gezellig, or an intimate gathering, or a night out at a bar with friends.”

“Gezellig,” I repeat, and she shakes her head.

“The DutchGis not an easy one,” she says, and then demonstrates. “It’s more guttural, and it comes from the back of your throat.”

Wouter gestures to his mouth, and I definitely did not need a reason to look at his lips again. “You have to blow out the air as you’re saying it.Gezellig.”

“They picked the least cozy word to mean the coziest thing,” Roos adds.

I say it a few more times, my tongue tripping over theGuntil both of them beam at me.

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