my chest. I've already made up my mind to do this, so why am I still hoping for a miracle?
"You haven't fallen in love with Einstein, have you?" Ethan asks me.
I jump because I wasn't expecting him to suddenly pop up beside me. Then I turn my head to give him a puzzled look.
"What?"
"You've been staring at that picture for more than ten minutes now," Ethan explains. "Sighing."
So he's been watching me instead of looking at Einstein's stuff? I decide to tease him.
"You're right. I have. I've had a crush on him since I was in the fifth grade."
Let's see if that will make him jealous.
Ethan touches his chin. "Really? I didn't peg you as someone who likes physics."
"I don't," I tell him. "But I do think Einstein is kind of good-looking."
At least, he is in this picture, before his hair turned white and he forgot how to use a comb.
"With that mustache? Now I know you're kidding."
I glance at the picture of Einstein. Oops. I forgot about that.
I know. I know. I'm no genius.
I frown. This plan of mine to make Ethan jealous isn't working at all.
"You know what?" I tell him. "I think I've had enough of Einstein. Shall we go somewhere else?"
"What's next on your list?"
"Let's see." I take out the tablet from my purse. "Next stop: Rosengarten."
According to the description, it's a spacious and peaceful garden with not just roses but also rhododendrons and azaleas. Sounds like a good place for a couple to get lost in. Or break up.
Who knows? Maybe I'll be able to tell Ethan what I need to there.
~
I haven't been able to. I can't.
I've had a lot of opportunities to do it while walking around the gardens. There were several times I found myself alone with Ethan, times when there was nothing between us but silence. I should have spoken up then, but there was something about the silence and the solitude that made it harder for me to find my voice. Or my courage.
Each time I'm about to open my mouth to speak, my doubts get in the way. My mind comes up with a myriad of questions, firing them away like a reporter on an ambush.
Do you really want to do this now? Why not wait until you get back to the hotel? Or to Chicago? What will you do if Ethan walks away? Do you know how to get back to Zurich by yourself? What do you think Ethan will say? How will he feel? Don't you think it's unfair to do this to him now when he's trying to forget about a catastrophe at work? What if he doesn't accept it? What if he starts to hate you? What if he fires you and leaves you here in Switzerland?
So yeah. There go my opportunities. Gone. Wasted.
I can't talk to Ethan about it now. We're having a lovely meal at the idyllic restaurant in the middle of the Rosengarten. For now, I'm just going to relax and enjoy this food and this ambiance.
And Ethan.
"So, which do you like better? Zurich or Bern?" he asks me as he cuts into his slab of perfectly grilled Black Angus beef.
I try a piece of my potato gnocchi and get a mouthful of delicate but scrumptious flavor. Seriously, I have yet to taste something that I don't care for on this trip.
"Both," I answer before getting a whole spoonful of gnocchi. "They're different. Zurich is like elegant and refined, more modern. And Bern is charming and old-fashioned and serene. They're both beautiful."
And both memorable. I can't very well choose between the two of them.
Ethan nods. "I thought you'd say that."
We spend the next few minutes eating in silence. I realize I'm hungry after having walked for hours. Ethan is voracious, which I suppose isn't surprising. He only ate two sandwiches last night, which was his first and last meal for the whole day, and then two more this morning, which he ate in the car because he wanted us to leave for Bern early.
That's good. At least he's got his appetite back. Hopefully, the acquisition can get back on track, too. There's still time.
But if it does, will I have the heart to ruin his good mood with bad news? On the contrary, if it doesn't, can I really add to his troubles?
Wait a second. I'm not trying to cause Ethan more trouble. I'm trying to soften the consequences of the trouble that I have caused, trying to mitigate the effects of