Chapter 6
See the countryside
Make out in front of school children
Just as I suspected, Gabrielle is treating me differently now. She watches me from the corner of her eye, I hear her whispering as she talks on the phone with her boyfriend. She no longer listens to her 80’s music at a blaring volume because she most likely doesn’t want to bother me.
I wish I hadn’t told her the truth about my illness. But realistically, I know I probably would have explained at some point in the next week. My exhaustion. The many pills I take. It’s all too suspicious. She’s smart, she would have put two and two together.
Fortunately, Christian was at my door, coffee in hand, at ten in the morning on the dot. Despite feeling slightly awkward because of our make-out session, I was all too glad to leave for the day. By eleven we’re settled in a seat next to each other, my camera in my lap, as the train zooms its way toward some unknown destination.
His shoulder is warm as it presses against me. I wish I could rest my head on him. Lean into his strong body and close my eyes. But that’s boyfriend and girlfriend stuff, and just the thought makes me uneasy.
We definitely aren’t there in our relationship, and considering I’m leaving in less than a week for Norway and this is supposed to be a one-night stand, I don’t plan on ever getting there. Every few minutes or so the train stops at another station. I see peeks of the ocean beyond pretty white houses. I love Copenhagen, but I’m thrilled to get away for a while.
“So,” I say, sipping my coffee. He thinks all Americans drink coffee, and I don’t have the heart to tell him I prefer tea. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
“Well, that would ruin the surprise…”
I grin up at him. God, he’s so cute. He’s wearing jeans and a V-neck t-shirt. I had no idea guys could look so hot in t-shirts and jeans. I’d barely had time to say hello before he was kissing me this morning…long and hard, like it was completely natural. I wonder briefly where he thinks this relationship is going. Is it a vacation fling to him? He’ll enjoy my company while I’m here, then wave goodbye when I leave? I can deal with that.
“But since we’ll be there in ten minutes…” he continues. “Have you ever read Hamlet?”
I grimace. Thanks to Zach, I have. “God, yes. Unfortunately.”
He laughs. “I see you loved it.”
“Go on.”
His hand rests on my thigh. The same hands that touched me so intimately last night. There’s something artistic, masculine, and beautiful about his hands. I could do an exhibit of photographs just on his hands. “Well, there’s a castle mentioned in Hamlet. Kronborg is in a town north of Copenhagen. That’s where we’re going.”
I straighten in surprise. “A castle?”
He nods. “Bit more rustic than Rosenborg. You’ll love it.”
Of course I’ll love it. Truth is, I’d love going anywhere with him, and that realization hits me hard. Damn it all, I like him…too much. Bemused, I look out the window. We’re heading into a station. Has this become more than just a way to get rid of my virginity, more than just a fun fling? It can’t be. It won’t be. I won’t allow it.
The train pauses at a small station, the end of the line. We’ve traveled through a decent chunk of Denmark in only forty-five minutes, that’s how small this country is in size. And that’s what makes it perfect for travel.
“Ready?”
Eager to escape my own dangerous thoughts about Christian and our undefined relationship, I nod and sling my camera strap around my shoulder. “Yeah, sure.”
We leave the train. The station is as small as the others, with no information offices, just some bathrooms and a convenience store. “Hey, how come sometimes women have to pay to pee but guys don’t? I thought you weren’t supposed to be sexist.”
“Have you seen the free toilets for men? They’re disgusting. Besides…cost of toilet paper?”
“Sounds sexist to me.” We move through doors and down steps of the train station. I need to keep things light, fun. “By the way, I still owe you that five kroner. Although, it will be a wonderful story to tell our future children. Your mother and father met by the toilets…”
I realize what I’ve said the moment the words leave my lips. Good god, nothing like coming off too strong. A heated blush races to my cheeks. I want to pull the words back in. I want to erase myself from existence. Since that doesn’t work, I want to throw myself into the water we’re walking along.
“Children?”
“No.” I tuck my hair behind my ears. My face is burning. “I was just joking. I mean…I don’t even want kids.”
This just keeps getting worse and worse. How can I explain to him that I can’t have kids? And even if I could, I wouldn’t want them…too afraid they’d inherit some cancer gene from me. I need to change the subject and fast.
“So, you’re not the typical American woman who dreams of a wedding and family, white picket fence?”
The thought terrifies me. “God, no.”
He laughs and slides his arm around my waist, tucking me into his side and it feels so damn right. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
Relieved, I grin up at him. “Because of my fear of commitment?”
“Yep, you’re just one of the guys.”
I’m not sure whether to laugh or cringe. “Wow, exactly what every girl wants to hear, that she acts like a guy.”
He stops and pulls me close, giving me a quick kiss. He tastes of mint. “You are anything but one of the guys.” I slide my hands up his chest and around his neck even though I’m not a fan of public affection. Just when I think he’s going to kiss me again, he nods his head toward the right. “There. Look.”
Bemused, I release my hold and turn. I’ve been so consumed with humiliating myself I haven’t really studied the scenery. There’s a small market to the left, and cobbled roads run through the city. Old buildings crammed together. A church spire or two.
Around us people are going about their lives. Some are in the market, buying plants and other things. Some are drinking coffee strolling the wharf. A few fishing boats bob on the water. It smells of sea and cold air. What looks to be a modern building is at the end of the wharf. Maybe a museum or something. As my gaze keeps traveling, I see it. The castle.
“Wow.” I’m so stunned that I don’t even take a picture, but instead, merely soak in the moment. It’s spread out across the water’s edge, the spires topped with brass-green caps, where flags snap on the breeze. “It’s beautiful.”
He takes my hand. “I knew you’d like it, despite the fact that it’s mentioned in Hamlet.”
My smile is hesitant, unsure. We start walking along the wharf that leads toward the castle. Something is bothering me, although I can’t quite put my finger on it…and then it hits me. I knew you’d like it. “You knew I’d like it? Because you know me so well after a week?”
My comment comes out snarky, but he only shrugs. “I don’t think it takes that long to truly get to know someone.”
I frown. What’s he saying? Is he really that arrogant, or does he think I’m that simple? It’s strange talking to him. Most American guys his age are emotionally immature, but not him. He tells me how he’s feeling, what he wants, without embarrassment. “Really?”
“Yes. I think the clues are pretty much there, on the surface, from the beginning. I’m not saying we know everyone’s deepest, darkest secrets in a matter of days. But whether that person is honorable, kind, horrible, jealous…I think we get hints of that pretty quickly. We just usually ignore them.”
He’s got a point, not that it makes me feel better. That unease I’m experiencing only intensifies. The guy is astute. Too astute. “You should be in psychology, not political science.”
He laughs. “Same thing. Judging people quickly.”
There are two buildings on either side of us right before we reach the bridge. One is the tall, modern building I noticed from afar. The other is some sort of museum that’s sunk into the ground. I love Denmark, the juxtapositions of new and old.
“You know, usually those people who can read others well have had something horrible happen to them. It makes them more sensitive.”
“You think so?”
We pause on the bridge that leads to the castle grounds. He’s acting mysterious now. There’s something he isn’t saying. As open as he’s been, I have a feeling I’m not the only one who has secrets. “So what happened to you?”
“Swans,” he says.
“Uh…what?”
He nods toward the water. “Swans.”
I look over my shoulder. He’s changing the topic. I shouldn’t have pushed it anyway. This is supposed to be simple. No strings. One-night stand, and... “Oh my god, swans. Freaking baby swans!”
And for a moment, my attention is focused on the cute, gray birds following their parents. I lift my camera and take a picture as Christian laughs at me. “See, I knew you’d like swans.”
“Every American likes swans because we don’t have them in the U.S.” I lean over the railing, watching as the swan couple float by with their three little ugly ducklings. “They’re adorable.”
“You,” he says, moving closer and brushing his lips against mine. “Are adorable.”
I turn into him, my body pressed to his. “Adorable? One of the guys? Such flattery.”
“Okay, sexy then.” He molds his lips to mine, as his hand cups the back of my head. Vaguely I realize he never answered my question, he’s changed the subject. What did happen to him?
I finally pull away when we hear people conversing nearby. “So,” I say breathlessly. “I don’t know anything about Denmark and dating. Are public displays of affection okay? Will you get your Danish card revoked?”
He laughs, and wraps his arm around my waist. “We’re not Italians, but to Danes sex and relationships are not a big deal. Not like in America. It’s very open. Casual.”
Note to self…must visit Italy. “Really?”
He nods. “People are partners, equals. If you hook up with a friend, no big deal. If you have a one-night stand, it’s fine. We discuss our sex lives like you discuss religion.”
“Oh God, my southern, Bible-belt neighbors would faint.”
“Yes, but tell me this…which country has a higher rate of teen pregnancy? Of STDs? Of violence against women?”
It’s a rhetorical question. I know the answer. But it makes me think about how embarrassed my sister is about her sexuality. I think about how embarrassed I was until I became sick and stopped caring. But mostly I think about the fact that he’s basically given me permission to have a one-night stand. I tell myself not to ask about relationships in Denmark. I don’t want him to get the wrong idea. Yet, the words slip out anyway.
“If you’re so open, does that mean you have open relationships?”
He looks confused. We walk down a path of trees toward the castle. “What do you mean?”
Fiona’s comments about Scandinavian men come back to haunt me. “I mean…do you sleep with a lot of people at once?”
He rubs the back of his neck, as if my question makes him uneasy. “No. Not really. It’s rather similar to anywhere else, I suppose.”
I grin. About time I embarrass him. But we’re in Denmark, and according to him in Denmark people talk openly about sex. Dare I admit that I’m a virgin? No, I don’t want to be labeled. Or worse…have him look at me like I’m an oddity. I’ve had enough of that. Besides, if he knows I’m a virgin, he might back out of our one-night stand.
We cross through an arched entrance and I’m finally near the castle. A large brick wall hides most of it from view, but those brass green turret tops rise up into the blue sky, bold and beautiful. It’s larger than Rosenborg, with small buildings that form a perimeter along the outskirts. Although they were probably stables or blacksmith shops at one time, now those small buildings are stores and cafés.
“Eat first?” he asks.
My stomach practically rumbles in anticipation. “Yes, please.”
My appetite has been insatiable since arriving in Denmark. Maybe it’s the cooler weather, or the walking. Whatever it is, my mom will be happy to know I’ve gained a few pounds. We move to the closest café where there are plenty of outside tables. As I settle in a chair, I’m suddenly overwhelmed with contentment. This is why I’m here…to sit at outdoor cafés with a castle in the background. It’s so damn European.
The waitress brings menus and speaks in Danish. Christian nods and she leaves. I don’t mind that I can’t understand her. I don’t mind that her smile is way too flirty, and she acts as if I’m not present. Heck, I don’t even mind that there’s a tip jar by the check-in podium even though the internet said they don’t take tips. I’m too damn happy to let little things bother me.
I place my cloth napkin on my lap. “So, how do you pay on dates in Denmark? I mean do women pay for their own meals?”
He leans back in his chair, all elegant ease. “Usually men and women pay separately. But I’ll pay, I know how it is in your country.”
“Nope,” I say, shaking my head for added emphasis. “I’ll pay for my own, thank you very much.”
He looks uncomfortable but laughs. “As you wish.”
I quirk a brow. “Are you Princess Briding me?”
“I might be.”
“I love that movie.”
I love a lot of movies. I’ve seen a lot of movies while spending half my life in bed, or on the couch. The waitress brings bottled waters and bread, and disappears. I like the idea of paying for my own meal. My own date. We’re equal. I owe him nothing. For some reason it will make it easier to have that one-night stand.
I pick up a piece of bread. “Tell me your favorite movie. And nothing depressing. Something fun. Something you wouldn’t normally admit that you enjoyed.”
“Alright. Once while flying from Australia to Denmark a friend and I watched an Austen Powers movie. I can’t even remember which one. It was the middle of the night, we were probably stupid from lack of sleep, but we were laughing so hard our stomach muscles hurt.”
I grin. Never would I have taken him for an Austen Powers fan. I like that he surprises me.
“Well? Your turn.”
“Amelie.” I sigh. “My favorite movie is Amelie. I know…lots of women like it. But there’s something about the message—standing on the outside of life, not really participating—that gets to me. I think a lot of people are guilty of that, don’t you?”
He doesn’t respond, he’s merely studying my features as if trying to figure me out. I don’t like that look. What does he see?
I shrug, feigning indifference. “Anyway, have you watched it?”
“Yes, I saw it with…my friend.”
That elusive friend again. It’s obvious it was someone special, and the way he hesitates tells me that this person was more than just a friend. I’m not jealous, merely curious. I pick up my menu. I’m determined to get something fattening and delicious. “Swedish meatballs? Oh, I have to get them. Even if we’re not in Sweden.”
“It’s right across the water,” he says.
I perk up. I can’t see the shore from where we sit. But I can smell the salt air. “Seriously?”
“Yes, but the Danish and Swedish have a sort of rivalry, so don’t act too excited.”
I laugh, unsure if he’s joking or not. “Well, good thing I decided to go to Norway first.”
He’s still watching me intently, almost too intently. “Did you?”
Before I can respond, the waitress returns. We order our food, then relax to eat our bread and drink our water in pretty goblets. The breeze is finally cool, and I’m thankful I decided to wear a scarf. I feel very chic and European as I sit at the outdoor café, my scarf fluttering in the breeze. I could sit here forever. I could live here. In the distance are brightly colored rhododendrons and lilacs, a brilliant contrast to the light colored castle.
“So, Norway,” he mentions again. He’s watching two small children as they run across the lawn, chasing the ducks. Most of the time he’s an open book, but then there are moments like now, when he seems lost, locked away.
Secrets, the breeze seems to whisper. We all have them.
“Yep, going to Norway. My cousin, Heidi, will meet me there. So you’ll have to give me some tips.” I sip my water and grimace. “Ugh. Why do you like mineral water so much here?”
He’s drumming his fingers lightly against his glass. “Do you really want to compare food? There are quite a few things I could bring up—”
“Don’t say ketchup!”
He laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Besides, you guys put mustard on everything.”
“That is completely different.”
“Of course it is.” Our food arrives. My Swedish meatballs come with potatoes that are covered in some sort of mustard sauce. I spear one with my fork. “See?”
He’s grinning as he eats. “Mustard is acceptable.”
It’s been a long, long time since I’ve felt this happy. There are no negative thoughts that flutter through my mind. They aren’t even tapping on the edges. I’m completely in the moment. He dresses nice, I realize as I study him through my lashes. Although I’m no expert, his clothes seem expensive. Fiona said he was wealthy. Is it true?
“So, what do your parents do?” I ask. “I mean for jobs?”
He ordered some sort of pasta and takes a bite. “My father is in politics.”
“Seriously?”
He nods. Good god, I sure can pick them. Is it coincidence that Matt’s family is also in politics, or do I have a type? I take a bite. It’s delicious and actually cheaper than most of my meals have been. Yesterday I paid thirty bucks for a sandwich and a coke.
He cocks his head to the side, curious. “What? You seem surprised.”
“No,” I shake my head. “It’s just that my ex-boyfriend…his dad is in politics too.” I flush, realizing how I sound. “I mean, I’m not saying you’re…we’re not…”
He grins. “I understand.”
I take a drink, needing a moment to compose myself. Hell, I just basically called him my boyfriend. What is wrong with me? When I glance up through my lashes, I catch him staring. But he doesn’t apologize, or look away. He doesn’t play coy. “I’m not usually this…ridiculous.”
“You’re not ridiculous. You’re—”
“Don’t say adorable.”
“I was going to say sweet, charming.”
Better or worse? I’m not sure. I wrap my hand around my glass goblet. “And what does your mother do?”
“She’s a doctor.”
My water freezes halfway to my mouth, although he doesn’t notice. Good thing I won’t be meeting his mother. One look at me and she’ll know something’s wrong. I take a sip, using the time to compose myself. “Then Fiona was right…you are rich.”
His blue eyes sparkle with amusement. “Is that why you’re dating me?”
Dating? That sounds way too official, but I don’t want to ruin the moment. I take a bite, chewing slowly. Perhaps he didn’t mean anything by it. Or dating means something different here. “Of course.”
“And here I thought it was because of my ass.”
I peek at him through my lashes. “That too.”
He laughs. I love the way he laughs. Unable to help myself, I pick up my camera and take a picture before he has time to stop me. “Perfect.”
He holds up his hand. “No. Unacceptable. Now you have a picture of me, and I don’t have one of you.”
But he doesn’t need to remember me. Not like I need to remember him. Remember this moment. Still, I turn to the table next to us. It’s an English couple with an adorable toddler in a tweed dress. “Would you mind taking a picture of us?”
“Sure.” The woman jumps up and takes the camera. She can’t be much older than me, but she already has a family. Something I’ll never have. Truth is, I never really allowed myself to think about having a life because I knew I couldn’t. Wouldn’t. But Christian’s comments on the walk here have me wondering.
“Smile,” she says, lifting the camera.
Christian and I lean across the table toward each other, the castle in the background. Right before she snaps the picture, Christian takes my fingers, so that we’re holding hands upon the tabletop. This will be a photo that I keep hidden in my dresser drawer. The photo I take out when I’m too ill to do anything but remember the happy time I had here. Just before she clicks the button, I turn my head and our gazes lock.
“There you go,” the woman says, placing my camera on the table. “Lovely.”
I tear my gaze from Christian. “Thank you.”
He releases my hand. The woman returns to her table and I look at the photo. I look…so very different from the woman I saw in the mirror a month ago. I look flushed with happiness, my hair brilliant, my face fuller. I look…alive. Not half-dead. But it’s the look upon my face as I stare at Christian that really catches my attention. Hell, I look half in love.
“Let me see.”
Will he notice? I hesitate, but finally hand him the camera. “No deleting your picture.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” He leans back in his chair and smiles as he looks at our picture. But then his face changes as he flips through the photos. I fidget with my cloth napkin. Did I have something embarrassing on the card that I forgot to delete?
“These are amazing.”
A warm sense of relief washes through me, and then a giddy sense of pride. He likes my pictures. For some reason, that matters. I might not be in college, or have a job, but I have some talent. “You think so?”
“Absolutely.” He nods as he returns the camera. “I mean, I don’t know much about photography really, but to me they’re wonderful.”
And to me that’s all I need to here.
****
Inside, the castle has an open courtyard so large, the entirety of Rosenborg could fit. People are dressed up like characters from Hamlet, with faux historical accents. We’ve spent the better part of two hours walking through the many rooms, traveling up and down stairs, and my legs are beginning to burn.
But I ignore the exhaustion because today has been amazing. I lift my camera and take a picture of one of the windows. I love taking pictures through windows, a peek into the world or into a person’s life, depending on which side of the wall you’re on.
“Tower has a great view above,” Christian says.
I look up at the tower, and a moment of panic flares. So far the day has been perfect. Why ruin it? Just tilting my head back that far makes me dizzy. Plus, we still have to walk back to the train station. I don’t want to overdo things.
“Afraid of heights,” I say, even though I realize too late we walked up the tower in Copenhagen and he knows I’m lying. I flush, looking away, hoping he didn’t catch it.
“Alright. There are tunnels underground.”
I force myself to smile. “Sure. Sounds fun.”
We head to a doorway in the wall of the courtyard that leads into the darkness. As we’re going down the steps that travel underground, I know I’ve made a mistake. Darkness and balance are not friends. The world spins, the ground giving way. For the first time, I reach for his hand. The musty scent of earth and dirt is strong and almost noxious.
“Are you alright?” he asks, his breath a whisper against my cheek.
I’m holding is hand way too tightly, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “Yeah.”
“Why did you and your boyfriend break up?”
I’m surprised he’s bringing up Matt now. Maybe it’s all a diversion tactic, like when he kissed me in the tower. Or maybe he’s truly curious. “Um, usual things. He went off to college. Distance and all that.”
“And not another boyfriend since him?”
Flustered, I finally focus on him and not my dizziness. Why the questions about my love life? I don’t like them. Questions make me uneasy. We’re learning too much about each other for this to be a fling. Spending too much time together for this not to be a date. I have the sudden urge to release his hand, and would if I didn’t need his balance. “No. I don’t really do the whole boyfriend girlfriend thing.”
He pauses in the cool darkness, a tall shadow. Although I’m right beside him I can’t read his face, thank god, because that means he can’t see me either. “You don’t do weddings, marriage, kids or boyfriends?”
I shrug. “Nope.”
He continues on and I’m left to wonder if my fear of commitment has turned him on or off. We move over an uneven, dirt floor, down a wide tunnel. Heck, most guys would be thrilled I don’t want a commitment. Smaller rooms and tunnels branch off of the main area.
“This is where soldiers worked, slept,” he explains.
“Lovely.”
Slowly, we make our way down a tunnel. There are a few lights here and there, but it’s almost pitch-black. My balance falters, and my unease grows. I can hear the delighted cries of other visitors. Giggles of children as they race through the darkness. A few people have their cell phones out, producing a weak beam of light that bounces off damp stone walls. Visitors come and go, but they barely notice us. In and out of our field of vision like ghosts.
My foot hits an uneven patch and I stumble into Christian. His reaction is quick and he turns, catching me. Knight in shining armor. Really, the guy is perfect boyfriend material. But not for me. Never for me.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, just a bit dizzy.” I release a nervous laugh. “My sister says if I would just learn to use echolocation, I’d be fine.”
He wraps his arm around my waist and leads me into a side room just as a group of young children come barreling down the tunnel. Their voices echo, bouncing off the stone walls so loudly that I can’t help but cringe.
“You want to leave?”
Don’t push it, my mom had said.
We should leave. The darkness is too much. My body is nearing exhaustion, but I like the seclusion. Like being in our own little underground world. I like being with him. I don’t want this date to end. “Or…you could try kissing me again. Because, you know, that helped last time, and…”
I was half-joking, but before I can prepare myself, I feel the warmth of his breath a split-second before his mouth is on mine. There’s something about being in this dark room as people stumble by, completely unaware we’re making out that I find highly erotic. My back is suddenly pressed against a hard, stone wall. The air is cool, but he’s so damn warm. The combination sends my senses spinning. I’m dizzy, but it’s no longer because of the darkness.
I slide my hands up his chest, around his shoulders. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, exploring, taunting. Damn him. I want to wrap my legs around his waist, I want him to push me hard against the wall and slide his hands up my shirt, down my pants. How does he make me feel so out of control? Not myself? He’s gotten under my skin, and I hope he’ll be under my clothes.
“Fuck,” I whisper, against his mouth.
“Soon,” he mutters back.
I almost laugh at his response. Soon. Soon when? I can feel his erection, hard and long, pressing to my lower belly. How badly I want to touch him, to make him come. That aching desire that’s been dormant since last night flares. We can have sex here, right? No big deal. Danish people are totally blasé about intercourse. The other visitors won’t notice in the dark…
A sudden flash of light hits us. I jerk away, blinking.
Beyond the light I can see at least ten, maybe more, tiny faces, watching us, laughing, pointing, whispering. It’s like taking a dip in the Arctic Ocean. Any attraction flees with my horrifying embarrassment.
“Great,” I mutter, burying my face against his shoulder.
Christian laughs, a low chuckle that vibrates in his chest. A woman urges the children on, speaking in Danish, but even she’s smiling. We’ll be the talk of the kid’s camp for years. I think about what Christian has said about America…better to be caught making out then fighting, right?
I can feel his heart hammering erratically against my chest, and am glad I’m not the only one trying to catch my breath. Maybe, just maybe, I’ve gotten under his skin too. Maybe, just maybe, he thinks about me when he’s in bed at night.
“Shall we go back upstairs?”
Grinning, I step away from him, putting distance between us. The room is dark again as the children trail away. Silence settles. Just the two of us. No…I will not kiss him. “Probably a good idea.”
He takes my hand. “As much as I’d love to continue, I don’t particularly want to be filmed on security cameras.”
My amusement fades. I edge closer to him, my gaze jumping to the dark corners. “Oh my god, there are cameras down here?”
“Most likely.”
I should feel horrified. Instead, I merely laugh. “Great. Here comes our internet fame.”
His hand is resting so low on my back as we make our way up the steps that he’s practically touching my ass. Calm and cool Christian is no more. I can practically feel the unspent energy radiating from his body. As we reach the courtyard, I realize how much our little make out session has truly affected him. His jaw is clenched tight, his gaze dark. I’m not the only one suffering here. Will tonight be the night?
Neither of us speaks. I’m comfortable with the silence, and with him. In that silence is an understanding. This thing between us…it is going to happen. Maybe tonight. Maybe tomorrow. But at some point we’ll be in bed together. We move through the courtyard and under an arch until we’re back by the café where we had our meal.
What is it about Christian that makes me forget myself? I study his gorgeous face as we make our way up a set of wooden steps that go over a low wall. He’s not embarrassed to have been caught making out. To him it’s natural. No big deal. There are no games either. He tells me what he’s feeling, kisses me when he wants. It’s all very refreshing and freeing.
It’s not until we reach a path that I realize he’s being awfully quiet as I’ve been dissecting our relationship. What is he thinking about? “I’m sorry about my dizziness. I know it’s annoying—”
“Don’t apologize.” The water is in front of us, the castle behind. “You can’t help it. Don’t ever apologize for who you are.”
If this was a cartoon, I’d have hearts floating above my head. He doesn’t pressure me. He doesn’t apologize for who he is, and he doesn’t expect anyone else to either.
“Do you want to go back to Copenhagen?”
I’m tired. We should start toward the station. But as I look out over the water, watch the sailboats float by, I realize things have changed. There’s no reason why we can’t be friends too…right? At least that’s what I tell myself, but I can’t ignore the inkling of unease that taps on my shoulder saying, “Hey, this isn’t supposed to be complicated! It’s supposed to be wham, bam thank you, sir.”
“No,” I say. “Let’s stay a little longer.”
He slides his arm around my waist and pulls me close. I fit against him perfectly. Holding his hand feels almost natural now. We’ve only known each other a little over a week, yet everything feels so damn normal. Maybe too normal. “Come on. Let’s walk the shore.”
We move by a lilac bush, the light scent perfuming the air. It’s funny how I notice everything now. The way the sunlight sparkles and skips across the water. The way the birds chirp and sing. His scent, clean and crisp. It seeps into my clothing and keeps me thinking about him day and night.
Damn it all, I keep waiting for a shoe to drop. To find out he has a girlfriend. Or he’s into something extreme…like feet, spanking, because a guy can’t be this perfect. I refuse to accept that.
“I’ve noticed something about you,” he says as we move toward the water.
This isn’t your typical sandy beach of Florida. The shoreline is covered with rocks, from the size of a quarter to large boulders you can sit upon. A few other people are walking near the water. A young boy picks up a pebble and throws it into the sea.
“Oh do tell,” I say. “What have you noticed?”
“You avoid questions about yourself.”
“I do not. Oh look, a sailboat!” I grin up at him. “Just kidding.”
But he’s looking serious and it makes me nervous. “Every time I ask you something, you return the conversation back to me.”
He moves by me, headed toward the water. I pause amongst the boulders. “Do I?”
How the hell did he notice that? Shit, he’s even more intuitive than I’d realized. What else did he notice?
He stops near the shore and faces me. “Yes. You do. There really isn’t much you’ve told me, other than you don’t like coffee…”
I part my lips to deny the accusation, but he continues.
“You barely drank it on the train. Which means when I’ve seen you with a cup, it must be…tea?”
I nod sheepishly.
“As I was saying…you barely speak about yourself. So I’m thinking you’re either in your American witness protection program, or wanted by the law.”
“Wanted by the law, for sure. But now that you know, I’ll have to kill you.”
“Or…” he continues as if I haven’t spoken. “You joke to cover up things you don’t want to answer. Topics that make you uncomfortable.”
I laugh, but it comes out harsh, almost desperate. He’s onto me. While everyone else believes my lies, he sees through them. Dark clouds are shifting, rolling in, bringing with a cool breeze, yet I’m hot. So nervous and sweaty that my shirt sticks to my back.
I tug at my scarf. “Okay, okay. Ask away, I swear I’ll answer anything.”
And I realize in that heart-stopping moment I will. If he asks me if I’m sick, if he asks me if there’s something wrong…I know I’ll respond with the truth, because a part of me is tired of hiding it. Tired of making excuses. Tired of lying.
I lean down and pick up a smooth, blue pebble while he’s lost in thought. The castle provides a formidable backdrop to the left of us. There’s some land across the water to the right. He’s looking at me, studying my face as if he sees straight through me. Growing nervous, I shift around him and head to some large boulders near the water’s edge.
As I climb up and settle on a rock, he stands in front of me, hands in his pockets. “You talk about your mom, but you don’t about your dad.”
I shrug. “He’s not in the picture. Hasn’t been for years.”
I toss the blue pebble into the water, sending it back to from whence it came. Be free, little rock. A gull cries from above. I don’t believe in omens, but I swear it sounds like a warning.
He settles on the boulder next to me, his hard warm thigh presses to my leg. “Alright. Boyfriends?”
“Yes, many. At once.”
He quirks a brow. But he’s not laughing. This is the serious part of our relationship. Hell, it is going to actually be a relationship if we discuss our pasts, our feelings. My chest feels suddenly tight. It’s not supposed to be a fucking relationship.
“Sorry,” I say. “I had one pathetic first boyfriend when I was twelve, who kissed like a fish gasping for air. Then the one serious boyfriend. We’re still friends though. Good friends.”
He’s watching me so closely I have to resist the urge to tug at my scarf again. “How good?”
I grin. Is that a note of jealousy? But then I realize there’s no reason for him to be jealous. This is supposed to be a fling. We just met a few days ago. Damn it all. “Not that good.”
He looks out over the water. “So then, you have a mother, sister, an ex-boyfriend who is still a good friend. Your mom is an artist. You like photography and historical buildings. And of course prefer tea over coffee.”
“That sums it up.”
But he’s back to looking at me like he wants more. He wants depth. He wants to know me, the real me. I’m not sure if I can give him what he wants. Hell, I’m not sure I even know myself. I’ve become a shell of the child I had been. But I can try, I suppose.
“I live in Florida. A couple blocks from the beach. I can surf.” I shrug. “I’m not good, but at least I can get up on the board. I didn’t want to try at first. But when I’m afraid of something, for some reason, I want to meet it head-on, I want to conquer the fear.”
“I didn’t know there was surfing in Florida.”
“On the east coast…where I live.”
“Any other sports?”
“I used to play lacrosse, a long time ago.” I play with the ends of my scarf as I look out over the water. My father was coach, he loved to watch me play. As silence stretches, as if he’s waiting for more, I realize I’m spewing facts like a robot. “I was actually decent.”
“Why’d you quit?”
I shift, uneasy. This is why I don’t talk. Because everything leads back to the cancer. Everything. “I stopped enjoying it.”
It’s a lie. And I have a feeling he knows I’m lying. He’s too respectful to call me out on it.
“Is that Sweden?” I point to the land across from us. So close, a good swimmer could make it. I’m changing the subject, which he realizes. I can see the resignation in his eyes.
He looks out at the land across the bay. Thank god, he’s given up for now. But what will he ask me the next time we see each other? If there is a next time. Maybe there shouldn’t be. “Yes, that’s Sweden.”
“How many countries have you visited?”
He brushes his fingers over a small, purple flower that has somehow managed to grow within these rocks. “Many. Germany, France, Italy, Greece, Great Britain. Switzerland is stunning, you’d like it. My parents traveled a lot for work.”
“This is the first time I’ve been to Europe.” I give him something, because I know he’s annoyed with me for not opening up. “I wanted to come here because my father’s family is from Scandinavia and I thought I might feel closer to them. Know them.”
He looks at me through his thick lashes. “Do you?”
I shake my head. “Not really. But I do love it here. I don’t want to leave. It feels…comfortable. Maybe I didn’t come here to get to know them after all, but rather to know me.”
“I don’t want you to leave either.”
His words send an unwelcome bolt of pleasure through me. Too soon. This is going too fast. His gaze is dark again, intense. There are moments, like now, when I know he has a passion inside him that could delight me as much as it might frighten me. I wonder what would have happened the other day if Gabrielle hadn’t returned home. Will he be sweet in bed, or will he be demanding?
A week. My heart is hammering. We’ve only known each other a week. I shouldn’t be falling for this guy. I can’t fall for him. This was only supposed to be a fling. A chance to lose my virginity. Not…whatever this is. Yet, I can’t let go.
We’re sitting on the boulders that line the shore, across from Sweden, trapped between two countries, trapped between two worlds…the living and the dead. There are people walking around, but I don’t notice. It’s just the two of us. He presses his face into my neck, kissing the delicate skin, and sending chills down my body.
“You know, I think this is probably the best date I’ve ever been on,” I whisper.
And although my rational mind tells me not to get close…to back away, I lean into him. He wraps his arm around my waist and lowers his head, his breath warm across my lips. “Me too.”
And then we kiss.
In front of Denmark, in front of Sweden, in front of Hamlet’s castle, we kiss the perfect kiss.
I should be happy that our physical relationship is moving forward, but I’m oddly sad. Sad that this is the last time I’ll experience romance like this. Sad that in a year, two, I’ll be gone, just a memory of a girl who sat on this boulder, kissing the perfect guy.