The Kingmaker

“We’re lucky to have Grim,” David continues, scanning the manual Brock Grimsby assembled for us. The guy is a former Navy SEAL. He devised the fitness regimen we’ve followed the last six months of preparation.

“Damn lucky,” I agree.

“He’s good, but even he can’t beat a blizzard alone. Every one of us needs to know this shit inside and out.”

He’s right. Shackleton lost his ship The Endurance. He stood on the Arctic’s icy banks with the men he had left and watched it sink. I can’t afford distractions. As much as I would enjoy losing myself in that spill of black hair and that angel’s body, we leave for the Antarctic next week. I have to be ready to pull my weight.

When I get back to Amsterdam, I’ll have one more day with Lennix. Then I’ll walk away like I said I would. After that, who knows what will happen? All I know is it can’t happen now.

Determinedly, I take out my notes to review our emergency plan and put my phone away.

22

Lennix

One. More. Day.

That’s all we have left. Once Maxim returns from London tomorrow afternoon, we’ll actually have less than a day before I fly back to the States.

“These are nice,” Vivienne says. “What do you think?”

I crawl out of my own head to see what Vivienne is considering. We’ve been exploring Amsterdam’s famous floating flower market, bursting with narcissus, carnations, violets, orchids, and any number of buds that saturate every inch of this morning with color.

And tulips. Like the ones Maxim and I picked yesterday. What a perfect day that was with him. For how long after I leave will everything come back to him?

“That bad?” Vivienne frowns at the flowers bundled by their necks in her hand. “I thought they were—”

“They’re beautiful,” I say. “Sorry. Really so pretty.”

“Agreed,” Kimba says. “Get seeds for those. Make sure they’re packaged and okay for export before you buy them.”

“Right,” Vivienne says, nodding at the advice. “Forgot about that.”

“You didn’t tell us much about your day in the tulips,” Kimba says while Vivienne completes the transaction for the flowers and seeds.

“Oh.” I adjust the oversized bag on my shoulder and smile, I’m sure unnaturally. “It was great. Fine. Fun.”

Kimba and Vivienne exchange a meaningful glance before looking back to me.

“Okay, Lenn,” Kimba says. “We need to talk.”

We exit the greenhouse suspended on water and step back onto the street. Glimpses of the Singel canal brighten our view and the plethora of flowers make the air heavy with fragrance.

“We really like Maxim,” Vivienne says.

“He’s great,” Kimba adds. “And fine as hell. That goes without saying, but I just said it.”

We share a laugh, and I hold my breath for the lecture I feel coming on.

“But,” Kimba continues, “we all know he said it was just this week.”

“And it was no strings,” Vivienne says. “No attachments.”

“I’m well aware,” I reply stiffly. “This is under control.”

“Oh, honey, if you actually believe you have this under control,” Kimba says wryly, “it’s is even worse than we thought.”

“Guys, my eyes are wide open.”