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Thomas has it all: nobility, money, the girl, and a position waiting for him at the family business. But when he thinks about the life ahead of him, he can't breathe. So he takes a gap year backpacking.
Nadia...
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Somewhere in the Andes, Peru.
The bus grumbled its way through the Andes, gasping up each ascent. It was a two-story beast, dilapidated and dated, offering semi-cama seating. Thomas had drawn the line there. Held firm despite Nadia's protestations — all centred around the fact that they could find something much cheaper, if only they were willing to sit a little more upright. She refused his offer to pay for an upgrade. This was all she could afford.
He examined the seats. They were upholstered in a fuzzy grey material patterned with red and blue lines and triangles. The turquoise head protectors appeared — and smelled — like they hadn't been washed in years. Hell, the woman was too proud for her own good. And his, for that matter.
Thomas fidgeted and squirmed, trying to get comfortable for the umpteenth time. There just wasn't enough room. As he attempted to stretch out his legs, yet again, he kicked the seat in front of him. It wriggled and let out a discontented grunt. A stern face popped above it and glared down at him.
Thomas held up his hands in apology. "Disculpe, señor."
The man muttered something drowsily in Spanish and settled back down.
If only the seat reclined a little farther, he could lie sideways. A side sleeper, he was not impressed with the situation. He was damned frustrated, in fact. As he half-lay on his back, cramped and claustrophobic, he twisted his signet ring and reflected on the day.
He shouldn't have been so forward in the bus terminal, and he didn't have the foggiest notion where the behaviour had come from. That was a lie. Her flirting over lunch had sent a jolt of electricity through him. What had begun as a desire to comfort her, turned into red-blooded seduction. If he was going to seduce her — which he very much intended to do — he needed to slow down.
Nadia sat in the window seat. The glass behind her was dark and dotted with moisture from where her warm breath met the cold air. Occasional flashes of light from outside traffic bathed her skin in pale luminescence. She didn't look at him. Her eyes remained riveted on the ancient television at the front of the aisle, and her hands balled into fists at her side. She'd barely spoken since they boarded, just closed in upon herself. Her moods were a rollercoaster fluctuating between outbursts, light-hearted humour and now a cold wall of silence.
Was she unstable? It was plausible. Though she'd just got out of a mess of a relationship and he'd acted like a cad.
A sudden explosion filled the bus, followed by rapid Spanish. Contrary to the television's small size, it was deafening. The only proper way to enjoy a movie like Double Impact was loud — or so Nadia had said when he complained earlier. The driver apparently took this rule to heart. Nobody else seemed to care about the noise; they accepted the racket with calm stoicism.
He peered to his left. A toddler lay outstretched on his father's chest, both fast asleep. Thomas' sense of claustrophobia intensified. Neither of them flinched when the sound of Jean-Claude Van Damn fly kicking his opponent blasted through the vehicle.
