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dry cleaning, her lingerie in the hamper.
    She’d never needed before. Not that her experience was vast. Sure she’d kissed a few guys, but she’d only had one lover, and it had been pleasant enough, but it turned out he was more interested in a good grade from her grandmother than in Amanda.
    Big mistake on both their parts.
    In the shower she admitted this thing with Xavier may be a mistake as well. She’d let anger at her grandmother propel her into a date she was leery of. And already it would hurt more to walk away from him than it had to leave the jerk who was only after academic acclaim. She missed being with Xavier, wanted to call and see if he made it back to the hotel okay, if they were taking good care of him, if he liked her as much as she liked him.
    Her lack of experience rose up in a tide of insecurity as she wondered if he found her immature. She hoped not. Couldn’t believe he did. Those kisses were in no way juvenile.
    Enough already. Any more rehashing and she’d revert to grade school mentality and sock him in the arm the next time she saw him. She needed something to occupy her mind or she’d never get to sleep tonight.
    A knock sounded at the door. She frowned, unaccustomed to getting company so late. A glance through the peephole showed her manager. She opened the door.
    “Amanda. You had a delivery today. I heard you come in so I thought I’d bring it up.”
    “Thanks, Mr. Vey.” She took the box and bid the man good night.
    Recognizing the box that contained her mother’s diaries, Amanda carried it to her bed and opened it. Inside she found a note from Grandmother.

    Amanda,
    Your grandfather believes your disappointing behavior the other night was the result of distress. You can thank him for this.
    Grandmother.

    Even as she read the note, Amanda didn’t know if she could believe it or not. Was this another example of Grandmother ascribing her own feelings to Grandfather, or had he really put his foot down?
    Eager to get to the journals, she decided to brood on the issue at another time. Instead she started pulling out books. She pulled one out and flipped to the first page. And found the first reference to her father.

    I never believed in love at first sight until I met him, my prince. I know, it’s childish. But that’s how he makes me feel, as if I’ve found my Prince Charming. Maybe it’s because I’m in Europe where castles abound and royalty is a reality.
    I know I can’t trust the feeling. I hear mother’s voice in my head cataloging all the reasons why I should keep my distance, but I can’t. I won’t.
    I can’t stop thinking about him. He makes me happy. And we haven’t even been alone; always we’ve been in a crowd of friends though we’ve spent hours talking. And today he stole a kiss.
    Stole? Why do I say that when I wanted it so badly? And he actually made my toes curl. I’ll never look on that term as a cliché again.

    Amanda laughed, relating with her mother as she read on.

    The next time he asks me out I’m going to agree. It may be foolish to pursue a relationship when I’m here for such a short time. Mother would say so. But feelings this strong deserve a chance. If I know it’s not for forever then I should be safe, right?
    I haven’t journaled for years but I needed to put my thoughts in order, and this helped. Maybe it will help, too, to read about my romantic adventure when summer is over and I’m back home in the position mother has chosen for me. Or since I’m being brave here, it’ll give me courage to be brave there and seek a position of my own choosing.

    Amanda read the next two entries but her mother’s “prince” had had to pop away on business and it was mostly angst about her original decision not to go out with him, and how she wouldn’t make that mistake again if she did, please God, get to see him again, and he still wanted to see her alone.
    A lesson learned to grab opportunity when it hammered on your door.
    Closing the