Page 39 of Roaming Holiday

NINA

I don’t know why I let Maia talk me into those two vodka shots or why I thought a strong margarita afterward was wise. I haven’t had alcohol like this in months—I can’t hold it for shit.

I made it a mere street over from the club before lowering onto the stoop of a small apartment building. I can’t walk in these heels on cobblestones while drunk. The worst part? It’s not even midnight.

“I don’t wanna go back,” I whine. “But I can’t walk in these.”

Wesley huffs, sliding his hands into his pockets. He’s rather calm for someone who just broke another man’s wrist. “Then what do you want to do?”

I look up at him through my lashes, fighting to keep my gaze steady. “Wander. Go to the square over there.” I point toward the bustling area that erupts with street performers.

He contemplates for a moment. “Stand up.”

“But I can’t?—”

“Stand. Up,” he says, firmer this time.

I roll my eyes but accept his outstretched hand. Before I can steady myself, he scoops me up bridal-style. “What are you doing!” I screech as he starts walking down the road.

“You can’t walk in those shoes?”

“No.”

“Then be quiet.”

I smack the back of his head. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

He groans in annoyance. My heels weigh my feet down like anchors, and I can feel my panties exposed down below.

“Wesley—my dress.” With one arm wrapped around his neck, I reach under me with the other. There isn’t enough fabric to pull down.

“I’ll blind anyone who looks,” he deadpans, and my stomach flips. After what happened at the club, I believe he would. It silences me for the rest of the walk.

My head slumps against his shoulder and I squeeze my eyes shut to curb the dizziness. The world spins, and I hold on tighter to Wesley in an attempt to ground myself. I expected panic to kick in, considering I’m drunk and in public in a foreign country late at night. Yet I don’t feel a hint of it. From jet lag to my unfamiliar drunken state to my life on the verge of flipping upside down, a sense of peace and safety washes over me for the first time in months.

When we reach the car, he sets me down and opens the passenger door.

“But I wanted to?—”

“I know,” he says in an exasperated tone, and I want to smack his head again because of it. He instructs me to sit down, and I do so with my legs still outside the car. He kneels before me and unbuckles the clasp around my ankles.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“You ask too many questions.”

I don’t argue that. Wesley reaches toward the car floor and grabs—slippers? He tosses my heels inside and slides the UGG slippers onto my feet.

“Where did you get these?” I wail. They’re padded on the bottom, suited for the outdoors. I click my feet together, reveling in the plushness and warmth. I look at him, bewildered yet joyful. “They’re so soft!”

“Now you can wander,” he says, rising and gesturing ahead. “After you.”

I squeal like a child and jump to my feet.

The city square is vibrant with life in spite of the time. Most shops and stalls are closed or preparing to, but people continue to pour out of bars and sit on stone ledges that lead to more of the city down below. If I look up and to the right, I can spot the restaurant from my first night in Maldana.

A street performer plays EDM music from a speaker and dances with glow sticks taped to his arms. Women offer roses in attempts to earn a euro. They back off when noticing Wesley behind me.

A few people stare as we pass through quieter streets. I hop up on the edge of the sidewalk, his hand capturing mine to steady me. I regain balance and tiptoe like it’s a tightrope. Placing one slippered foot in front of the other, I hold my arms wide and squint to focus.

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