Hannah. (Van Den Bosch #7)

Chapter 17

17

Johan

I have my morning coffee at the small cafe close to my apartment. It’s raining, more like drizzling, but I opt to sit outside anyway under one of the oversized umbrellas. I still feel a periodic flush of heat under my collar, like the onset of a fever, thinking about Hannah and the things she does to me. So, the humid, cooling air feels like a blessing.

Despite having a notebook open before me and a pen balanced between my fingers to write my upcoming lesson plan, my fight with Hannah hasn’t left my mind. I still have hopes she’ll come around, but who knows? From my end, I need to get away from Cambridge this weekend and go somewhere far away from here. The best way to do so is to make sure the property I have in mind is available, so I take my iPhone out and make the call.

Dad answers on the second ring and sounds pleasantly surprised to hear from me so early on a weekday. “I hope you aren’t calling to beg me for more money ‘cause it’s not happening.”

I chuckle. “Not today, Pa. How are you and Mom?”

Dad’s tone softens a bit. “As far as I know, we are in good health and doing all right. What can I do for you, son?”

“Honestly, I’m up to my ears with stress here. New projects and exhibitions, plus substituting for this professor who has been on sick leave…I could really use a weekend away. Is anyone staying at the Portmeirion estate? I’d love to make the drive down tomorrow after work and have some time away.”

Dad laughs low as he can see through my scheming. He probably has the right idea of what I really want the Portmeirion house for…but with the wrong woman in mind. “You’re in luck. No extended family is in residence right now. It’s all yours. I’ll call the staff and have them prepare the house for you and…a guest?”

This is exactly the question I wanted to avoid answering. I rack my brain for something vague enough without lying, and all I can come up with is a lame “...maybe.”

“Of course, of course…. How about you come to dinner tonight, Champ? Astrid’s parents are going to be here anyway. It’d be good for everyone to catch up. I assume you’d be fine bringing her along.”

This is even worse than him asking a million questions about my plans for the weekend. Dad isn’t one to pry, but there’s no hiding that my parents and Astrid’s parents are very invested in the two of us getting engaged. As if it’s a given after spending a summer together. It’s frustrating as hell but not altogether surprising considering the status of our families. With us, a quick courtship, engagement, and marriage are expected…as long as the future spouse is an acceptable match. And there isn’t a much better match than Astrid and I.

Too bad I don’t want to marry Astrid, nor do I even see her in any romantic sense anymore. Every molecule of me is drawn to Hannah. But I want Portmeirion house this weekend and keep any drama from our inevitable split to a bare minimum. “I don’t know–”

“Come on, Sonny. Your mom will be so appreciative. It will be a wonderful surprise, and you can take all the credit for it like I didn’t just think of it now.” He sounds satisfied with himself as if he knows I will agree.

He’s not wrong.

“Fine. Just do me a favor…don’t mention Portmeirion. I’m…uh, well, I want alone time, believe it or not, and I don’t want to hurt Astrid’s feelings.”

He sounds surprised but agrees easily enough. At this point, I can feel a treacherous headache building in the back of my skull, and I’m even more grateful for the cooling outside air, even if the drizzle is dampening my hair to my forehead when the wind blows just right.

Taking a bracing sip of my coffee, I pull up Astrid’s contact and type a message out to her, feeling more guilty than ever. Poor girl has no idea what’s going on or what I have planned.

She especially doesn't know that I plan to have her good friend underneath me tomorrow night. Damn. I might be a bad person after all.

But there’s nothing I can do about it right now. I’ve set my plan in motion and intend to see it through. If that means I need to have a meal with Astrid, her family, and mine, then so be it. At least it’s a weeknight, and we have good enough reason to leave early.

Johan: Hey, our families want to have dinner last minute. Don’t ask. My Dad has it in his head that it’s going to be a surprise for Mom. Pick you up at 5:30?

She replies three minutes later.

Astrid: Sounds lovely. :)

Then I decide to handwrite a letter to Hannah, pouring all my feelings and thoughts onto paper. Once finished, I stand up, pay, and head to a flower shop, determined to surprise her with the most beautiful red roses she has ever seen. I’ll arrange for a courier to deliver the roses along with the letter when she returns to her dorm, most likely by the evening. If she really has feelings for me, I hope this will mean something to her.

The drive to my home estate isn’t far, and while I was afraid things would be tense between Astrid and me, she quickly proved me wrong. Astrid, obviously, thinks we are still on the same page as we were after the party at her home. Casual–sleeping together and dating in a sense, but nothing technically serious.

Throughout the drive, I relax in increments, conversation with Astrid coming easily. Damn, as much as I care for Hannah to the point of obsession, I can’t deny that being with Astrid is just easy . She’s funny, quick-witted, intelligent, and so genuinely sweet that it’s almost painful. Beautiful Astrid should make me happy. Considering how perfectly she fits into everything, it should be the missing piece in my life, but she just isn’t.

I can’t make myself love her, and as much as I want Hannah, part of me can’t help but feel disappointed that Astrid isn’t the one. Things would be much easier if she were. She deserves a good man. A great man, even. But that’s not me—at least not for her.

I don’t pull away when she reaches over to hold my hand, but I don’t make an effort to curl my fingers around hers, either. If she notices, she doesn’t say anything.

As I drive through the gates that lead to my parent’s estate, the rolling hills of the countryside stretch out around me, awash in the rich, warm hues of autumn leaves. It’s an hour's drive from Cambridge, a journey I’ve made countless times, yet the sight of the expansive property nestled in this serene landscape always stirs something deep within me.

The estate itself sits majestically atop a gentle rise, its grandeur unmistakable. With its elegant symmetry and classic lines, the Georgian architecture stands proud against the backdrop of sprawling lawns now dotted with fallen leaves and well-tended gardens that showcase the last blooms of chrysanthemums and late autumn flowers. The house's large windows catch the sun's glow, casting long, golden shadows across the lawn, illuminating the scene in a soft, amber light.

I pull the car to a stop in front of the grand entrance, and we step out, greeted by the crisp autumn air. Astrid smoothes down her soft yellow wrap dress and smiles at me. “Ready?”

I force a cheerful expression, pretending I’m not counting the minutes until this meal ends. “Absolutely.”

Astrid follows me closely, her eyes taking in the beauty of the outdoors. As we ascend the stone steps to the entrance, the heavy oak door swings open, and Edward, the family butler, greets us with a warm, familiar smile.

“Welcome home, Mr. Johan,” Edward says, extending a courteous nod toward Astrid. “Miss Astrid, it’s a pleasure to see you again as well.”

Thanks, Ed,” I reply as we follow him through the grand foyer, our footsteps echoing softly on the polished marble floor. The house's interior is as stately as I remember, adorned with fine antiques and portraits of ancestors lining the walls.

Edward leads us to the dining room, where the sound of laughter and the clinking of glasses greet us before we even enter. I look down at my watch and notice it is still twenty minutes to seven. We aren't late, but it doesn't surprise me that they've already started. To my mother, on time is late, and early is on time.

“Astrid? Johan?” Mom calls out from the dining room, her voice bright and clear, as if surprised.

She stands when we enter, her face welcoming and her lips always red from that signature lipstick she loves so much. “What a lovely surprise! Sit down, sit down.” She gestures towards two empty chairs, and I pull out one for Astrid.

“We are so pleased that you could join us,” Nina says, smiling widely.

“I hope we aren't intruding,” I tell them, taking a seat after pulling out the chair for Astrid. Only small bites have been served so far—cheese plates paired with various nuts—and the working server swoops in to fill our wine glasses with the bottle that has already been uncorked for the table.

Mom laughs. “You are never an intrusion, darling.”

I glance at Dad, whose eyebrows are slightly raised in a knowing expression. I narrow my eyes. I knew he wouldn't be able to resist giving me a hard time, and here we are.

“We thought we'd surprise you,” I say, not breaking eye contact with my father. He is the picture of innocence.

Mom, who’s sitting in front of me, raises her glass with a nod. “Thank you, dear. It’s such a lovely idea.”

“How is your substitute teaching going?” Dad’s voice is steady and subdued, his tone sharply contrasting to Mom’s vibrant tone. He casually swirls his wine glass, eyes fixed on me, inviting a response with a raised eyebrow. “It’s been a few weeks now. How’s the new experience treating you?”

“It’s great. Challenging, but I enjoy it.” I try to sound confident, hoping to steer the conversation into safe waters.

Astrid, sitting close beside me, nods enthusiastically, her eyes bright. “He's so good at it.”

Mom tilts her head, a playful smirk pulling on her lips. She taps her fingers on the table, her bracelets clinking softly. “How do the students feel about having you teach their classes? You’re so young; it must be like another student running the show for them.”

“Some have definitely made comments like that.” I allow a wry smile to cross my face as I shrug, acknowledging the humor in her observation.

“But you’re handling it well, aren’t you?” Nina reaches across the table to gently squeeze my hand. Her voice is soft, yet her eyes are earnest, searching for confirmation.

“Of course,” I assure her with a squeeze back, my tone resolute. “They have no reason to think otherwise.”

The meal progresses with the usual pleasantries, yet it's impossible to ignore the loaded glances exchanged between both sets of parents. They weave their expectations into every look and gesture, their smiles a bit too tight, their nods a bit too pointed. I keep the conversation light, touching on inconsequential topics, even as Astrid seems blissfully oblivious to the undercurrents.

Astrid's parents, having hinted at an engagement since the summer, and mine, not shy about my need to settle down, make the atmosphere thick with unspoken pressures.

I’ve always known I'd get married eventually, but feeling their expectations tightening around me like a noose is suffocating.

A beep from my phone snaps me back to reality. My heart skips a beat as I discreetly check it under the table. Hannah has sent me a picture of the enormous bouquet of roses on her desk, accompanied by a message: I just got them. They are beautiful. I’m impressed by your determination, not gonna lie. And to answer your question in the letter…. Yes. X

A surge of joy rushes through me, and I can't help but grin at the screen. The question I’d asked her at the end of my letter was, “ Would you make me the happiest man on earth and come with me tomorrow night to Portmeirion? ” Her enthusiastic “yes” feels like a dream come true. It’s as if the world has suddenly become brighter, and every worry has melted away. I imagine us together in Portmeirion, sharing an unforgettable weekend, and my heart swells with love and gratitude. Her response makes me feel like I’m on top of the world, ready to embrace the future with her by my side.

“Is everything okay, son?” My dad’s inquisitive tone echoes across the table.

I quickly slide my phone back into my pocket and look up with a reassuring smile. “Absolutely.”

At the end of the meal, after dessert, we stand and thank our parents for the invitation. I try to be as casual as possible, but I’m already thinking of my next steps to get away as quickly as possible.

“Thank you for inviting us.” Astrid’s bright voice fills the room, her gaze sweeping from my mom to my dad. “And thank you for the lovely meal.”

Dad responds with open arms, his voice hearty. “You’re always welcome.”

Mom fixes me with a knowing stare as I mumble my thanks, her perceptive eyes searching mine, aware of the undercurrents she's too wise to ignore. While I haven’t told her anything about Hannah, Mom’s not stupid; she knows something is up between us.

“It was nice catching up,” I state, the urgency in my voice betraying my eagerness to leave. “But we really should be going.”

Astrid's dad chuckles, patting the back of his chair in a relaxed gesture, suggesting we linger longer. “Don’t be silly; stay for coffee in the lounge. A little caffeine will help with the drive back.”

Astrid, now stretching, lets out a gentle yawn. “Actually, that sounds fantastic. Johan, are you in a hurry?”

The last thing I want to do is have coffee and linger here longer. The truth of everything feels like it’s suffocating me from the inside out, and I need a break. The sooner, the better.

I catch my father’s eye, and he can immediately see something is off with me. There’s a silent communication between us, where Dad jerks his head just slightly towards the terrace, and I catch on quickly enough.

“Go ahead, Astrid. I need to talk to Dad about—” I fumble around for a believable lie. “About a few family matters.”

Once out on the terrace, we stand side by side and share a contemplative silence, the soft evening breeze gently rustling our clothes. The quiet provides Dad with the space to consider his words, the air filled with the anticipation of a delicate conversation.

Finally, he breaks the silence with a measured tone, his gaze fixed on the fading twilight. “You are about to propose, aren’t you?”

His question catches me off guard, causing a slight tension in my shoulders. “What? No. Jesus Christ, Dad, where did you get this impression from? I already told you I just needed some time alone.” My voice is firm, perhaps a bit defensive, reflecting my surprise and confusion over his assumption.

Dad nods slowly, his response a non-committal “Mhm.”

He swirls his glass of brandy, the amber liquid spinning smoothly, mirroring his thoughtful demeanor. His eyes, wise and discerning, suggest he senses there’s more beneath the surface of my hurried denial. “Last time you went to Portmeirion to be alone, the staff told us you brought some random girl we knew nothing about. Is it going to be the same this time around?”

“This was five years ago,” I protest immediately. Feeling a mix of frustration and vulnerability, I shake my head, my eyes averting his steady gaze. “I don't know how this happened…” my words taper off into a weary sigh, the sentence unfinished as my thoughts become too tangled to untie. I pause, struggling to regain my composure. “Things aren't as good between Astrid and me as they seem,” I confess softly, the admission feeling both liberating and daunting under his intuitive watch.

Dad’s expression softens with a blend of understanding and concern as he absorbs the weight of my words. “What’s the problem? She clearly cares about you.”

I feel a surge of restlessness, my hands moving animatedly as I try to articulate the muddled feelings inside. “Well, I can't force myself to care for her in the same way she cares about me.” I let out a frustrated breath. “The worst thing is that she doesn't even know things are bad. She doesn't know that we aren't going to work out. And now she's going to be the one left in the lurch and hurt.”

Dad’s reaction is subdued; his shock registers only in the slight widening of his eyes. He remains calm, a quiet hum of contemplation escaping him. “You’re so sure that things aren't going to work out? The two of you seemed fine in there.”

“No. Yes. That's the thing, though. We're okay, but we aren't good . Nothing about us is exciting, special, or worth fighting for. I don't feel any passion for her, and she's not the one who makes me feel like I’m burning from the inside out. It’s not her.”

Silence stretches again, Dad processing my words before he ventures further. “So there's someone else, then?”

“What?” My reaction is more startled than I intend, caught off guard by his directness.

“Come on, son. You’re acting like a lovesick teenager. What's really going on here? And don't bullshit me. There's another woman, isn't there?”

A deep sigh escapes me, a mix of resignation and confession. “Not in the way you think. But yes. There's someone else.”

Dad sighs and rubs a hand over his forehead. “Johan, this isn't a game. And the two families inside are not going to be happy. I understand you might have found someone who's worth the risk, but I have to warn you. There's no guarantee things with her will turn out the way you hope.”

“I know. Trust me, I know. This isn't the path of least resistance. But I have to take the chance.”

“Your mother is going to be devastated.… I won’t say anything to her until you’ve broken up with Astrid and are official with this other girl.” Dad looks over at me, clearly frustrated with this turn of events but unwilling to express it. My respect for him grows—he’s ignoring his own feelings and opinions to help me.

“Thanks, Dad. I’m–I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me. Just...do what's right, son.” After a moment, he adds, “But I do have to ask—who is she?”

I swallow past the lump in my throat, wishing I could sink through the terrace and disappear. “You’re going to think me even more of a lovesick teenager if I tell you.”

“Oh, come on. Out with it.”

Sighing, I turn my face towards the sky and brace myself for the deluge of questions that are sure to come when I reveal all of this to him. “You won’t breathe a word of this to anyone, even Mom, if I tell you?”

He appears offended, but I know that if I don't clarify the need for secrecy with him, he’ll very likely tell Mom. “Yes, of course.”

“As ridiculous as this sounds...I haven’t gotten over the Van den Bosch girl. I never have.”

Dad wrinkles his brow, trying to catch up with this information. “You mean Elise? Isn't she in a serious relationship?”

Shaking my head, I tell him, “No, I mean Hannah. The younger sister. The one who I went to the horse show with a few years ago. She’s now a fresher at Cambridge.”

“Oh!” He laughs like he’s just been told the punchline of a joke. “This is a joke, right? There’s no way.” Since I continue holding a severe expression, Dad’s face falls, and he clears his throat in a failed attempt to process this new reality. He turns, facing me fully, and then fixes me with his gaze. “Johan Alexander William Bentinck, please tell me it’s a joke.”

“I’m afraid I can’t.”

Dad heaves a long sigh in frustration, his gaze switching to the gardens ahead of us, and he gives another sip in silence and shock. “Well, that's certainly unexpected. What has been going on, then? Are you seeing her behind Astrid's back?”

“It’s not like that. Astrid and I have always been casual.”

Dad’s look is sly. “You’re not answering my question.”

I give him a flat look. “Astrid and I aren't exclusive, so no. I’m not seeing her behind Astrid's back.” At least, not exactly.

“Good. Don’t.” Dad claps a hand on my shoulder and gives me a tight-lipped smile. “If you aren’t interested in Astrid, then end things with her as soon as possible. I’m not going to have you string the Viscount’s daughter along for longer than necessary. That's not the man I raised you to be.”

“I know.” Rubbing my face, I try to put aside the misery churning inside of me. “Please don't say anything to anyone. I’ll handle things after this weekend.”

“I hope so.” He rests his elbows on the railing, looking out over the front lawn, and stays silent for a few beats as if pondering something. “This thing with the fresher girl, though, it needs to end. Pick someone else.”

“I kissed her,” I blurt out with finality, ignoring his request. “I know it sounds stupid, but I knew then and there that my feelings for her are legitimate.”

His face falls, and whatever joy or humor he had in his tone is now long gone.

“She’s quite young,” he points out, and I scoff.

“She’s eighteen, Dad.”

“That’s different from saying ‘she's an adult,’ and you know it. Plus, she’s studying at the same university where you work. That’s not good.” He shakes his head in disapproval, his expression more serious than before. “This can backfire pretty quickly. I don’t think the dean will appreciate knowing you’re having a little affair with a fresher.”

“I know, and I appreciate your concerns. But I’m telling you, this isn’t a passing crush.”

He blows out a loud breath, his frustration building. “Passing crush or not, I won’t let you screw up your life.”

I frown in confusion. “What are you talking about? She’s legally an adult, whether you like it or not.”

Straightening his posture, his resolve hardens. “Enough.”

“You don’t get to dictate who I choose?—”

“I said enough ,” he repeats louder, his eyes almost shooting daggers. “If you want to go to Portmeirion this weekend, go. Alone.”

I turn away from him, unable to meet his disapproving gaze. I’ve never seen him like this. Fuck, I should have never come here in the first place.

“Astrid is a brilliant woman,” he continues, his tone sounding like a lecture. “She’s from a wealthy, respectable family that could elevate our position.”

I instantly roll my eyes at his observation, and before I can utter a word in protest, he adds, “I’ll keep this between us, but you should really reconsider if it’s worth ruining such a good match for a woman you barely know.”

His tone is lower and more discreet now, suggesting he’s calmed down. Not wanting to add fuel to the fire, I give a curt nod. “Thanks, Dad.”

We head back into the house, and I find the women sitting in the lounge, each with a small cup of espresso in front of them. Dad leaves to join Astrid's father for a cigar while Astrid looks up at me, her eyes bright.

“There you are! Everything alright?”

“Everything is fine. Sorry, it took a while.”

She pats the seat next to her, and I join the ladies. It’s a nice night, and the atmosphere is comfortable. Conversation flows easily, and the women have a lively discussion about their plans for an art expo trip this weekend.

“It’s so nice having someone to go with,” Nina enthuses before turning to her daughter. “You sure you’re not too busy with Johan to come with me?”

“Absolutely not. I’ve been waiting all week for this!” Astrid grins at her mom before elbowing me gently. “I’m sure Johan has seen enough of me this week, anyway.”

Laughing uncomfortably, I tell her, “Of course not.” All the while feeling my stomach churn because of how true that statement is. I don't want to spend the weekend with Astrid, as sweet as she is.

The drive back starts just as the earlier trip—easygoing, with a comfortable silence that belies the tension building under the surface. But Astrid grows contemplative as the night deepens and stars begin to peek through the gaps in the clouds.

“Isn't it so lovely that our families get on so well?” Her voice is tinged with a wistfulness that feels like a precursor to something more.

“They are quite fond of each other,” I reply, my tone neutral but my mind racing about how their affection might endure the upheaval to come.

“Yeah, I don't think they'll be too disappointed with how long things are taking,” she continues, seemingly oblivious to my inner turmoil.

I frown, wondering where she's going with this. “Why would they be?”

Astrid shrugs, a simple gesture that underlines her casual approach to a conversation that feels anything but casual to me. “Well, the next steps of our relationship are probably taking longer than they expected. After all, we’ve been hanging out with each other for two years. That’s a long courting period.”

Annoyance pricks at me, and I flex my hands on the steering wheel, my knuckles whitening. My lips press into a thin line as I ponder my next words. “Astrid…we've discussed this. I’m not looking for anything serious.”

“I know, but…” Astrid shifts in her seat, angling herself towards me. “We've known each other for so long, and our families are so close. Don’t you think we are a perfect match for each other?”

“Astrid…” I exhale sharply, the sound heavy with frustration. “We're not perfect. We're both young and still have things to do before settling down.”

“Don’t you see that we are settling down, though? We can figure out what comes next as we go, but what matters is that we're together. Plus, I don't want anyone else.” Her voice rises slightly, a note of desperation creeping in.

Stunned by her admission, I suck in a sharp breath. “You said you were fine with casual. What if I never want anything more?”

“I’m fine with casual,” Astrid insists, her voice softening. “For now, anyway. But what's the harm in making things official? In giving ourselves a deadline for moving forward?”

“Astrid, listen?—”

“Don’t.” She raises a hand, cutting me off mid-sentence. “I don't want to hear some half-assed excuse. Just...think about it, okay?”

I don't say anything, and she takes that as acquiescence. The rest of the drive passes in oppressive silence, the air thick with unspoken words and stifled emotions. As we approach the familiar streets of Cambridge, the need to clear the air becomes unbearable. I inhale deeply, my resolve hardening.

“Astrid...it's time for you to seriously consider that I might never want to be anything besides friends with benefits.”

She doesn't respond immediately, her gaze locked on the passing scenery, her profile stoic yet vulnerable.

“Astrid? Did you hear me?”

“I heard you.” She’s still not looking at me; her gaze is fixed firmly out the passenger side window. “I just don't believe it.”

“It’s not a joke. We've always had an understanding.”

“Maybe, but that's not what I want anymore.”

“That's too bad,” I retort, my tone harsher than intended, reflecting my growing frustration.

Astrid scoffs, turning to face me with a mixture of disbelief and hurt. “What? Too bad ? Really, Johan? You’re not even willing to hear me out? You can't even pretend that there's a possibility that we might be able to make this work? Why are you acting like this?”

“Why should I pretend? I’m being honest. This was never supposed to be a real relationship. We were supposed to have fun. To have sex and hang out whenever we're both free. That’s it. That was the deal.”

“I want more. We could have more. We get along so well.”

“I’m not interested in more.”

The tension between us escalates, and the silence is now not just awkward but charged with unspoken reproaches and wounded feelings. I think she's about to let it go when she finally speaks, her voice softer and more resigned. “Fine. We'll keep things like they are for now. But if I have to accept that, then you have to accept that I will always , always want more from you. And that our families expect more from us, too.”

“Then it’s best we stop hooking up,” I admit, the words dropping between us like a stone into still water.

Her eyes widen, her expression shattering as the implication of my words sinks in. “Are you serious?” she asks, her voice breaking slightly, hinting at the turmoil just beneath the surface.

I nod solemnly, unable to meet her gaze directly, feeling the shift in the air as what was left of our bond fractures under the strain.

She pauses, taking a moment to collect herself. Seeing her misty eyes and the slight quiver of her lip makes my heart clench uncomfortably. “Can we discuss it after the weekend? I think it’s best we give it a few days,” she suggests, her voice trembling with suppressed emotions.

She's right, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from responding too harshly. She doesn’t deserve my anger; after all, she’s unaware of the deeper currents—my hidden feelings for Hannah and Hannah’s entanglement in a theft from Astrid’s show.

“You’re right,” I finally acquiesce, my voice low and controlled, betraying none of my inner conflicts. I pull up to her apartment, every movement deliberate, laden with the weight of impending separation. “Let's talk on Monday, okay? When things aren't so raw.”

Astrid bites her lip, a visible effort to steady herself, and nods. “Okay...you'll hear me out?” Her eyes search mine, desperate for some sign of hope.

“Of course,” I reply, my voice smooth but hollow, masking the dissonance within.

She leans in and kisses me, a gesture fraught with longing and despair. I let her, returning the kiss, my own movements stiff and awkward.

This is just temporary , I remind myself. On Monday, we are ending this.

Astrid pulls away first, offering a faint, strained smile. “Okay. See you Monday.” Her voice is a whisper, almost lost amidst the sounds of the night.

She hops out of the car, and I watch her unlock the door and slip inside, her figure a shadow retreating from the light. Once she’s safely behind closed doors, I rest my head on the steering wheel, the cool leather a minor relief against the fever pitch of my thoughts.

Monday is going to suck.

But this weekend...oh, this weekend will be magic.

As I drive away, the promise of what’s to come battles with the guilt of what I’m leaving behind. Each mile takes me further from Astrid and closer to Hannah, leaving me tangled in a web of conflicting emotions.