Fighting the urge to fall back into bed and snuggle under the covers, I forced myself to get out bed. “Do you mind if I use the bathroom?”
“Ladies first,” he gallantly replied.
After taking care of business, I tamed my wild hair into a ponytail and splashed some cold water on my face. I pulled on my shoes and grabbed my phone and wallet. “I’m headed back to the hotel.”
Andres checked his watch. “The taxi will be here in ninety minutes or so.”
“It shouldn’t take me that long.”
“We’ll wait for you,” he promised, still leaning back on his hands atop his makeshift pallet.
“Thank you.” Feeling a bit flirtatious, I leaned down and pecked his cheek. “You’re a good guy, Andres.”
He grabbed my hand before I could get very far. “Good enough for dinner tonight in Shkodër?”
“Maybe,” I said coyly and backed away. “I’ll see you later.”
“Be careful,” he called out.
Out in the cool morning, I shivered and picked up the pace. I could only imagine what I looked like as I hurried back to my hotel in my rumpled clothing with my puffy hungover face. Probably like I was doing the walk of shame in a foreign country, I reasoned with embarrassment. Aston was going to love needling me about this story.
Back at my hotel, I quickly showered, changed clothes, stuffed everything into my backpack and checked out. When I met up with Andres and his group, I had guzzled enough water to recover a little. I tossed back some Tylenol from the tiny first aid kit in my backpack and prayed it would kick in before we reached the ferry.
The taxi wasn’t actually a taxi. It was a beat-up old van that wouldn’t have passed an inspection back in Houston. I hesitated before climbing in and finding an empty spot. The tires in the front were nearly bald, and I wasn’t so sure about the brakes either, from the squealing sound they made.
Deciding this was just another part of the adventure, I embraced the danger and made sure to buckle my seatbelt. Andres sat next to me, his longer legs crammed into the space between rows of seats. I was grateful that he didn’t feel the need to talk this early in the morning. Behind the dark lenses of my sunglasses, I was barely keeping it together as my head throbbed and my stomach lurched.
When we reached the Komani Lake ferry, I had finally gotten a little relief from the Tylenol. As I got out of the van, I spotted a small cart selling coffee and practically ran over to get a cup before boarding the ferry. It was strong and hot and exactly what I needed.
After buying my ticket for the ferry, I boarded with Andres and found a seat on the deck. Eloise and her small group stumbled onto the ferry a short while later. They looked about as bad as I felt, and I was weirdly happy to see that I wasn’t the only suffering.
Glad for my jacket, I zipped it up all the way against the chilly breeze. As the boat pulled away from the dock, the lake became my central focus. Surrounded by the mountains and the shimmering lake, I stopped thinking about my hangover. “My God, this is beautiful!”
“Isn’t it?” Andres agreed, his gaze lingering on the mountains on either side of us. “Every time I think this country cannot get any more perfect, I see something like this.”
After I finished my cup of coffee, I moved to the railing so I could see the jade-colored water up close. It was so bright and clean. Wanting to remember the exact shade of green, I retrieved my camera and snapped some shots. I took a few of the surrounding mountains before posing Andres and his friends for some photos. Eloise called me over to take photos of her group, both with my camera and their many cell phones.
The ferry sailed along the waterway, traveling slowly toward Koman. Surrounded by my new friends, the time passed quickly and pleasantly. Soon enough, the ferry was pulling into our destination, and we disembarked for the next part of the journey—a bus to Shkodër.
I took advantage of the bus trip to make notes in my travel journal. When I had taken off from Houston, I had grand plans of creating a Pinterest worthy journal filled with sketches, snippets of paper and lovely stories. The longer I traveled, the less creative I was with my updates. Oddly, the journal didn’t feel any less special. If anything, it felt less pretentious and more truthful, showcasing what was actually important to me on this trip.
“Which stop are you waiting for?” Andres asked as Shkodër came into view almost two hours after leaving Koman.
“The one near the hostel,” I said, returning my journal to my backpack. “My luggage is there in storage. I started my hike here so I’ve basically made a circle. You?”
“We’re getting off at the same stop. Miguel’s sister is meeting us at a hotel near there.”
“Where are you off to next?”
“Croatia. What about you?”
“I’m staying here for another day or two. I want to go see the castle before I decide whether to go south toward Tirana and then Greece or south to Tirana and then hop over to Italy.”
“Italy,” Andres suggested. “Rome, for sure. Venice and Florence, if you have enough time. The museums, the art, the buildings—you’ll love them.”
“Italy it is,” I said with an appreciative smile.
The bus made its first stop—a very popular campground—and then trundled along its route. At the spot near the most popular hostel in the city, I grabbed my backpack and stood up with Andres and almost every other passenger. It seemed quite a few of us were staying in this area, probably because we were all trying to travel as cheaply as possible.
I hitched my backpack onto my shoulders and followed the line of passengers off the bus and out onto the street. The afternoon sun made me wince, and I slipped my sunglasses into place. I moved out of the throng of travelers looking at their phones and printed maps and walked a little farther down the sidewalk. Wanting to tell Andres goodbye, I turned back to smile at him—and then I heard my name.
“Marley.”
Startled by a rough, deep voice I hadn’t expected to hear ever again, especially not after the way he had all but forgotten me while I was in the hospital, I slowly pivoted toward the street. My gaze settled on him almost immediately. Besian. Right there, leaning against a sleek black Mercedes.
Polished as ever in his dark jeans, gray shirt and brown boots, he swept his aviator sunglasses from his handsome face and tucked them into the front pocket of his navy blazer. The sight of him sent my heartbeat into overdrive. Usually, he had a playful smile for me, but today, he was all business.
And it terrified me.
Whatever had brought Besian to Albania, to Shkodër, to me, had to be serious. Steeling myself for the worst, I gripped the straps of my backpack as he approached and prepared myself to hear news that would forever change my life.
Chapter Seven
Relief surged through Besian with every step he took toward Marley. Even though Zec had assured him she was safe in Valbona and on her way to Shkodër, he didn’t believe it until he saw her in the flesh.
And, fuck, did she look good. His fingers itched to comb through her glistening auburn hair. He wanted to sweep his hands down her sun kissed skin and claim that pouty, stubborn mouth of hers. He wanted to embrace her, trap her close to his chest and never let her go again.
“Besian,” Marley said, her gentle voice soothing his raw nerves. She removed her sunglasses, revealing the greenish blue eyes that haunted his dreams. “What are you doing here?”