For The One(71)

Chapter 17

Jenna

We opted out of taking the crowded tram from the parking structure. This way, as we walked, our transition would be more gradual, less likely to induce anxiety. Fortunately, there were fewer people as it was the middle of the week in April, and the park was not near as busy as it could be in high season.

But William still looked tense, so I decided to get his mind off of his fears. “So how come your dad and Adam call you ‘Liam’? You don’t seem to like it much.”

“It’s a family nickname.”

“Ah, family only?”

“Family members and old friends called me Liam when I was young. They’re used to it. But I prefer William.”

“Oh, so I shouldn’t call you Wil, then.”

“Wil is fine—when you call me that.”

I smiled. “So I’m the only one who can call you Wil?”

“Well, I can’t exactly stop someone if they want to call me Wil.”

“Would you want to stop me?” I tilted my head toward him with a cocked eyebrow.

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“How you are saying it. If you’re speaking in an angry voice or shouting, I’d rather you not use it at all.”

I laughed and he smiled. Then he reached for my hand and I took it, squeezing it for reassurance—my silent way of saying, “You got this.”

“Jenna is technically my nickname,” I continued, noticing he was more at ease while he was talking to me. “But it became my legal name when I was naturalized as a US citizen.”

He turned his head toward me, surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah, I chose it when I came here and started school. It’s kind of close to my real name, Janja. People were mispronouncing it. It looks like ‘Jan-ja’ but supposed to be said ‘Yan-ya.’ I was little and it bugged me, so I changed it.” I shrugged.

He frowned but didn’t say anything.

“What’s wrong?”

He shook his head as we walked along, his free hand stuffed in his pocket. “I just realized that there are so many things I don’t know about you. And it made me sad realizing that there’s so much more I’ll never know.”

I blinked, suddenly aware of a vague ache in my chest and the little voice at the back of my head that said it’s better that way. It would hurt less.

“How do you say my name in Bosnian?” he said.

“Vilijam,” I replied.

“And you’d shorten that to Vil? Someone might call me ‘Vile’ instead. I like it in English better.”

I laughed, relieved by the levity. William could be a funny guy, a sharp contrast to his stoic, silent demeanor. I laughed more with him than I did with most guys I’d dated.

We were quickly approaching the park entrance. “Okay, the first hurdle is going to be the ticket stands,” I said, squeezing his hand again. “It’s a turnstile, so people will be lined up. There might be some crowding there.”

As we exited Downtown Disney, William looked ahead of us, past the shops and restaurants, toward the entrance to the park. “First, they’ll look through your bag over at that station, there,” he said, pointing toward the bag inspection station. “Then they’ll take our tickets at the gate. I looked up the entire procedure online so that I could be prepared and anticipate any outcome. I also memorized a map of the place.”

I followed his gaze. “That’s right. And after that, we’ll pass the Mickey Mouse flowers on the front lawn just below the train station, then go through the tunnel to Main Street USA. There’s usually a cluster of people taking pictures there.”

He nodded. “You know this place really well.”

“Alex used to work here. She snuck me in all the time. That is, after I told her the story.”

“What story?” He cocked his head, clearly interested.

“When my mom and dad first told me they were sending my sister and me to live here, I didn’t want to go.” I shrugged. “So they sat me down and said I’d live near Mickey Mouse, and wouldn’t that be a wonderful thing?”

“Did that convince you?”

You have to be brave, my little daughter. I gulped as Papa’s voice invaded my thoughts. The Disneyland story was the story I usually told everyone. It was the truth. Just not the whole truth. As far as my friends knew, that was why I’d agreed to leave my parents and my country.

But it wasn’t the full story.

“Sure, more or less.” I shrugged again, suddenly wanting to change the subject. The thought of lying to William made me itchy and uncomfortable. But he was curious, I could tell, and we were about to make it through the ticket line without incident. So I kept talking. “I wanted to be a princess, like Ariel or Jasmine. Apparently, it was all I talked about, though I don’t remember. Maja reminded me of it constantly when we were younger.”