Page 7 of The Lost Husband

“I’ll be quite relieved to do so, my friend,” Noah says, staring toward the shimmering canal. “But if I’m right?”

Christoph shakes his head with a smirk. “You aren’t. You won’t be. Your mind just fears the worst.”

There’s something comforting about how certain he sounds. Maybe everything around us is still negotiable. I squeeze Noah’s hand, feeling the tension that lives deep inside of him, where his economic concerns root. “He’s just cautious,” I say. “There’s a difference.”

Noah pulls me in, a silent gesture of gratitude.

“How much time do we have before you need to be at the academy tonight?” Noah asks.

I have a couple of hours free before then.

Christoph peers down at his gold watch and taps the face twice—a telltale he has somewhere to be. No sooner does he step off the curb. “I’ll see you two later,” he says. “Don’t let him worry you too much.” An amused smile plays along his face as he nods toward Noah. He jolts across the street toward the café, turns once, lifting his hand in a quick wave before disappearing around the corner where a barista with a shy smile and a gentle laugh awaits.

Noah shakes his head with a prideful smile. “He’s smitten with her.”

“Seems so. Maybe he’ll give this one more time than the others,” I agree.

Noah lifts my hand to his lips, brushing a soft kiss on the inside of my wrist before squinting into the distance, as if scanning the horizon for headlines.

I rest my head on his shoulder and tighten my grip on his arm. “Want to talk about it?”

He presses his cheek to my hair, letting a moment pass before responding. “About what?”

I grin against his coat. “What’s in the headlines today?”

Noah snorts. “You have a talent for reading thoughts I haven’t even finished thinking.” I lift my head from his shoulder, finding a smirk fighting against his dimples.

“You have been predicting catastrophe since the American stock market crashed when we were thirteen.”

“Look what came of it!” he exclaims with a sighing chuckle.

“I know, I know.” I lift his hand to my cheek. “My point is, we both know the biggest headlines aren’t here in Holland. We’re safe here for now.”

He glances down at me, the sun flickering against his eyes—like a streak of watercolors. “You’re right.”

He doesn’t really believe that. His polite smile doesn’t mirror the storm brewing in his eyes, and his free hand has been clenched in a fist, newspaper and all, since we began walking.

The truth that he tries to protect me from scares me more than he realizes. He understands numbers in a way that often predicts the future. I read the newspaper. I know what’s happening all around us. It’s easy to believe we live in a neutral state, and it will always remain that way, but there’s no certainty. I just try to avoid that thought more than he.

“I’m quite tired. I think I might skip my class at the academy tonight. I’d rather be with you,” I say.

“I promise you I’m all right. You don’t need to miss class on my account. Though, I wouldn’t argue the chance to spend a quiet evening together. Will your father be mad if you don’t go?”

I feel a pang of guilt, knowing he and Mama kindly pay for my classes. But I shake my head and bite my lip. “He won’t know I missed a session as long as I come home at the normal time.”

“I’d like to start paying for your classes,” Noah says, determination etched in his brow.

His offer makes my heart race and my cheeks burn, not for the gesture, but the meaning behind it.

“That’s kind of you, but I’m not your responsibility. If I could sell any of my pieces, I’d be able to pay for my own classes, which would be ideal, but for now?—”

“I want you to be my responsibility.” His words fade into the breeze and his stare locks onto mine. It’s not that we haven’t discussed a future together, but there’s still a year left of school for both of us and we agreed to wait until then to make any further plans.

That doesn’t stop me from dreaming about the day he asks me to be his wife or the thought of starting a family in a home of our own. Mama and Papa always tell me to stop wishing my life away, but I don’t see it the way they do. I’m eager to start my life. I don’t want to be owned, but I do want to be chosen.

“I can be quite a handful, you know.” I try to hide my growing grin.

“I’ve known you since we were children. I’m aware. Fortunately, I’ve learned how to handle you quite well if I may say so.”