Page 91 of What Happens in Amsterdam

In one quick motion, my mother turns her head away, her shoulders shaking. She doesn’t want me to see how emotional this is making her. “We never thought you would.”

My father runs a soothing hand down her arm. “Sharon, maybe we should go back to the hotel. Give everyone a chance to cool off,” he says. “We can discuss this again tomorrow. I’ll call Stan and see if he has any ideas on how to get you out of this.”

Stan. Their friend who works in entertainment law and surely has a vast understanding of the Dutch legal system.

This seems to relax my mother. Stan is the solution. Stan can fix me. “Good idea.”

In the backyard, Wouter’s deep in conversation with Anneke and Roos and Maartje. I don’t want to disturb them, and I’m not sure I can bear any more judgment from the people I was growing to like so much.

My mother has a vise grip on her purse as we head out to the car, where I inform them I’m going to take the train back to Amsterdam. Phoebe and Maya are waiting in the front yard; they haven’t gone far.

“You’re sure we can’t drive you?” my mother asks. “Is that even safe, going by yourself?”

Of course they don’t understand that this is part of daily life here. That this is one of the safest countries in the world.

“I prefer the train.”

—

Phoebe keeps her arm aroundmy shoulders on our walk to the station, Maya on my other side. I feel raw. Scraped out. I’m squinting into the sun because I left my sunglasses at the house, and I’m not about to turn back and get them.

“They can’t stay mad forever,” Phoebe is saying, doing her best to lift my spirits. “Remember that time I crashed Dad’s new car into the garage door? I’d never seen someone’s face turn that color red before.”

“I appreciate you. So much.” I pause to sniff, to run a hand over my eyes. “Even if that feels like a very different situation.”

Once we reach the station, a voice calls out from behind us.

“Danika—wait.”

An out-of-breath Wouter is running toward us, his tie flapping in the wind.

He came after me.

“We’ll give you two a moment,” Phoebe says gently before she and Maya find a bench on the other side of the street.

And then, before Wouter speaks—he hugs me, a soul-deep hug that could make me forget anything else exists. In our formalwear in front of the train station, I inhale him, trying my best not to cry into his chest and failing. He cups my head to his heart, strokes his fingers through my hair.

When we pull back, there’s a damp spot on his cornflower shirt. His face is beautifully flushed, glasses askew.

“I’m sorry I told everyone,” I say around a hiccup. “It just—came out.”

“I know, lief. I know. I’m not upset about that.” He touches a thumb to my cheek, my right cheek, to catch another tear. “I didn’t want it to end like that today. I don’t want to ask if everything’s okay, because obviously it isn’t, but…”

A humorless laugh tumbles out. “Pretty sure my parents would ground me for life if they still could. What about your family?”

“My grandmother didn’t understand why I’d do this just to inherit the apartment,” he says, turning sheepish. “She said I could have discussed it with her, and she would have transferred the deed to me. But they all understood that I wanted to help you out. They knew it was coming from a good place. And you saw them—they were ready to welcome you into the family.”

Guilt wraps around my heart and squeezes. “We lied to a lot of people.”

“Yeah. We did.”

“I thought it would feel like more of a relief to finally comeclean, but…” I trail off, biting down hard on my lower lip until I taste copper. Anything to stop feeling numb.

“I need to know.” He glances down at his tie to straighten it—or to avoid my gaze. “What you said in there, about all of this being fake. Did you mean it?”

Oh.

I shut my eyes, trying to recall the exact words. I’d meant the marriage, didn’t I?

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