Hannah. (Van Den Bosch #7)

Chapter 11

11

Hannah

The next morning, I rise from my restless sleep, peaceful until the memories of the previous night start crashing in.

Astrid and Johan—their breakup, makeup, and Johan almost kissing me between them—ugh. I just want to leave this house and return to my dorm.

A soft chime interrupts my thoughts, and I glance at my phone to find a text from Johan himself. My heart flips in my chest, and I pick it up and open the message.

Astrid told us you went to bed early. Are you okay? I’m worried. X

Well…I didn’t expect this. Honestly, I thought he and I would go back to mostly ignoring each other and pretending to be strangers once more. The single letter at the end of the text feels oddly intimate, even if I know better. I sigh, my thumb hovering over the screen, contemplating how to respond.

Yeah, just an upset stomach , I type back, keeping it simple, not wanting to burden him or be too casual with a man that I have no business talking to beyond pleasantries. But his concern pulls at my heartstrings, reminding me that despite our situation, there's a genuine connection.

Do you want me to bring you something? Johan offers, surprising me. What could he possibly be bringing me that wouldn’t make things awkward as hell after last night?

I hesitate, my mind waging a silent battle between wanting his presence and fearing its implications.

I’m fine now. Thanks, I reply, trying to sound casual, though my fingers tremble slightly as I type.

Not even an English tea? he responds, injecting a hint of playful banter into the conversation as if trying to break through the walls I’ve managed to put up around my emotions.

A small, involuntary chuckle escapes my lips at his persistence. It’s all too easy to accept his offer just to see him. I won’t let him stay long… Okay, English tea, then, I concede, my resolve weakening.

As I hit send, anticipation washes over me. The idea of Johan coming to my room, even for something as mundane as tea, ignites a flutter of excitement in my stomach. Alone, in a bedroom!

Yet, beneath that excitement simmers a whole hell of a lot of complicated feelings—longing and confusion that I’m not quite ready to confront.

As I jump up from my bed, my mind races with thoughts of what to say and how to act. I head to the mirror, my hands trembling slightly as I smooth down my hair, trying to appear casual and composed. Who am I kidding? I’m anything but composed right now. I try to convince myself that it's just tea, that there's no reason to get worked up over a simple gesture. But deep down, I know it's more than that.

I brush my teeth, my movements automatic, my mind caught up in thoughts of Johan. I debate putting on a touch of makeup, then decide against it; he should see me just as I am. A spritz of perfume, a quick check in the mirror, and I’m ready, or as ready as I'll ever be.

Back on the bed, I take a moment to compose myself. I remind myself that I’m the one who pushed him away last night and that I can't expect him to keep coming back, especially after my rejection. Yet, a part of me can't help but hope, a small flame of longing flickering in my chest. I shake my head, trying to dispel the unrealistic fantasies dancing in my mind.

Then I hear a soft knock on my door. It’s silly, really. He’s with Astrid, which is who he should be with. I shouldn't be this thrilled at the prospect of seeing Johan again. But my heart doesn't seem to understand logic, especially when it comes to him. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts, and then call, “Come in.”

The door opens, and for a fleeting moment, hope surges within me. But then I see it's not Johan but Conrad standing there, and my heart sinks, the excitement dissipating like smoke in the wind.

Conrad, his cheerful grin stretching from ear to ear, pushes the door fully open. He’s holding a steaming cup in one hand, the other resting against the door frame.

“Good morning, Hannah. I brought you some tea. May I come in?” He holds up the cup as if it's the solution to all my problems.

“Of course,” I reply, my voice a tad too bright, my disappointment hidden behind a practiced smile. “Good morning, Conrad.” I accept the tea, the warm ceramic grounding my shaking hands. Taking a cautious sip, I glance away, my eyes searching the room for a way out of this unexpected encounter.

I thank him, trying to mask my feelings, but I can't help but glance back at the door, half-expecting Johan to appear, as if he might magically materialize despite my rejection.

Conrad, oblivious to my inner turmoil, launches into small talk, his words filling the room with an unbearable lightness. I nod, smile, and laugh at his jokes; all the while, my mind races, wondering when he'll leave and if Johan will show up after all. The tea, usually a comforting ritual, now is bland and unwanted.

I focus on the swirls in my tea, desperately waiting for this encounter to end. I’m so pissed at Johan for this stupid joke and how cruel it is to Conrad. He had to have known I would be taken aback when the wrong man appeared.

Every word Conrad utters grates on my nerves. I know he wants me to return his interest. I just…don’t. It’s not Conrad’s fault, and if Johan wasn’t in the picture, I might even have a passing interest, but the timing is all wrong. I try to steer the conversation toward neutral topics, anything to avoid discussing why I might be feeling down, but he keeps pressing into more personal territory over and over again.

Finally, Conrad picks up on my subtle cues and makes a move to leave. Before he does, though, he drops a last comment. “Oh, we’re heading back to Cambridge in twenty.”

When the door shuts behind him, I go to pour out the now tepid tea in the bathroom sink and start gathering my belongings. My return to my private dorm can’t come soon enough.

Once I’m ready, I head downstairs, the knot of annoyance still lodged firmly in my chest. Astrid’s car waits outside, all sleek sophistication, while the staff loads our luggage into the trunk.

When I come out with my things, a staff member graciously takes my bag while I steal a glance at Astrid and Johan. They kiss, oblivious that I’ve arrived, and it feels like a dagger twisting in my gut, igniting a wildfire of jealousy within me. Oh, I don’t like this at all. I try to hide it, but I turn away just in case until I get myself under control.

“Oh, hey, Hannah,” Astrid chirps, blissfully unaware. “Did you sleep well?”

“Very much so,” I reply, my voice steady despite how I feel. I turn to Johan, his eyes holding a glint of amusement, and I can't resist a sarcastic quip. “Thanks for the tea.”

His gaze flickers to Astrid, a momentary panic in his eyes, hoping she missed the subtle jab. Fortunately, she's engrossed in conversation with the staff, giving me the perfect opportunity to make my escape. I move towards Astrid’s car, yearning to flee all of this, but Astrid’s innocent request feels like another knife twist.

“Do you mind sitting in the back? Johan is coming with us,” she asks, her smile warm.

My anger flares anew. Johan's blatant attempt to make me jealous is as transparent as glass. Sweet and clueless Astrid is being used as a pawn in his silent chess match, but I refuse to be part of his game.

“That's okay,” I reply, an idea suddenly popping into my mind. “I'll ride with Conrad.”

Johan shoots me a sharp look, a mixture of surprise and annoyance etched on his face. I smirk back, relishing the fact that he’s finally getting a taste of his own medicine. He despises Conrad's interest in me, and as much as I don’t like using anyone as a tactic of manipulation, I tell myself that I’ll be good company for Conrad this time around, not rude like I was upstairs a little bit ago.

“Sounds great to me!” Conrad exclaims, going to move his bag out of the passenger seat.

Visibly delighted, he welcomes me into his car. His enthusiasm is infectious, but as soon as we hit the road, regret washes over me. Anything is better than being the silent witness to Astrid and Johan's love story, but Conrad's excitement quickly becomes overwhelming. I wish I could trade my company, but enduring his enthusiasm seems like a small price to pay for escaping the love nest that is now Astrid’s car.

It’s another beautiful day, and I slip on a pair of sunglasses as we hit the open road. Leaning back in the leather seat, I suggest that he take the convertible top down, but Conrad says we won’t be able to chat if he does. I can’t tell him that’s exactly why I want it open, though…I need to be a good passenger. None of this is Conrad’s fault.

“So,” he starts, looking over at me behind his sunglasses. “what’s your life like back in the Netherlands?”

This is an easy enough subject. Maybe this won’t be so bad. “It’s lovely. My family is really close; we always have been.”

“Oh that’s nice. Do you have any siblings?”

I nod, relaxing. My family is easy to talk about. “A lot. Two older and three younger.”

He lets out a low whistle. “Oh, so your parents are like in love in love, huh? Because that’s a lot of kids.”

Unexpectedly, I laugh and then shudder. “Yes, but ew. Let’s not go there.”

Conrad chuckles, all easygoing and friendly. “Since we’re on the subject, what’s your surname again? I can’t remember if you told me already or not.”

Ah. Here we are. The question that Johan fears so much. Conrad’s query hangs in the air, and I can see him looking at me a few times as I mull my response.

I surprise myself by realizing I don’t care if I upset Johan. He apparently wants to make me uncomfortable with all the public affection between him and Astrid, so why in the hell should I hide my identity to save him? No…I won’t do that.

My last name slips off my tongue, and I catch the subtle quirk of his eyebrow, a silent acknowledgment of recognition. “Van den Bosch,” I say, my voice steady, but my fingers fidget with the hem of my shirt. “Hannah van den Bosch.”

His nod is thoughtful, and I can almost see the mental cogs turning in his head. “Wait…I think I know of a Van den Bosch. Do you know an Elise by any chance?” he inquires, eyes still on the road but every bit of attention on me.

I can't help but smile at his perceptiveness. Johan was right; he put that together instantly. Conrad is keener than he lets on. I try to keep my tone light, even though my heart beats a little faster. “She is my older sister, yeah. Why do you ask?”

The realization hits Conrad, and I notice how his grip on the steering wheel tightens. “Oh, wow, the world is so small,” he mutters, his eyes widening in surprise. “I remember Johan flying to Capri to meet her and her brother two years ago. He dropped me like an old sock in Saint Tropez to fly there. That’s not something you easily forget.”

I wince. Ouch. That must have been disappointing for Conrad, and I don’t love remembering how quickly Johan jetted over to see Elise. But that’s all in the past now.

“Yeah, Elise and Andries, my brother, are friends with Johan,” I respond, emphasizing the word friend . I want Conrad to understand that there is nothing romantic left between my sister and Johan. “That’s the trip my sister got with her boyfriend, Dan, actually.”

The next question is as sharp as an arrow, and I feel my stomach churn with nervous energy. “So, you already knew Johan before Astrid introduced you?” Conrad asks, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

I shift in my seat, attempting to find a comfortable position, my eyes flitting to the passing scenery outside. “Yeah, vaguely,” I admit, my fingers tracing invisible patterns on my thigh. “He knows Elise and Andries a lot better than he knows me. I didn't remember who he was until a few days after Astrid introduced us. I...don't think he remembers me either. I was younger then, still in high school.”

Conrad seems to accept my explanation, although a shadow of doubt lingers in his gaze. His fingers resume tapping on the steering wheel, the rhythmic sound filling the car's interior as we continue our journey. Finally, I feel the weird tension in the car lift, and Conrad is back to his old, easygoing self.

“We should hang out soon.” His voice is lighter, attempting to ease the tension between us. “I’m pretty sure there’s still a lot for you to see around Cambridge. I just so happen to be a stellar tour guide.”

I offer a small, appreciative smile. His eyes flicker with anticipation, hoping I will agree. Oh well, what is there for me to lose at this point? No harm in making a friend….just a friend.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” I reply, my voice a touch too cheerful. “I’m up for exploring new places.”

Conrad's grin widens. “Awesome! There's this cool café downtown and a bunch of other places worth checking out. I'll text you the details later. Why don’t you go ahead and put your number in my phone?”

I nod, accepting the invitation while wrestling with the unease gnawing at my stomach. As the conversation shifts to lighter topics, Conrad’s fingers find a new rhythm on the steering wheel—a subtle indication of his renewed enthusiasm. I, too, attempt to distract myself, focusing on the passing scenery outside and letting the engine's hum lull me into a temporary sense of calm.

Lost in thought, I steal a glance at Conrad. His eyes are fixed on the road, a small smile playing on his lips. There's a sense of genuine warmth in his demeanor, and I can't help but feel a pang of guilt for using him as a shield against Johan.

As we drive, our conversation flows, weaving through topics both mundane and meaningful. Conrad is quick-witted, and I find myself genuinely enjoying his company, even as my mind drifts back to the couple in the car in front of us.

With each passing mile, I try to bury my conflicted feelings, reminding myself that this newfound friendship might be the distraction I need. But beneath my laughter, uncertainty lingers, and I wonder how long I can maintain this facade before the truth inevitably surfaces.