Page 32 of Just One More Night

She hadn’t told him—or anyone—where, precisely, in Europe she was. Because everything concerning Stefan had seemed too private. Too personal.

And because if she told them what she was doing, she would have to tell them why. Which could only lead to explaining things better left unexplained. Or, worse, coming back after a night or two and having to explain that instead.

Better not to risk any of that. “What isgaddinganyway?” she asked. “No one ever says,oh,I think I’m up for agad.Come join me in somegadding.”

“Is this one of your internet games?” She heard sounds she recognized. Her father puttering around in the kitchen. The cabinets and the fridge opening and closing as he made himself the English muffin he liked to eat every morning, getting out the honey and butter to use when the toaster made it the exact shade of tan he preferred. “You know I don’t like being recorded.”

“That was only the one time. I told you I wouldn’t do it again. And besides, you were amazing. You still have fans on my page.”

“Then my life is complete,” Bill said dryly. “Every man needs fans on a webpage.”

“Are you happy, Dad?” Indy asked before she lost her nerve. “I mean truly happy?”

There was a small pause, and Indy screwed her eyes shut. But when she did, all she could see was her dad at the kitchen window half a world away, staring out at the backyard and the woods, his brow furrowed in thought.

“Are you in trouble, Bean?” her father asked, his gruff, joking tone changed to something quieter that made the knots in her seem to swell to twice their size. “Because you know that all you have to do is say the word and your mother and I will be on the next plane. No matter where you are. Or what you’re doing.”

And something flooded her then, bright and sweet, because she knew he meant that. Her parents, who had always seemed so deeply content to be exactly where they were—who didn’t take the kind of trips their daughters did, or even their friends did, and never seemed all that interested in far off places—would think nothing of racing to her side if she needed them.

Shouldn’t she be happy with that? Why did she need more? Why did anyone need more? There were a whole lot of people who didn’t even have what she did.

“I’m fine,” she hurried to assure him. “I was just thinking about what happiness really is. And you and mom always seem so content, I figured you must know.”

“You always said contentment was a fate worse than death,” her father reminded her, though he laughed when he said it. “When you were thirteen, you and your sister made solemn vows to leave this town and never come back, because neither one of you had any intention ofsettling. You were very sure of yourselves.”

“I’m always sure of myself, Dad.” That was true enough, but saying it out loud gave her pause. Why was she so sure? That she was bad at school. That she was shallow. That she only wanted what she knew she could get, and even then, only for a little while. She found herself rubbing at her chest again, though she already knew it wouldn’t keep her heart from aching. “But that’s why I’m calling. I’m asking what you’re sure of, for a change.”

She expected him to shrug that off. Make a little joke, maybe. Keep things light and easy.

“I think that a happy life is earned,” her father said instead, sounding...thoughtful. “Because life itself isn’t one thing or another. It’s not happy or sad. It just is. Like anything, it’s what you make of it. Your mom and I have had some hard times and we’ve had easy times. But the hard times are better, and the easy times sweeter, because of the work we put in.”

“That’s something people like to say,” Indy whispered. “Putting the work in. But they don’t ever say what it means.”

“It means you don’t let your life just happen to you, Indy,” her father said, not unkindly. “You have to live it, good and bad, boring and exciting, one day after the next. It’s not meant to be fun all the time. That isn’t to say you can’t enjoy it, but a life that’s only one thing isn’t much of a life.”

And though she changed the subject then, even talking to her mother for a while when her father passed the phone on because Margie was actually up before nine for a change, it was that part that resonated with her.

A life that was only one thing wasn’t much of a life.

She couldn’t let it go. She tested herself, finding her way into a bar, and, sure enough, letting a few men flirt with her while she sat in it. But she did not take them up on any of their invitations.

Or their candy-coated anything.

Because her life had been only one thing for a long, long time.

And she hated that Stefan had seized on the reason for that being Bristol, because she loved her sister. Adored her. Supported her, cheered her on, and wanted nothing but the best for her. That didn’t change the fact that way back when they were kids, Indy had decided that she was going to go a different way.

Maybebecauseit was different.

Was it that easy? If you made a decision when you were young were you doomed to repeat it ever after?

But no, she thought as she found herself in Old Town Square again. She watched the statues of the apostles appear in the famous Astronomical Clock, doing their thing while the crowd cheered and took pictures. The statue of death waved. And Indy felt a kinship to the funny old thing. Because the clock put on its show at the top of each hour, and it was wonderful. But the rest of the time, no matter how beautiful and old, it was just a clock.

Maybe, for the first time in her life, she didn’t want to be the same old thing she’d always been.

And she could admit, then, that Stefan was right about this part, too. Intensity terrified her. The things that Stefan said to her, and all the implications, terrified her even more.

But maybe she’d come all the way to Prague to be terrified. Maybe it was good for her. The fact was, if she paid attention to her orgasms alone, the man knew what he was talking about. Everything with him was dialed up to one hundred or more. Everything with him wasmore. Longer. Deeper.