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“I’m so excited,” I breathe, more to myself than Andries, but he slips an arm around my shoulders anyway. We’re standing in line to get our skates, and to me, it doesn’t matter who sees us. We aren’t any different from anyone else. Andries is wearing a forest green fisherman's sweater and dark wash jeans, his only caveat for the extra chill of the ice rink is a pair of leather gloves. He looks every bit of the old money heir that he is, but at the same time, he doesn't look out of place here with me either. I think it’s his demeanor, which has lightened bit by bit over the past hour as we made our way here. Once we are on the ice, rented skates on our feet, he’s laughing out loud as we try to find our footing.
“I haven’t done this in years,” he admits, his long legs unsteady on the slick ground.
“Me either! That’s why it’s fun.”
There are plenty of things that could make the morning and afternoon frustrating; the rough ice, the rather large crowds, or even the uncomfortable rented skates, but none of it matters since we are together.
Andries holds my hand as we skate, just two faces among hundreds, and the opportunity to be just another couple makes us both let go in a way we haven’t in so long. Once we figure out what we are doing, we race. Andries catches me easily and spins me around the ice while I squeal in laughter. I kiss his cheeks, rosy from the cold, and he does the same for the tip of my nose.
I take dozens of pictures once I know he won’t object. Shots of Andries skating alone, as many selfies as he will allow, full of joyful, goofy grins, and a few artful frames of our clasped hands and our shadows on the ground.
Once both our feet are aching, we give up the ghost and leave the ice oval. I moan as I slide the skates off, flexing my feet up and down to relieve the pain.
“This was your idea,” he points out, wincing as he takes off his own skate.
“It was totally worth it,” I insist.
Before we leave, we stop at the cafe and get hot chocolates, drinking them sitting hip to hip as we watch the other patrons skate. I sigh, letting my head rest on his shoulder. I feel him let out a long breath, and his free arm loop over my shoulder. He kisses my hair, just like he did early this morning, not even minding that it’s such a mess from wearing a beanie all afternoon. I’m pleasantly tired, sore, and full of joy.
“You’re right,” he tells me softly, his breath flowing over my face. “This was worth it.”
I turn and kiss him gently on the mouth, both of us tasting of hot chocolate. “When will you learn, Andries, that I’m always right?”
29
Amsterdam, March 9, 2022
Roxanne
I wishI could have held on to those warm, fuzzy feelings from the ice-skating date for longer, but I only have a few days to bask in it.
Poppy yells for me to come to the front desk, and I can immediately see that her complexion is washed out under her makeup, her lips pale.
“You have to watch this,” she blurts out, waving me over to watch her computer screen over her shoulder.
On the screen is Patricia, sitting in what looks like a professional news studio, and my stomach sinks. Oh, this is bad. Really bad. Poppy clutches my arm as we watch the younger woman tell the interviewer anything and everything about her time with Karl and how he had plied her with alcohol and taken her virginity. Both of us are agape as we take it all in, and I feel like I could vomit. She’s going to destroy my entire business, one acerbic word at a time!
All of that shock and grief transforms into rage as soon as the camera cuts to the man asking the questions. I knew I had recognized the voice, but it doesn’t click into place until I see his slimy face.
“It’s fucking Kenneth,” I hiss.
“The journalist from the party?” Poppy asks.
“Yes. That fucker.”
I feel like I could burst into flames on the spot, I’m so angry. I’m contemplating how I’m going to handle all of this, and how I’ll possibly assure all my clients that this will never happen to them when my iPhone rings.
I pull myself away from watching the interview to take the call in private. I’m not surprised that it’s Karl, but what does take me off guard is how pissed off he is.
“Hel–”
“You knew Kenneth!” he spits out, not even letting me finish. “You set up this fucking interview, didn’t you?”
I blink a few times, my racing mind taking a second to catch up. “What? No! Of course I didn’t! Why would I tank my own business?”
“I don’t know, but you’re the only person I know who also knows Kenneth,” he bites out, not convinced.
“I told her time and time again that I wanted her to settle, just like everyone else. I have no idea who could have possibly wanted to change her mind. Maybe it’s Elise. Have you spoken to her or her dad about it?” I ask him, trying to calm ourselves.
