Chapter 118: Barolo (3)
[Perspective: Peter Parker]
Peter Parker walked slowly, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. His shoulders were slumped, his head hanging low.
He turned a corner, entering a wide plaza.
Ahead of him, a large group of teenagers was spilling out of a grand set of double doors.
It was his classmates. They were returning from the opera.
Peter stopped in the shadows of an awning, watching them.
Mr. Harrington was at the front, looking utterly exhausted, rubbing his temples while Mr. Dell counted heads.
Flash Thompson was complaining loudly about the lack of subtitles, and Betty was holding onto Ned's arm, looking sleepy.
Then, Peter saw MJ.
She was walking near the back of the group. She was wearing her simple dress, her curly hair catching the light of the streetlamps.
She was walking purposefully, her hands in her pockets, staring straight ahead.
And walking entirely too close behind her was Brad Davis.
"Come on, MJ," Brad was saying. He stepped quickly to match her pace, trying to catch her eye. "The opera wasn't that bad, right? I mean, the acoustics were incredible. And you looked really nice tonight."
"Brad," MJ said. "If I wanted to listen to people scream in a language I don't understand while sitting next to someone who keeps trying to touch my elbow, I'd go to a family reunion. Please stop walking in my slipstream."
Brad faltered, his smile dropping into a scowl. He slowed his pace, letting her walk ahead.
Peter stepped out from the shadows of the awning.
MJ's eyes locked onto him immediately. She didn't look surprised to see him standing there.
She just altered her trajectory, breaking away from the main group of students and walking directly toward him.
Peter felt his heart begin to hammer a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
"Hi," Peter mumbled as she stopped in front of him. He looked down at the cobblestones, unable to meet her gaze. "I... I am sorry."
MJ crossed her arms over her chest, studying his face.
"If you don't like to sit beside me," MJ said, her voice surprisingly soft, lacking its usual sarcastic bite, "you can just tell me, Parker. You don't have to fake an illness and run out of the building."
Peter's head snapped up. "No! No, it's not like that. I promise, MJ, it's not like that at all. I really wanted to sit next to you."
"So," MJ asked, tilting her head slightly to the side. "What is it like, then?"
Peter opened his mouth, but no words came out. What could he say? I had to go meet a super spy in a dark room to discuss a fake fire monster?
He looked around frantically. Mr. Harrington was ushering the students toward the hotel entrance. A few tourists were lingering near the fountain.
"Can we..." Peter stammered, gesturing vaguely down an empty alleyway branching off the main plaza. "Can we talk somewhere in private?"
MJ stared at him for a moment, analyzing the sheer panic radiating off him.
"Okay," she agreed simply.
She turned and walked down the alleyway. Peter hurried after her.
They walked until the sounds of the plaza faded entirely, surrounded by high brick walls.
MJ stopped, turning to face him.
"Okay, we are in private," MJ said. "Spit it out, Parker."
Peter took a deep breath. He looked at his hands, then looked up into her expectant eyes.
"Things are really very complicated," Peter started, his voice trembling slightly. "But before I tell you… can you promise me that you will keep it a secret? For me? Please?"
MJ's brow furrowed. The aloof mask slipped into genuine curiosity.
"Okay," she said slowly. "What is it?"
Peter looked at her. He tried to form the words. I am Spider Man. It was four simple words, but they felt like boulders in his throat.
Every time he tried to push them out, his brain screamed that he was making a mistake, that he was putting her in danger.
He closed his mouth.
He took a sudden step backward. He bent his knees deeply, coiling the enhanced muscles in his legs, and launched himself upward.
He flew ten feet into the air. He extended his arms, his palms slapping flat against the rough brick wall of the alley.
His fingers dug into the mortar, the microscopic hairs on his skin engaging, sticking him instantly to the vertical surface.
He hung there for a second, suspended high above the cobblestones, defying gravity effortlessly.
Then, he pushed off, flipping backward in a tight arc, and landed in a perfect crouch directly in front of her.
He slowly stood up, brushing a dusting of brick powder from his jeans. He looked at her, his chest heaving with nervous energy.
"Do you understand now?" Peter asked.
MJ looked at him with an expression of unimpressed calm.
"Are you..." MJ started. "Do you just have a nice grip? Are you a really intense rock climber?"
Peter's jaw dropped. "What? No! I am Spider Man."
MJ crossed her arms again, leaning back slightly. "Really. Can you use your webs, then?"
Peter patted his wrists frantically. "I... I didn't bring my web shooters with me tonight. But yeah, I can do that! I make the webs myself!"
"I doubted it," MJ stated flatly.
Peter's face fell. He felt a crushing weight of disappointment. He had finally revealed his deepest secret, and she didn't believe him.
"You... you doubted what?" Peter asked miserably. "That I'm Spider Man?"
"I doubted your ability to hide it," MJ corrected, a smile touching the corner of her lips.
Peter blinked. "Wait, what?"
"Parker," MJ sighed, uncrossing her arms and taking a step closer to him. "Every single time you are involved in something, there is always some massive incident. Look at this trip. We were not supposed to come to the Czech Republic. But suddenly, we are here. So I guessed it had something to do with you."
She began counting on her fingers.
"Because the school didn't ask us to pay extra to reimburse the travel costs, which, according to the school's incredibly cheap nature, they would never let go of. And also, I saw you going out of the classroom multiple times back in Queens, and magically, five minutes later, Spider Man shows up on the news."
She pointed a finger directly at his chest.
"And sometimes, you behave way too suspiciously," she continued, her voice softening slightly. "It's like you don't want to worry people about what you have to do. I can see it on your face, Peter."
Peter stared at her, completely dumbfounded.
His entire secret identity, the thing he had guarded with his life, unraveled by a high school junior with good observation skills.
"If... if that's so obvious," Peter stammered, feeling incredibly foolish. "Why didn't you say anything?"
MJ rolled her eyes, shaking her head.
"Why do you think this is Metropolis, and you are Superman?" MJ asked, her tone dripping with dry sarcasm. "Which is, you know, you put on one pair of glasses and suddenly you become Clark Kent, and nobody can recognize your bone structure?"
Peter opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked down at his shoes.
"No," Peter mumbled. "It's not like that."
MJ took another step forward. She reached out, her hand gently brushing against his arm.
"It's OK," she said, her voice dropping all the sarcasm, leaving only a genuine reassurance. "I understand."
Peter looked up at her, a massive wave of relief washing over him.
"Oh," Peter breathed, a goofy smile breaking across his face.
"Hey!"
The sharp shout echoed down the alleyway.
Peter and MJ both turned their heads.
Mr. Dell was standing at the entrance to the alley, waving a flashlight frantically.
"Hey, you two! Let's go back! The hotel is doing a headcount and Mr. Harrington is having a panic attack in the lobby!"
Peter looked at MJ.
"Let's go back," Peter sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly.
"Yes," MJ agreed.
They turned and began walking back toward the brightly lit plaza.
As they walked, MJ kept her arm swinging loosely by her side.
Slowly, she reached out. Her fingers brushed against the back of Peter's hand.
Then, she slid her palm against his, lacing her fingers securely through his.
Peter looked down at their joined hands, his brain completely failing to process the sensory input.
He looked up at MJ. She was staring straight ahead, her face a mask of casual indifference, but her grip on his hand was tight.
"Got any problem, Parker?" MJ asked, not turning her head to look at him.
Peter felt his heart soar into his throat. He tightened his fingers around hers.
"No," Peter breathed, pulling her gently forward so they could continue walking. "Not at all. Let's go."
And as they walked back into the chaotic light of the hotel lobby, Peter Parker couldn't stop smiling all the way.
Chapter 119: Czech Proposal (1)
[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]
I woke up to the sensation of being entirely trapped.
The heavy duvet of our suite at the Hotel was tangled around my legs, but the real weight holding me down was Wanda.
She was draped across my chest, her cheek resting against my collarbone, her breathing a slow rhythm.
I lay there, soaking in the quiet of the morning.
I shifted my right arm, bringing it up to wrap securely around her waist, my hand resting against the curve.
I felt her stir slightly, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she let out a soft hum, snuggling closer, burying her face into my neck.
I opened my eyes. I looked down at her. Her auburn hair was a messy halo across my pillow.
I moved my head just enough to press my lips against the soft skin of her bare shoulder.
Wanda shivered, a small smile touching her lips, though she kept her eyes firmly closed.
"Good morning," I murmured, pressing another kiss to her collarbone.
She didn't answer, just tightened her grip on my torso, her fingers curling into my t-shirt.
"I know you're awake," I whispered, my lips brushing against the shell of her ear.
She let out a soft sigh, opening one eye to look at me. "I was attempting to ignore the morning."
"The morning is beautiful," I countered, shifting my weight so I was leaning over her slightly. "And so are you."
Before she could form a witty reply, I leaned down and bit her.
"Hey!" Wanda gasped, her eyes flying open as she swatted my shoulder. "What are you doing?"
"You can't blame me," I laughed, dodging her hand. "You look incredibly tasty. It was a biological imperative."
"Stop saying things like that," she groaned, burying her face back into the pillow, though I could see the bright red flush spreading across her neck.
I reached down and scooped her up into my arms, hauling her entirely out of the bed in one swift motion.
"Aryan!" she squeaked, grabbing my shoulders for balance as her legs dangled over my arm. "What are you doing?"
"We are going to take a bath," I announced, marching toward the massive marble en suite. "We have a city to explore, and I refuse to let you sleep the day away. The Czechs are waiting for us to eat their carbohydrates."
Wanda laughed, resting her head against my chest as I carried her. "You are very demanding before coffee."
"I am a man of action," I corrected, setting her down gently on the bath mat.
The morning routine was a familiar dance.
We brushed our teeth side by side. We showered quickly, the hot water washing away the lingering sleep.
When we stepped back into the bedroom, I walked over to my suitcase, pulling out a fresh pair of dark pants, a white button down shirt and a blazer.
Wanda was standing by the mirror, running a brush through her hair. She was wearing an elegant red sundress that flared at the waist.
"Here," she said, turning around and holding something out to me.
I blinked. It was a classic brimmed fedora hat, made of dark brown felt.
"A hat?" I asked, taking it from her.
"I bought it yesterday evening," she explained. "And I bought a matching one for myself."
She reached onto the dresser and picked up an identical hat, placing it on her head.
The dark brown felt contrasted beautifully with her bright red dress and auburn hair.
"What a surprise," I laughed, placing my hat on my head and adjusting the brim. "We are officially coordinated tourists. Next, we will be wearing matching fanny packs."
"Do not give me ideas," she warned, picking up the room phone. "I am ordering breakfast. What do you want?"
"Anything you like," I said honestly. "And espresso. Lots of it."
Room service arrived quickly, delivering a spread of fresh pastries, fruit, and strong coffee.
We ate at the small table by the window.
"Alright," I said, wiping my mouth with a linen napkin. "Let's go. It's time to be a tourist in Prague. Those statues aren't going to photograph themselves, and I have a reputation as a world class sightseer to maintain."
Wanda laughed, grabbing her hat.
We headed downstairs to the parking lot.
I stepped ahead, clicking the fob to unlock the vehicle. I gripped the handle and pulled the door open for her, extending my other hand.
"Your carriage, my Queen," I murmured.
Wanda smiled, her eyes bright with affection as she took my hand, using the support to slide gracefully into the leather passenger seat.
I waited until her red skirt was safely tucked inside before gently clicking the door shut.
I rounded the hood, slipped into the driver's seat, and brought the engine to a purr.
"Where to first, tour guide?" Wanda asked from the passenger seat as I merged onto the highway leading toward the city center.
"The Charles Bridge," I replied. "It is the heart of Prague."
I drove us into the city, finding a secure parking garage a few blocks from the river.
We walked the rest of the way, the cobblestone streets echoing with the sounds of tourists and street musicians.
As we approached the entrance to the bridge, the massive stone towers loomed overhead, casting long shadows across the pavement.
"This is it," I said, offering her my arm.
She looped hers through mine, and we stepped onto the bridge.
The bridge was crowded, but the sheer scale of the architecture made it feel expansive.
Massive statues lined both sides of the stone balustrades, standing like silent guardians over the river below.
"The Charles Bridge," I began, adopting my best 'tour guide' voice as we walked slowly past a street artist sketching a caricature. "Construction started in 1357 under the auspices of King Charles IV. It was the most important connection between Prague Castle and the city's Old Town."
Wanda looked up at me, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "So, you also have a masters in history?"
"Well," I said, puffing my chest out slightly. "I master in a lot of things. If you ask me politely, I can tell you everything about anything."
"Stop," she laughed, swatting my arm lightly.
"It is true," I grinned. "But please, allow me to continue my historical exposition."
I pointed toward the opposite end of the bridge. "This bridge connects two different towns. For centuries, it was the only means of crossing the river. It is often used as a metaphor for connecting two lives, bringing two distinct worlds together across turbulent waters."
Wanda stopped walking, turning to look at me, her eyes softening. "Wow. That is very romantic, Aryan."
"I know, right?" I smiled, pulling her slightly closer. "It is also a very popular place for couples to propose. Mostly only in the morning or late at night, because that is when it is quiet and romantic. Right now, it is noon, so it is just hot and crowded. Haha."
Wanda also laughed, shaking her head. "You ruin your own romance."
"I am a realist," I defended. "Now, let's get some pictures together, if I may?"
"Yes," she agreed, adjusting her matching fedora.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket, switching it to the front facing camera.
We took a dozen selfies, framing ourselves against the ancient statues and the sparkling river in the background.
As we were reviewing the photos, a small voice interrupted us.
"Koupíte si růži pro paní?" (Will you buy a rose for the lady?)
Chapter 120: Czech Proposal (2)
[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]
I turned around.
Standing a few feet away was a young boy, maybe ten or eleven years old, holding a woven basket filled with vibrant red roses.
He was wearing faded jeans and a slightly oversized t-shirt, looking up at me with hopeful eyes.
"Mluvíš česky?" (You only speak Czech?) I asked.
Wanda blinked, looking from me to the boy.
"Ano," (Yes,) the boy nodded, his eyes widening in surprise at hearing his native language from a tourist.
"Když nás vyfotíš, koupím všechny tvoje růže. Platí?" (If you can take pictures of us, I can buy all of your roses. Is that a deal?) I asked, holding out my phone.
The boy's face lit up with disbelief, but he nodded enthusiastically. "Dobře!" (Okay!)
He handed me the entire basket of roses, carefully taking my phone from my hand.
I took the roses.
"I do not know if you know the local language here," she whispered.
"I learned quite a few languages during my schooling," I said casually, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close for the photo.
"You are quite talented," she noted, smiling for the camera as the boy snapped a few pictures.
"Yes, you already feel it, right?" I murmured near her ear, a teasing lilt in my voice.
Her cheeks flushed a deep red, and she elbowed my ribs hard. "Stop saying all these things in public! It is embarrassing!"
"Okay, okay, no more," I laughed, rubbing my ribs.
I took a step back, pointing toward one of the massive statues further down the bridge.
"Look at that detail on the masonry," I said, gesturing vaguely.
Wanda turned, looking in the direction I was pointing. "There is nothing there, Aryan. It is just stone."
"Are you sure?" I asked.
She turned back to me, an exasperated sigh on her lips. "There is no… "
I was kneeling on the cobblestones of the Charles Bridge, resting on one knee. I held that bouquet of red roses.
I looked up at her, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
"Wanda," I started, my voice remarkably steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins. "I know we were just two people looking for a quiet corner to hide from the world. But somewhere between the burnt toast and the sitcoms, we became an 'us'."
Wanda's eyes immediately filled with tears. Her breath hitched audibly, her hand flying to her mouth.
"But until now," I continued, reaching out to gently take her free hand in mine, "I wasn't able to give our relationship an official title. We have just been existing in this beautiful bubble. And I don't want to just exist with you anymore. I want it to be real."
I took a deep breath, looking straight into her tear filled eyes.
"So, taking this opportunity, in the middle of a bridge that connects two worlds... I would like to ask, will you be my girlfriend?"
A tear spilled over her eyelashes, tracking down her cheek. She let out a choked laugh, nodding her head frantically.
"Yes," she sobbed, dropping to her knees right there on the dirty cobblestones, ignoring the dress entirely.
She reached out and took the bouquet of roses from my hands, clutching them to her chest as if they were made of gold, before throwing her arms around my neck, burying her face in my shoulder.
"Yes, Aryan."
I wrapped my arms tightly around her waist, burying my face in her hair.
Suddenly, a loud burst of applause erupted around us.
I pulled back slightly, looking around.
The crowd of tourists on the bridge had stopped walking. Dozens of people were clapping, cheering, and smiling at us.
Wanda pulled away from my chest, her face flushing crimson as she realized we had an audience.
She quickly wiped her tears away, burying her face against my shoulder to hide her embarrassment.
I laughed, standing up and pulling her up with me.
I raised a hand to the crowd, offering a theatrical bow.
"Thank you for the encouragement!" I called out to the cheering strangers. "Thank you!"
"She is a keeper, man!" a guy with a thick American accent shouted from the back of the crowd.
"I know!" I shouted back, wrapping my arm securely around Wanda's waist.
After a few minutes, the crowd dispersed, returning to their sightseeing, leaving us standing near the edge of the balustrade.
The little boy, who had been watching the entire scene with wide eyes, stepped forward and tentatively handed my phone back to me.
I took the phone, swiping through the gallery.
The photos were incredible.
He had managed to capture the exact moment I dropped to one knee, the surprise on Wanda's face, the massive bouquet of roses.
"Ty fotky jsou moc krásné," (These are very beautiful pictures,) I said. "Kolik chceš za všechny ty růže?" (How much do you want for all the roses?)
The boy looked down at his empty basket, shuffling his feet.
"Ty květiny nejsou drahé, protože je pěstuji na zahradě," (Those flowers are not expensive because I grow them in my garden,) the boy said softly. "Chci za to jen 50 eur." (I just need 50 euros for them.)
I looked closer at the boy. He looked exhausted, far too tired for a kid his age.
"Co dělají tvoji rodiče?" (What are your parents?) I asked gently.
The boy looked away. "Moje matka nás opustila a utekla s někým jiným. Zůstali jsme jen my dva s tátou." (My mother left us and ran away with someone else. Me and my dad are the only ones left.)
"A co tvůj táta?" (What about your dad?) I asked, my heart aching for the kid. "Proč pracuješ ty?" (Why are you working?)
"Můj táta měl zánět slepého střeva a nemáme žádné zdravotní pojištění, protože matka ukradla všechny peníze a úspory," (My dad had appendicitis and we do not have any health insurance cause our mother stole all the money and savings,) the boy explained, his voice trembling slightly. "I když ho minule léčili léky, nebudeme mít dost peněz na operaci. Proto jsme na operaci nešli a bolest se znovu vrací. Ale ještě jsme nezaplatili účet." (Even though he got treated last time with medication, we do not have enough money for the surgery. That's why we did not have surgery and the pain is re-occurring again. And we haven't paid the bill yet.)
I felt a cold surge of anger at the injustice of the situation. "Kolik stál ten účet za poslední léčbu?" (How much is the bill for the last treatment?)
"Ten účet byl 2,000 CZK," (That bill was 2,000 CZK,) he said miserably.
"Kolik potřebujete na operaci?" (How much do you need for the surgery?)
"Na samotnou operaci potřebujeme minimálně 50 000 CZK a další rozšířený podíl bude 85 000 CZK," (We need at least 50,000 CZK for surgery alone and other expanded share will be 85,000 CZK,) the boy recited, clearly having memorized the terrifying numbers.
I reached into the inner pocket of my blazer.
I pulled out a thick stack of five hundred euro notes. I separated ten bills from the stack and handed them to the boy.
"Tady je 5000 eur, což se rovná 120 000 CZK, což stačí na léčbu tvého táty," (Here is €5000 which is equal to 120,000 CZK which is enough for your dad's treatment,) I said firmly, pressing the money into his small hand.
The boy stared at the purple bills, his mouth falling open in shock.
Chapter 121: Czech Proposal (3)
[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]
I pulled out another 10 ten bills from the stack. I handed it to him as well.
"Použij to k nákupu fotoaparátu a nauč se trochu fotografovat, abys mohl fotit turisty a vydělávat peníze tímto způsobem," (Use this to buy a camera and learn some photography so you can take pictures of tourists and earn the money from there,) I instructed. "Je to lepší způsob, jak si vydělat, že?" (It's a better way to earn, right?)
"Ne, nemůžu si vzít tolik peněz," (No, I can't take that much money,) the boy protested weakly, trying to push the bills back toward me.
"To je v pořádku, ať se tvůj táta nejdřív vyléčí," (It's OK, let your dad get treatment first, OK?) I insisted, closing my hands over his.
"Ale já ty peníze nemůžu vrátit. Nemám žádné peníze," (But I can't return the money. I don't have any money,) he argued, tears welling up in his eyes.
I reached into my wallet, pulling out a business card.
"Tady je moje číslo a email," (Here is my number and email,) I said, handing it to him along with the cash. "Když v budoucnu vyděláš dost peněz, můžeš mi zavolat." (If you earn enough money in the future, you can call me by then.)
"Když ty peníze nedokážu vydělat, nepřijdou tvoje peníze vniveč?" (If I wasn't able to earn that money, won't your money go to waste?) the boy asked, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
"Ne, já už vydělal dost," (No, I have earned enough,) I smiled gently.
"Opravdu mi to všechno dáváš?" (Are you seriously giving all of this to me?) the boy asked, looking from the money to my face.
"Ano, schovej si ty peníze do kapsy. Jinak to lidé uvidí a někdo by tě mohl sledovat," (Yes, keep all that money in your pocket. Otherwise people will see and someone might follow you,) I warned, glancing around the bridge to ensure no one was paying too close attention to our transaction.
The boy looked around frantically, realizing the danger of holding that much cash in public.
He quickly shoved the thick stacks of bills deep into the pockets of his jeans.
"Tak jo, běž se postarat o tátu," (OK, you go take care of your father,) I said, patting him on the shoulder.
"Můžu se zeptat na vaše jméno, protože neumím anglicky na této vizitce přečíst," (Can I ask for your name cause I can't read English on this card,) the boy asked, looking at the black card.
"Jmenuji se Aryan Spencer," (My name is Aryan Spencer,) I replied.
The boy turned and began to run down the bridge toward the Old Town. After a few yards, he stopped, turning back to look at me.
"Děkuji. Budu si to pamatovat," (Thank you. I will remember this,) he yelled over the crowd.
"Dávej na sebe taky pozor!" (Take care of yourself too!) I shouted back, waving a hand.
I turned back to Wanda.
She was holding the massive bouquet of roses, staring at me with an expression of complete bewilderment.
"What were you talking about?" Wanda asked, her brow furrowed. "And why did you give him so much money?"
"The more advanced our society becomes, the more worthless it becomes," I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "And I definitely hate this health insurance scam."
"Scam?" Wanda repeated, looking confused.
"Do you know health insurance is the biggest scam of the century?" I asked, offering her my arm again. We began walking down the bridge.
"How come, isn't it just cheap?" she asked, leaning into my side.
"It's cheap for the monthly payment only, but it makes everything expensive," I explained, the familiar frustration of my career bleeding into my voice.
"Just look at the hospital bill. Just for an injection, they are charging thousands of dollars, which was not the case before health insurance was introduced on a massive scale. Medicine was actually very cheap. But after health insurance was introduced, everything became expensive because the government and the private companies and mostly the hospitals planned this."
Wanda looked up at me.
"They make normal treatments very expensive so that we have no choice but to buy a damn insurance policy," I continued, gesturing broadly. "And they will show you how expensive your bills are, but behind the scenes, the same insurance company is paying almost one third of that payment to the hospital for settlement."
"Then why don't people protest?" Wanda asked, her brow knitting together in indignation.
"Because when most of the people are paying monthly for health insurance, they think the insurance will pay for everything," I said, shaking my head. "But there are always terms and conditions applied to that insurance. And even though it says they will cover in full, at the end of the day they will send bills to the patient for the payment, even though their 'full coverage' is active. Because most of the population rarely gets sick, they don't really care about these small details until they are the ones trapped in the hospital."
"Yeah, that's very sad," Wanda murmured, looking down at the cobblestones.
"Yes," I agreed heavily. "After every patient would discharge from our hospital during my time as a resident, the hospital administration always instructed us to add more cost to their treatment. And we had no choice but to do that, because the hospital is the one who pays our salary, and if you go against it, no hospital will hire you again."
Wanda stopped walking, her grip tightening on my arm. Her eyes flashed with a sudden intensity.
"These people deserve punishment," she stated.
I stopped beside her, startled by the sheer venom in her tone.
I reached out, gently touching her cheek, rubbing my thumb across her skin to soothe the sudden spike of anger.
"The world is always cruel, Wanda," I said softly, looking into her eyes. "But most of the time... you know, never mind. Let's go nearby. There is another bridge I would like to introduce you to."
She took a deep breath, the sudden intensity fading from her eyes, replaced by the warm green.
"Okay," she nodded, letting me guide her forward.
We walked for a few minutes in comfortable silence.
"What was your conversation with that boy?" Wanda asked, looking at the bouquet of red roses in her arms.
"His mother abandoned him and his dad," I explained quietly. "His dad had appendicitis. They couldn't afford the surgery because they had no insurance and the mother stole their savings. He was selling roses just to try and make a dent in the medical debt."
Wanda gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh, that poor boy. That is so nice of you to help him, Aryan."
"Of course," I said.
Wanda looked at me, a playful glint returning to her eyes.
"By the way," she noted, tilting her head. "Where do you hide that money? I did not see you pulling it from your wallet. You pulled it directly from your jacket pocket."
"Ah," I grinned, tapping the breast of my blazer. "There is a secret pocket in all of my blazers. It's hidden from all the corners. A tailor in New York makes them for me."
"Whom are you hiding from?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Of course, not from you," I laughed. "I am hiding it in case anyone tries to snatch money from my pocket on the street. If a pickpocket grabs me, they will find the standard pockets completely empty."
"You are so bad," she teased, shaking her head in amusement.
"This is called strategy, my Queen," I corrected, pulling her close and kissing her cheek. "I am a tactician."
We both laughed.
Chapter 122: Lunch Conversation (1)
[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]
I held Wanda's hand as we navigated away from the Charles Bridge.
"Stay right here for thirty seconds," I told her, stopping in front of a small storefront with a faded wooden sign hanging above the glass.
"What is in there?" Wanda asked, her eyes tracing the chaotic display of antique clocks, iron keys, and tarnished brass fixtures sitting in the window.
"Necessities," I said, lifting her hand to press a kiss against her knuckles. "Do not move. If a prince tries to sweep you away on a white horse, tell him you are waiting for a doctor."
Wanda laughed. "I will tell him my doctor is very fiercely territorial."
"Exactly," I grinned, pulling away and pushing the heavy wooden door open.
The little bell above it chimed a metallic note.
I walked directly to a small wooden crate sitting on the glass counter, sifting through the heavy brass hardware until I found exactly what I was looking for.
A vintage brass padlock with two intricately carved iron keys resting beside it.
I pulled a fifty euro note from my pocket, sliding it across the glass to the elderly man sitting behind the register.
"Mission accomplished," I announced, walking back to Wanda and slipping the heavy brass lock into the pocket of my blazer.
"You bought a secret," she noted, her eyes full of curiosity as she looped her arm through mine.
"I bought a metaphor," I corrected, steering us down the cobblestone path toward a less crowded pedestrian bridge spanning a narrow offshoot of the Vltava River.
The iron railings of this particular bridge were absolutely choked with metal.
Thousands upon thousands of padlocks, rusted and gleaming, painted and engraved, clung to the iron grates.
"This," I said, adopting a theatrical tone as we stopped in the center of the small bridge, "is a lover's bridge. History is hotly debated, but the sentiment is universal. Two people come here, they take a lock, they clasp it to the iron bones of the city, and they throw the key into the running water below."
I turned to face her, pulling the brass padlock and the small iron key from my pocket, holding them up between us.
"It represents an unbreakable bond," I explained, watching the sunlight catch the gold flecks in her eyes. "A promise that the connection cannot be undone, because the only thing that could unlock it is lost to the river forever."
Wanda stared at the brass lock in my palm, her lips parting in a soft gasp. "Wow. That is... that is incredibly romantic, Aryan."
"I know, right?" I smiled, feeling a genuine warmth expanding in my chest. "I do have my moments of sheer brilliance."
I stepped closer, invading her personal space until the toes of my shoes bumped against hers. I held the open padlock out toward her.
"So, my Queen," I whispered. "May I ask... can we lock our destiny from here onward with this padlock and throw the key into the canal as a symbol of our eternal commitment?"
Wanda looked up at me.
"Wow," she murmured, tilting her head slightly. "Do you not know that throwing away the key is incredibly possessive? You are trapping me to you, Dr. Spencer."
"Well," I sighed dramatically, leaning my face down until my nose almost brushed against hers. "I am a very possessive kind of person, Wanda. I am highly territorial of my heart. Tell me... am I still lovable despite my flaws?"
Wanda burst into a laugh. She brought both of her hands up, her warm palms cupping my cheeks, her thumbs resting gently against my cheekbones.
"Yes," she whispered, her gaze dropping to my lips. "You are intensely lovable."
I handed her the open padlock. She took it.
Together, we reached the iron grate of the bridge. We found an empty space on the rusted metal wire.
I guided her hands, our fingers overlapping as we pushed the brass shackle through the iron grate and clicked it shut.
Click.
The sound of metal locking in place felt permanent.
I held up the small iron key. I placed it gently into the center of her palm, closing her fingers around it.
"Do the honors," I murmured.
Wanda looked at the small key in her hand. Then, she looked up at me, an expression of unwavering devotion glowing on her face.
She turned her hand over, extending her arm out past the railing of the bridge, and let the key slip from her fingers.
We both turned our heads, looking at each other.
I wrapped my arms tightly around her waist, hauling her flush against my chest, and crashed my lips down onto hers.
Wanda responded instantly, her hands tangling into the hair at the nape of my neck, pulling me closer.
It was a deep kiss, completely ignorant of the city around us, ignorant of the tourists, ignorant of everything except the taste of her and the heat of the afternoon sun beating down on our shoulders.
"Come on, guys. Get a room for that."
The voice was completely monotone, dripping with unamused sarcasm, and it sliced right through our romantic bubble like a dull knife.
Wanda gasped, jumping backward out of my arms.
Her face flushed a brilliant crimson as she hurriedly smoothed the front of her red dress, refusing to look at the source of the interruption.
I let out a frustrated sigh, turning my head slowly to glare at the intruders.
Standing a few feet away, holding a half-eaten gelato cone and wearing an expression of bored indifference, was MJ.
And standing right next to her, looking entirely mortified and trying to desperately hide the fact that his fingers were tightly interlocked with MJ's, was Peter Parker.
"It is very nice to meet you again, Miss MJ. And Peter," I said, emphasizing their names with a heavy dose of irony, my eyes pointedly dropping down to their joined hands.
Peter followed my gaze, his face turning an impressive shade of red.
He tried to subtly pull his hand away, but MJ simply tightened her grip, refusing to let him go.
"It is... it is also very nice to meet you, Dr. Spencer," Peter stammered, his voice cracking slightly. He offered an awkward wave with his free hand. "And Miss Wanda! Hi!"
Wanda, finally recovering her composure, offered an embarrassed smile. "Hi to both of you."
I crossed my arms over my chest, leaning back against the stone railing of the bridge.
I looked directly at Peter, raising a knowing eyebrow.
"Your relationship seems to be progressing quite smoothly, Parker," I noted, a smug grin touching my lips. "Is that all because of my highly professional advice?"
Peter looked absolutely terrified to answer the question in front of MJ, his eyes darting between my face and his girlfriend's deadpan expression.
"I... uh... no," Peter said. He slumped his shoulders in defeat. "Okay, yes. Yes, it is mostly because of you. Thank you."
MJ opened her mouth, clearly preparing to deliver a devastating critique of Peter's reliance on a stranger's dating advice.
I decided to cut her off before she could ruin the poor kid's self esteem.
"We are about to go for a late lunch," I announced, clapping my hands together. "Why don't you two join us?"
Peter blinked, looking incredibly overwhelmed. "Oh, no, Dr. Spencer, we couldn't. Are we bothering you? We don't want to intrude on your... bridge activities."
"No, that's totally fine," I insisted, gesturing vaguely down the cobblestone street. "I also want to see some awkward teenage romance while I am eating. It aids in my digestion."
Peter looked completely embarrassed, burying his free hand into his face.
"We like free food," MJ stated, ignoring Peter's mortification entirely. "Lead the way, Love Guru."
We walked a few blocks away from the main tourist arteries, navigating the narrow alleys until we found a high end Italian fusion restaurant tucked behind a wrought iron gate.
I requested a private dining room.
The maître d', recognizing the weight of the euro notes I subtly slipped into his palm, immediately ushered us down a quiet hallway and into a secluded room.
The room was elegant, featuring a large circular table draped in crisp white linen, surrounded by velvet backed chairs.
We took our seats. I sat next to Wanda. Peter and MJ sat opposite us.
Chapter 123: Lunch Conversation (2)
[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]
The doors clicked shut, isolating us entirely from the hum of the main dining room.
I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the table, and looked directly at Peter.
"Listen to me, kid," I whispered. "You can order whatever you want to impress your girlfriend. I will pay for all of it."
Peter leaned forward, whispering back in the same hushed tone. "Dr. Spencer, isn't that... isn't that too much? This place looks like they charge for the napkins."
"Don't worry, Peter," I whispered back, offering a perfect Bruce Wayne-esque smirk. "I'm rich."
Peter blinked, absorbing the sheer bluntness of the statement. "Oh. Okay then."
A polite knock echoed from the heavy doors.
"Come in," I shouted, leaning back in my chair.
A waiter dressed in a pristine white jacket entered the room, holding a leather bound notepad. He stood at attention by the head of the table.
"What may I bring for the table this afternoon?" the waiter asked.
"We will start with the garlic butter tiger shrimp, the seared scallops, and a large platter of the wild boar ragu with handmade pappardelle," I said, glancing at Wanda, who offered a compliant nod. "Oh, and bring us a bottle of your finest Barbaresco."
I turned my gaze to Peter and MJ. "And for you two?"
"I'll have the truffle risotto," MJ said.
"I'll... I'll take the same," Peter echoed quickly.
"Would you like to add anything else?" I asked Wanda, placing my hand over hers on the table.
"No," Wanda smiled. "That already sounds like a feast."
"That is all for today," I told the waiter.
The waiter bowed slightly, retreating from the room and pulling the heavy doors shut behind him with a click.
As soon as the door closed, Wanda leaned slightly toward me, her voice dropping into a whisper.
"Aryan," Wanda whispered, her eyes flicking toward Peter. "He is Spider Man."
Peter visibly jumped in his chair, a look of soul crushing panic washing over his face. He looked wildly at the doors, then back at Wanda.
"Ma'am!" Peter hissed, holding his hands up frantically. "You can't just say that to everyone! It's a secret identity! Secret identity!"
"Do not worry, Peter," Wanda said calmly, waving a dismissive hand. "Aryan is our own. He is completely trustworthy."
Peter slowly lowered his hands, looking at me with a newfound intensity.
"Wait," Peter asked, leaning forward over the table. "Do you also have some kind of power, Dr. Spencer? Are you an enhanced individual?"
"Yes," I answered without a moment of hesitation, maintaining a completely stoic expression.
Peter's eyes lit up with excitement.
He practically vibrated in his chair. "Really? What is your superpower? Can you fly? Do you have energy blasts? Are you super strong?"
I looked him dead in the eye, letting a beat of silence build the tension.
"My superpower," I said gravely, "is 'I'm rich.'"
The excitement drained out of Peter's face like water out of a leaky bucket.
He slumped back into his velvet chair, looking disappointed.
"Oh," Peter mumbled. "Like... like Batman."
Wanda burst into laughter, covering her mouth with her hand as she leaned her head against my shoulder.
Peter looked incredibly embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding MJ's gaze.
"Does your girlfriend know that you are Spider Man?" I asked, steering the conversation to save the kid from his misery.
"Yes," Peter nodded, shooting a nervous glance at MJ. "I told her last night. After the opera."
"Oh, that is actually quite good," I offered. "In that way, she can understand your problems. Your sudden absences, your inability to give her all your time... you know, communication is very important for a long term relationship. Transparency prevents resentment."
Wanda gently slapped my bicep, her laughter subsiding into a fond smile. "Stop giving your advice, Aryan. You sound like a daytime talk show host."
"I am the love expert here," I defended, adjusting my cuffs. "I orchestrated his entire romantic triumph on the bridge that day. I demand respect."
MJ rested her chin on her hand, looking at us with her characteristic deadpan stare.
"What were you guys whispering about?" MJ asked.
"Oh, no, nothing," I said casually, waving a hand. "We were just talking about if you knew about his secret identity as Spider Man."
"Of course I know about that," MJ said, rolling her eyes. "It was very obvious from his incredibly suspicious behavior all the time. He literally disappears every time a monster shows up."
"Wow," I said, looking at Peter with a faux impressed expression. "You are quite observant regarding him, Miss MJ. He didn't stand a chance."
MJ didn't smile, but a faint pink hue touched her cheeks. "Nothing."
"Tell us about your experience as a Spider Man," I prompted, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms.
Wanda also looked curious.
Peter rubbed his neck again, clearly unaccustomed to having an audience that included the Scarlet Witch.
"Well," Peter started hesitantly. "I fought an alien on an alien planet once."
"Wow," I said, infusing my voice with genuine awe. "That is quite an extraordinary experience for a high school field trip."
"Do not disturb him, Aryan," Wanda scolded softly, placing a hand on my thigh under the table.
"Okay, my lips are sealed," I promised, making a zipping motion over my mouth.
"It was... it was crazy," Peter continued, his hands moving animatedly as he got into the story. "We fought Thanos on Titan. Me, Mr. Stark, Doctor Strange, and those guys from space... We almost had the glove off his hand, but then things went really, really bad."
We all sat in silence, listening as Peter recounted the chaotic battle on the dead planet.
He described the purple sky, the crushing gravity, and the sheer terror of fighting a being that wielded the Infinity Stones.
Suddenly, a knock echoed on the mahogany door.
"Come in," I called.
The waiter entered, followed by a second staff member, both pushing silver trolleys laden with steaming dishes.
"Your meal, signore," the waiter announced softly.
They began arranging the food on the crisp white tablecloth one by one.
The garlic scented aroma of the tiger shrimp mixed with the rich scent of the wild boar ragu.
After placing the food, the waiter retrieved the bottle of Barbaresco, uncorking it with a swift motion.
He poured a generous measure into the crystal glass in front of me and then poured another measure into Wanda's glass.
"Buon appetito," the waiter murmured, bowing slightly before exiting the room and pulling the heavy doors completely shut.
"You can continue," I said to Peter, reaching for the serving tongs. "Don't let the arrival of the food stop your superhero monologuing."
I picked up the platter of garlic butter tiger shrimp, transferring a large portion onto my own plate.
I carefully picked up a steaming shrimp with my fork. Using my knife, I meticulously peeled the shell away from the tender meat, dragging the pink flesh through the pool of garlic butter resting on the plate.
I turned toward Wanda, hovering the fork in front of her lips.
Wanda smiled, her eyes crinkling with affection as she opened her mouth, accepting the bite. She chewed slowly, a soft hum of approval vibrating in her throat.
Peter, who had been mid sentence detailing a maneuver he had pulled on Titan, stopped talking.
He stared at me, then looked down at the unpeeled shrimp resting on the communal platter.
An embarrassed flush crept up Peter's neck. He hastily grabbed the serving tongs, dropping two large shrimp onto his own plate.
He fumbled with his knife and fork, awkwardly attempting to peel the shell off the shrimp, his movements jerky and uncoordinated compared to my smooth execution.
After wrestling the shell free, Peter hesitantly held his fork out toward MJ.
MJ looked at the shrimp, then looked at Peter's heavily blushing face.
She leaned forward and took the bite, chewing with her usual stoic expression.
"Thanks," MJ mumbled.
Peter beamed, a goofy smile taking over his face.
He cleared his throat, desperately trying to regain his train of thought. "So, yeah. And then... when I first came back from the Snap, I was still on that dead planet. I didn't know where we should go, or what was happening. But suddenly, there was this sparking yellow circle in front of me. And I stepped through, and I was back on Earth."
Chapter 124: Lunch Conversation (3)
[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]
Peter took a sip of water before continuing.
"I was quite surprised to see a massive war going on," Peter explained, his hands gesturing wildly. "And the portal dropped me right in the middle." Thankfully, my suit received an automated message from Mr. Stark explaining the tactical situation, so I understood what was going on."
"You guys are true heroes," I said, raising my wine glass toward him in a genuine toast. "All of you. Stepping out of a portal into a warzone and just getting to work? That takes an unbelievable amount of courage. I applaud everyone from that fight."
Peter looked incredibly embarrassed by the praise, ducking his head and focusing intently on his risotto. "I just... I just wanted to help Mr. Stark."
I took a slow sip of the heavy red wine, letting the complex flavors settle on my tongue.
"So," I asked, setting the glass down. "What is your plan for tomorrow? Are you continuing the European tour?"
"We will be going back to the US tomorrow," Peter answered. "This was just an extended trip orchestrated by Nick Fury, and it was not initially in our school plan. We will be going back because the problem has been solved."
"Oh?" I asked, feigning innocent curiosity. "What problem is that?"
"An ex-employee of Stark Industries had gone mad and became a full villain," Peter explained, shaking his head. "He deceived everyone with their own technology. They were using a highly advanced orbital satellite network to control thousands of combat drones. The drones had holographic projectors on them to create realistic illusions of elemental monsters, and they used sonic cannons and physical weaponry to do real damage to the cities."
Peter looked across the table at Wanda, his expression filled with gratitude.
"But thankfully, yesterday night, thanks to Miss Wanda, we were able to know the truth. She saw right through his lies. If it weren't for her, we would have been deceived the entire time, and he probably would have leveled this city to look like a hero."
I slowly turned my head, looking at Wanda with an expression of exaggerated awe.
"Wow," I breathed, raising my eyebrows high. "You have that power?"
"Yes," Wanda answered, taking a delicate sip of her wine.
"Can you read my mind?" I asked, dropping my voice into a dramatic whisper.
"I have never tried," she replied, a teasing light dancing in her green eyes.
"Why is that?" I pressed, placing a hand dramatically over my heart. "Because of your absolute trust in me? Or because of the overwhelming power of your love?"
Wanda let out a laugh, picking up her fork.
"I can feel the emotions of everyone near me, even without using my active power," Wanda explained softly, looking directly into my eyes, completely ignoring Peter and MJ sitting across the table. "And from you, Aryan... I feel only love for me. All the time. There is no need to read a mind when the heart is screaming so loudly."
I completely froze.
The theatrical persona I had been wearing evaporated in an instant.
I felt a rushing heat flood my cheeks, turning my entire face bright red.
She had taken my dramatic joke and responded with a truth so blunt and beautiful it effectively knocked the wind out of me.
"Oh," I stammered, entirely embarrassed by her straightforward answer. "Well. That is... that is good."
Wanda smiled, her eyes crinkling with satisfaction at rendering me speechless.
She picked up a piece of the wild boar ragu with her fork, reaching across the table to place it directly onto my plate.
"Try this," she commanded.
I picked up the fork, stabbing the meat and bringing it to my mouth. I chewed, trying to regain my composure.
"Wow," I mumbled, clearing my throat. "This is amazing."
MJ, who had been silently observing our entire exchange while eating her risotto, set her fork down with a loud clink against the porcelain plate.
"So," MJ asked, her dark eyes pinning us to our seats. "When did you two meet? What is your story?"
"It's a long story," I said quickly, waving a dismissive hand, eager to shift the spotlight off my blushing face. "I think this delicious food is not enough to sustain the telling of the entire story. It started at the very beginning of the world, when the stars first aligned and..."
"Make it short," MJ interrupted, her expression completely devoid of patience for my poetic rambling.
I choked on the piece of wild boar, coughing violently into my napkin.
Wanda burst into laughter, patting me firmly on the back as I gasped for air.
"Oh, okay," I wheezed, wiping my mouth and taking a gulp of wine to clear my throat. "Short version. Got it."
I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the table, fixing MJ with a serious look.
"The short version goes like this," I began. "Wanda purchased an empty plot of land. I purchased the house situated directly beside that plot of land. She came to town to inspect her property and, somehow, by a sheer stroke of geographic luck, met me. The incredibly handsome guy next door."
Wanda rolled her eyes, but she didn't interrupt.
"During that time," I continued, "the only viable motel in our quiet little town caught on fire. A tragic electrical fault. Wanda had no choice but to seek alternative lodging. I gave her a suggestion: why not move into my massive house and be a roommate? And from there... proximity bred affection. Love blossomed over perfectly cooked tandoori chicken."
I turned my head, looking deeply into Wanda's eyes, reaching out to trace the knuckles of her hand resting on the white tablecloth.
"I think we were made for each other," I murmured, my voice dropping lower, completely forgetting about the two teenagers sitting across from us. "The moment I saw her, I imagined my whole life with her."
"Oh, is that so?" Wanda whispered, her eyes turning an affectionate green. "What did we do in this life you imagined?"
"Of course," I said, a genuine smile pulling at my lips. "We are going to get married. And we will have a quiet house. And we will have two children."
Wanda's eyes widened slightly. The mention of two children... it was a number she had dreamed of herself in the quiet corners of her mind before Westview.
"Why two children only?" Wanda asked, her voice incredibly soft, trembling with a vulnerability.
I looked down at her hand, my thumb tracing the veins on the back of her skin.
"Because," I said. "I used to be two siblings. I had one younger brother. But... unfortunately, he is not in this world."
Wanda's expression shattered, a wave of sorrow and empathetic understanding washing over her face.
She knew the pain of losing a sibling. She knew the agony of being the one left behind.
"Oh, Aryan," Wanda breathed, a single tear escaping her eyelashes and tracking down her cheek. "I am so sorry."
She didn't care about the teenagers sitting across the table.
She stood up, closing the distance between us in a single step, throwing her arms tightly around my shoulders and pulling my head firmly against her chest.
She hugged me, burying her face into my hair, holding me with a consoling strength.
I let out a long breath, wrapping my arms around her waist, burying my face into the soft wool of her cardigan.
"It's OK," I mumbled. "It's been many years. I have made my peace with it. And... I have you now."
"Yes," Wanda whispered fiercely, pressing a kiss to the top of my head, her hands stroking my hair. "You have me now. Always."
From across the table, a dramatic groan shattered the heavy emotional silence.
"Oh my gosh," MJ said, her voice monotone but dripping with absolute exasperation. "You guys should literally go get a room right now."
Wanda and I separated immediately, both of our faces flushing an embarrassed red.
I cleared my throat loudly, reaching for my wine glass with trembling fingers, while Wanda hastily wiped her eyes and sat back down in her chair.
"This is how we meet," I said to Peter and MJ, my voice cracking slightly, attempting to recover the lost dignity of the moment. "Trauma and carbohydrates. A potent combination."