Page 29 of You've Got The Love
At some point, our fingers tangle together, and he presses a soft kiss to my temple.
We talk until words blur into murmurs, until the warmth and his heartbeat and the soft sway of the barge rock me toward sleep. When I finally drift off in his arms, it’s the first time I feel like maybe—just maybe—we can survive this.
Chapter 16
Bastiaan
Iwake to the soft weight of Amber against my chest, her hair spilling over me like silk. For a moment, I just lie there, memorising the way she feels in my arms. Her slow, even breaths brush warm against my neck, and for the first time in what feels like forever, the knot in my chest loosens.
Outside, the canal laps gently against the hull, and a bird calls somewhere in the distance. Amsterdam is waking up, but in here, on this little floating haven, it feels like the world doesn’t exist.
She stirs slightly, letting out a soft, sleepy hum, and my heart gives a traitorous lurch. I tighten my arm around her instinctively.
“Morning,” I murmur.
She blinks up at me, her lashes still heavy. “Mmm… morning.” Her voice is husky, warm, and it does terrible things to my self-control.
We stay like that for a long time, soaking in the quiet, until she finally slips off the sofa to stretch. Her hoodie rides up slightly, revealing a sliver of skin at her waist that showcases her belly button ring, and I have to drag my eyes away before I do something stupid.
The days on the barge blur together, a strange mix of tension and peace. We cook simple meals, take turns showering in the tiny bathroom, and watch the canals from the windows at night, speaking in whispers like the water could carry our voices to the wrong ears.
Every little moment between us feels charged.
Amber teases me about my coffee obsession. I tease her about how I’m sure pureDiet Cokeruns through her veins. She laughs, and every time she does, it feels like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. And every night, we end up on that sofa, tangled together under the blanket. I pretend it’s for her comfort, her safety—but I’m lying to myself. I need it too. I need her.Fuck, do I need her.
On the third night, the tension finally snaps.Again.
It begins the way storms do—quiet, charged,inevitable.
We’re sitting on the narrow bench, peeking out the window of the barge as the water whispers against the hull. Amber’s knees are pulled to her chest, chin resting on top. I can’t see her face completely, just the gleam of her eyes in the dark.
“Do you ever stop feeling it?” she asks softly. “The loss, I mean, well, the fear of it?”
I swallow hard. “No. You just… get used to carrying it.”
My voice sounds rougher than I mean for it to.
She nods, a tiny movement. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to be strong. To keep Dad’s world from touching me. And now look at me—hiding on a barge in Amsterdam, hunted because of it anyway.”
Her laugh is thin, trembling.
I could tell her she’s stronger than she knows. I could promise I’ll keep her safe.
But all I can think about is how much I want to hold her, how dangerous that want feels.
So I say, “When Marieke died, it was like someone scooped me out from the inside. I swore I’d never let anyone close enough to break me like that again.”
The confession tastes like salt and rust.
Amber shifts, turning fully toward me. The dim light from the cabin window catches her face, soft and shining.
She reaches out, presses her hand flat to my chest—right over the scar that’s buried deep inside, the one I never show anyone.
“You already let me in,” she whispers.
Fuck.
And that’s it.
