Chapter 9
Go to a fancy dinner
Be snubbed by fancy people
It’s been two weeks since I arrived in Denmark. Fourteen days since I met Christian. Tomorrow I’m supposed to head to Norway’s capital. Say goodbye to the friends I’ve made. Say goodbye to him. But that was the plan all along…to leave. That was what I wanted. No strings attached. Right? So why do I feel so miserable?
He’s talking but I barely hear the words. I’ve marked so many amazing experiences off my list. I’ve traveled. I’ve made friends. I lost my virginity. Why can’t I be happy with that? Why, as the taxi pulls up to the museum, do I keep looking at Christian as if I want to memorize every detail of his face? Hold close every memory? Why does my heart pound so furiously that I can barely hear the taxi driver and Christian speak?
Christian pays and steps outside. Damn, why did I pick someone nice? Someone so attractive? That was where I went wrong. I should have chosen someone normal, someone forgettable. As I’m getting out, he reaches for my hand, helping me. Such a gentleman. I almost hate him for it.
I’m determined to set aside my worries and enjoy tonight, because this will be the last time I see him. Last time. And I’m not going to even think about the ache in my chest. The way I missed him when he went home to change this morning. The way I dreamt about his touch last night, even as he slept next to me.
“Have I mentioned you look adorable?” He whispers close to my ear as we move up the sidewalk. “Sorry…I mean sexy.”
I grin, unable to help myself. The black dress I’m wearing was fifty bucks on Amazon. It’s simple, but fortunately well made…and fits perfectly. The sleeves are capped and the skirt flares out at my waist in an almost 1950s type of style. I’ve also got a simple pearl necklace my mom gave me for my sixteenth birthday. I actually feel smart, pretty.
“So, what is this place?”
“A museum.”
“Really?” I say sarcastically. “I wouldn’t have guessed by the fancy façade and the statues guarding the door.”
“Ok, smartass.”
I squeeze his hand in apology and decide to change the subject before he asks me why I’m in such a pissy mood. “I like statues. There’s something intriguing about them. When it’s a good artist, it’s like he or she has captured a person’s essence, their soul, frozen in time.”
“Like your photos,” he says, pleasing me.
He releases my hand and rests his palm against my lower back. The heat of his touch burns through my dress. In a way it feels almost more possessive than holding hands. It’s like he’s leading me, branding me.
“However, the only thing I find intriguing about tonight is you.”
I shake my head. “Do you ever stop, or is the charm constantly on?”
“Do you ever accept a compliment?”
“Fair enough.” We step inside. It’s a charity event, and apparently tickets were purchased months ago, which makes me wonder…who would he have brought if I hadn’t said yes? “So tell me the truth, did you have plans to take another woman?”
He laughs. That hair that was tousled this morning from my fingers is now combed neatly into place. He looks like a damn GQ model. “No. My father picked up two tickets, with no prompting from me. To be honest, I wasn’t going to show.”
We move up a set of wide, shallow steps. Others are hovering around outside, some are headed through the doors. I look fine enough with my hair twisted up, my ballet flats and my black dress. But as I take in the other attendees I realize I’m a bit underdressed. A tad…plain.
One evening, Hope, one evening, I tell myself. I can last one evening.
Besides, I don’t really care if I’m not in designer clothes because Christian is wearing a dark, three piece suit with a blue tie that matches his eyes and he looks hot. Really hot. The crisp white undershirt molds to his muscled chest, his jacket shows off his wide shoulders, and the entire ensemble makes him look taller, sexier than any other man here. I’m not sure which I like better, Christian in a suit, or Christian naked.
“Ready?”
I nod. His hand is warm and steady against my back. It makes me feel like I belong amongst these obviously entitled, wealthy people. Or at least belong to him. But no…this is not wealthy. I take in the designer dresses, the large jewels…and have the startling realization that I’m surrounded by millionaires.
Which makes me wonder again about Christian. How rich is he?
I take in a deep breath and release it. It doesn’t matter how rich Christian is, because I’m leaving tomorrow. Tomorrow, I have to remind myself. After tomorrow I’ll never see him again. We move inside the museum. There’s a large foyer with rooms full of statues in a variety of poses on either side of the entry.
My mom would love this place. I love this place, and wish I would’ve brought my camera. In the center of the museum is a rotunda full of plants. Christian rests his hand on my lower back again and leads me toward the atrium. Tables full of champagne and fancy little hors d’oeuvres are placed on silver trays.
We pause in front of a small table. “Champagne?”
“Last time I drank alcohol it didn’t go over so well. I’ll stick with water.”
He hands me a glass of water that’s in an elegant flute. Even though I showered this morning, I swear I can still smell his scent on me. I sip, and barely hold in my grimace. It’s sparkling, of course. Gross. But I keep the glass just to have something to hold onto, as we make our way down into the rotunda of plants.
Large palm trees. Oleander. Humidity. It’s like I’m back in Florida instead of Denmark. It’s crowded, so crowded we have to say excuse me more than once. And more than one person stops Christian to shake his hand, say something in Danish, before he manages to pull away and continue on.
I breathe deeply. Focus. I need to focus. The scent of earthy plants and perfume hangs heavy in the air. I can’t ignore the fact that my chest feels tight, the floor unsteady, but is it because of memories of last night, because of my illness, or do I feel nervous at the thought of meeting his father?
I peek at Christian through my lashes as we move through the rotunda. I’m not the only one who is acting oddly, Christian has been quieter than normal. Things have changed between us. I didn’t want to believe it, but I can’t deny that I noticed a difference the moment we woke this morning.
“Here,” Christian says, leading me to a little alcove by a large palm.
His arm slides around my waist and he draws me close. I’m steady against his solid body and my unease fades a bit. We’re half-hidden, but there are still plenty of people who can see us. He doesn’t seem to care and leans down to press his lips to mine.
“Did I thank you for coming to this?”
He has such a smooth, sexy voice, I can’t help but shiver. “It’s not that bad.”
At least not now while he’s holding me.
His hand is traveling down, down my back, just above my ass. Fortunately the plants hide us. “You’ve barely met anyone. Give it time and you’ll despise it as much as I do.”
His hand moves slightly lower. A heated wave of delight is working its way through me. Just a touch, and I melt. Images of last night flash through my mind. The way he kissed me all over, everywhere. His fingers roaming my body, touching my most intimate places. My anxiety is gone and in its place an entirely new sense of worry. I want him. I want him too much. This isn’t good.
“You make it sound super fun,” I say.
I woke up with him still in my bed this morning. Strange indeed, yet, I can’t deny that it was actually nice to have his warm, strong body holding me. He’d gotten up, kissed me goodbye, said he’d come over later to pick me up. We’ve barely even discussed the fact that I’m leaving tomorrow. We seem to both be avoiding reality.
He sips his champagne. “Oh it is fun. We can play, who has most recently had plastic surgery. Or, who is cheating on whom. Which offspring isn’t living up to their parent’s expectations?”
I have the distinct feeling he’s talking about his own parents. He has only said kind words about his mother, which means it’s his father he can’t please. I hate the man even before I’ve met him. How could anyone not adore Christian?
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Don’t be.” He presses closer, his hard form molded to my side as his hand slides down, over the curve of my ass. That spot between my leg tingles, heats, throbs. My body remembers last night. Remembers every little detail. “I’d just rather spend the night with you. Alone.”
I can’t deny his words make me pleased. “Me too. But, that doesn’t mean we can’t go back to my place…or yours.”
Considering he shares an apartment with other guys, I prefer my place. But the silence stretches and he doesn’t answer. I bite my lower lip, wishing I hadn’t been so bold. We’ve only hooked up once. He’s a guy, isn’t he eager to jump into bed again? Maybe he wasn’t just my one-night stand, maybe I was his one-night stand. Why does that thought bother me?
“Sorry,” I say, then mentally curse myself. I don’t apologize, damn it. At least I didn’t back home. “I mean…I know you’re busy.”
“Hope, there’s nothing more I’d like than to—”
“Christian!” An older woman sashays forward, interrupting on a cloud of French perfume. “How lovely to see you.”
She leans forward and they cheek kiss. How European. She’s in a tight, long fancy black dress with silver piping, her gray-blonde hair swept up into a chignon. But it’s the enormous diamonds she wears on her neck, wrists, and ears that catch my attention. Sad thing is I’ve seen bigger in this room.
She speaks to him in another language. He responds, but also squeezes my hand reassuringly, as if to silently apologize for not including me. I keep my smile in place, even though I don’t understand a word of what they’re saying. It’s like I’ve landed on another planet.
“This is Hope,” he finally gets in, and she’s forced to glance my way. “Hope, Mrs. Dame.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” I say.
She looks at me like I’m a specimen in a lab. Studying me as if trying to weigh my worth. She’s toned and tanned and makes my mom look like a hippie. How I miss my mom. My mom, who is soft and warm and makes everyone feel at ease. Christian would love her. She would adore him. I shove the thoughts out of my traitorous mind.
“And do you study at the university too?”
Just like most Danish people her voice barely carries an accent. “No. Just here on vacation for the summer.”
She quirks a perfectly plucked brow, lifting her glass of champagne to sip. “How lovely. So then, you’ll be leaving soon?”
I bite back my laugh. It’s so obvious she wants me gone. Why, I wonder? “Norway tomorrow, actually.”
“Oh?” Her gaze flickers to Christian. I notice the unasked question in her eyes. She’s wondering if we’re going together. Who is this woman and why does she care so much about Christian’s love life? “How nice. You can show her the best spots to visit.”
“No, just me,” I interrupt. “I’m meeting my cousin there.”
A smile spreads across her lips. Relieved and delighted all at once. She looks like our cat, Pancake, when he traps a lizard in the house. “Lovely. And when do you return to Norway, Christian?”
“Supposed to in a couple weeks or so.”
He belongs here amongst this wealth. He fits in with these rich, beautiful people.
“Lovely.” She sips her champagne again. “And your mother?”
She says lovely a lot.
“Good. Busy.”
I have the feeling I’ve been dismissed.
“Hmm. I’m sure. I decided to stay at home with my children. It’s such an important time to nurture young minds, or so the experts say, and I’m not one to argue with experts.”
I slide Christian a glance. It sounded like a dig to me but Christian doesn’t respond or react. In fact, he has the same blasé, cold-stare that so many here seem to wear.
I’m annoyed enough for Christian’s mom that I can’t keep silent. “Yes, Christian’s mom works, but it doesn’t seem to have affected him. In fact, he turned out rather well. You do think he turned out well, don’t you?”
I don’t miss the way her ice-blue eyes turn brittle. I’ve poked the dragon, and inserted myself back into the conversation. How utterly fun. Maybe this night won’t be so bad. “Of course. Christian is wonderful, and deserves someone just as special.”
“Thank you,” I reply.
Obviously she didn’t mean me. I’m no one special here, but I just couldn’t help myself. I feel the undeniable trembling of Christian’s hand on my back and when I glance up, yes…I can see he’s trying very hard not to laugh, which makes me want to laugh. The Christian I know and adore is back.
She starts into conversation with Christian, back to Danish. I’ve been dismissed. Most likely she’s telling him he can do much better. Bored, I glance around the room. They all look so similar in their wealthy privilege.
Is that what these women do? Sit at home…go to the spa…wear their jewels and designer dresses, while trying to outdo each other? It’s all so very Real Housewives that I’m rather disappointed. I thought better of Europe.
But they’re not real stay-at-home moms who spend twenty-four hours a day taking care of their kids. Nor are they working mothers who try to juggle both. These are the kind of women who have nannies to raise their children. Who send their kids to boarding school. Shit, is this where Christian is from? Is this where he belongs?
“Kirstin is here,” the woman says.
I feel Christian’s hand tighten on my back. Who is Kirstin? Then it hits, and a sick feeling of dread washes over me. Kirstin? Kirstin who likes to kiss Christian even though they’re just friends? And suddenly, I realize that the older woman I’m looking at is probably Kirstin’s mom. Same high cheekbones. Same tall, lean bodies. Same fake tans. Which is why she hates me…she wants her daughter and Christian together.
“Christian!”
And as if by magic, the young, leggy blonde is in front of us. She throws her arms around his neck, and I don’t miss the way he lets me go. They hug and she kisses him on his cheek, and all I can think about is at least it’s not his mouth. I can tell Christian is uncomfortable, but he also doesn’t pull away.
She’s wearing an incredibly tight, long white dress that is molded to her thin body. Her golden hair is twisted up into a knot, showing off an elegant neck, and dangling diamond earrings. How horrible it would be if one of those statues happened to topple over and smash her pretty head.
The older woman says something in Danish. They all laugh like one big, freaking happy family. Shit, is this who Christian will end up with once I’m dead and buried? A snob like Kirstin? The thought makes me nauseous.
I’m seriously thinking of slinking off to the bathrooms to hide when Kirstin turns toward me. Jesus, she’s even more beautiful up close. “Hello. You’re Hope? Christian has told me all about you.”
She seems pleasant, her smile is friendly. I’m not buying her act for a second. I know fake when I see it. I’ve had to deal with fake my entire illness. Those blue eyes are as brittle as her mom’s. I shake her hand. It’s thin, cold, and she quickly pulls away. “It’s nice to meet you.”
And even as much as I’m determined to focus on my hatred for her, something else hits me…
“You’re Hope? Christian has told me all about you.”
Told her all about me? As in…she knew about me before this night? Christian told her. But why? I’m not sure whether to be offended they were discussing me, or pleased Christian told her he’s seeing someone.
They launch into Danish again, leaving me to mull over my thoughts. What exactly did he tell her? Maybe it was merely a conversation between two friends. Perhaps he was getting her opinion. Or maybe he was bragging about his one-night stand. Which is the real Christian: innocent, kind, caring, or jackass who brags about his conquests?
“Yes,” he responds in English. “Hope is visiting.”
I can tell he’s purposefully drawing me back into the conversation. She either doesn’t get the hint or is replying in Danish on purpose. That little crease appears between his brows. I noticed it a few days ago…a telltale sign he’s upset about something.
My heart flutters, my chest grows warm. He’s trying to make me feel included. Worried about hurting my feelings. He looks annoyed, frustrated. How could I ever have thought he would brag about a one-night stand? Yeah, he might have shitty taste in friends, but he’s a knight in shining armor. He’s perfect.
And the realization hits me hard…it’s going to suck leaving him behind.
“No.” He gives her a stiff smile. “Of course not.”
I have no idea what they’re saying and I suddenly don’t care. When he takes my hand I don’t miss the way she notices, her mouth tightening. She’s long, and lean, and as tall as I would have been if I hadn’t been stunted by chemicals. But he’s with me. Me.
She leans onto his opposite side, smiling, and says something that makes him give her a reluctant smile back. For a brief moment I imagine us getting into a tug-of-war. But nope, I have never and will never fight over a man. I have too much respect for myself.
I might suck at flirting, but I know it when I see it. Her mother watches on with approval. She’s hoping Christian ends up with her daughter. Probably hoping Christian can save her kid. I almost feel sorry for the older woman. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that no one can save us. We have to save ourselves.
“There’s your father, Christian.” Mrs. Dame waves an older man over. “How wonderful he looks.”
The man smiles a stiff smile and starts toward us. He’s handsome. Dark hair peppered with gray, body lean and fit. He wears a suit as dark and as fitted as his son’s. He looks so much like Christian that it’s a bit startling. But as I look into the man’s cold, blue eyes I realize how very different they are.
“Hope, my father.”
And suddenly those blue eyes are on me. “Call me Henry. Lovely to meet you, I’m sure.”
Whereas warmth seeps from Christian, his father is all brittle coldness. Typical rich guy. If I had planned on having a relationship with Christian, I’d be more than uneasy about becoming part of this family, but I’m not. Still, it’s obvious that not only does the Dame family not want me here, but Christian’s father as well.
This night just keeps getting better and better. Maybe I need some champagne after all.
****
“Now this one lost its head in a fierce battle,” I say. “A Black Friday shopping spree.”
He frowns, confused. I love it when his brows draw together that way, and he looks at me like I’m a puzzling mystery. I have the strangest urge to smooth the skin there. “What is that?”
“You don’t know it? You’ve never heard?” I sigh. “Sad indeed. Every year in America, after Thanksgiving, a holiday in which families get together, argue and gorge themselves on food, they get up in the wee hours of the morning, prepare themselves to…shop. That’s right, get the best deal. Fights break out. People are hurt. Some even die. And all to find that elusive Christmas gift on sale.”
He smiles, but I can tell he’s not really into our conversation. “It sounds wonderful.”
Something is bothering him. “Just a typical day in America.”
I take a sip of my water. We walk between stone heads on pedestals. No bodies, just heads. Poor statues. I feel a kinship with these heads. Lost, not really connected, wondering what the hell happened and how they got here.
Most of the guests are in the atrium, eating and drinking, making business deals, arranging marriages between their rich kids. Although there are a few couples strolling through the gallery rooms, it’s mostly just us and the statues.
When we step across the threshold into the next gallery, I have only a moment to notice we’re alone before he slides his arm around my waist, and pulls me up into his hard body. His lips find mine and I want to believe that everything is normal, but the kiss is a little too hard, a little too desperate. Something is wrong.
I push my hand gently against his chest and pull away. For a long moment, we stare into each other’s eyes, as if trying to understand one another, or maybe this moment. His blue eyes have gone cold. It’s something I’ve seen flashes of before. And I realize when this happens, he resembles his father more than ever.
He’s not perfect. He has his own baggage. His own demons. But damn, if I don’t like him anyway. I swallow hard, hating the tight feeling I have in my chest. Sorrow. Compassion. Affection. There are a variety of emotions I have no right to feel. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”
His jaw clenches. “I know.”
I smooth my hand down the lapels of his jacket. “Promise me something…if we never happen to see each other again.”
He quirks a brow.
I know I should keep my mouth shut, but I need to tell him this one thing, just this one thing, even if he’s so pissed he kicks me out of the museum. “This is going to sound horrible, and please don’t be offended, but….”
His gaze looks amused now. “Yes?”
“Please, don’t change.”
“I don’t plan on it.”
Frustrated and unsure, I turn and start through the gallery. “No, I mean…”
What do I mean?
He falls into place beside me, his hands in his pockets. “Don’t turn into my father?”
I press my lips together. This is a road I should not be going down. You can’t tear into another person’s parents without feeling the backlash. At the same time I just can’t leave it alone. “I really, really like you the way you are.”
He leans down and kisses my cheek. I can’t read anything in his gaze, and I’m still wondering if I’ve pissed him off. “I’m not perfect, Hope. There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”
His words offend and intrigue me all at once. “I don’t think I know you, I just…”
“Are you hungry?”
I hesitate, unsure if I should feel annoyed by the interruption. Okay, so we’re just going to pretend like this conversation didn’t happen. Fine by me. “Starving.”
He smiles, but its stiff and not at all like the Christian I’ve come to know in the last two weeks. Maybe he’s right, maybe I don’t really know him. “Wait here. I’ll be right back with some food.”
He disappears and I’m left alone with the statues. Was I just dumped? Hell, he’s probably not coming back. I offended him. Shit. I start to follow, intent on making things right when Kirstin suddenly steps into the gallery. Startled, I pause, wondering if she’s been lurking there all along, hidden amongst the statues.
“Hello, Hope, was it?” She smiles a tight smirk, while holding a glass of champagne in her perfectly manicured hands.
Hello creeper. I force myself to smile in return. “Yes. Hi.”
“It’s so lovely that you were able to tag along with Christian.”
Tag along? As if I don’t belong here. Got it. Duly noted. I glance down the hall where Christian disappeared, but he’s long gone, leaving me with this psycho. He said she has problems. Yeah, well, get in line, lady, we all have them. “If you’ll excuse me, I—”
“Have you and Christian been dating long?”
I hesitate to tell her the truth just because it will make her feel better. Instead, I sip my water…slowly. She’s waiting. Practically tapping her foot in impatience. Fine, I’ll tell her, but I refuse to admit we met by the bathroom. “I met him about two weeks ago.”
She tilts her head back and laughs.
My face flushes with irritation, or maybe embarrassment. I never got to experience mean girl bullying at school, so I can mark this off my bucket list. Hooray for me. “Yes, just a summer thing. I’ll be leaving tomorrow, actually.”
In other words, calm your skinny ass down. I don’t know why I’m trying to placate her. I should tell her to fuck off. But I don’t want to embarrass Christian in front of his people. Nor do I want to give her any indication that I’m some pathetic loser who has fallen for a guy in two weeks.
She looks me up and down. “Christian and I have known each other a long, long time.”
“In other words back off. I get it. This cliché storyline has been done a million times before.”
“Don’t patronize me,” she hisses, stepping closer. “I won’t be the villain in whatever ridiculous story you’ve concocted in your head. I’ve known Christian since birth. We belong together.”
I step closer to her, even though I have to tilt my head to meet her gaze. Damn her Amazonian height. “Listen, Kirstin, you’re looking for a fight when there isn’t one. I leave tomorrow, then he’s all yours. I suggest you move on to your next victim.”
She hesitates. I can tell she isn’t sure how to respond to my bluntness. She expected me to either bitch slap her or run away in tears. I don’t care enough to cry. I have bigger issues. At least that’s what I tell myself. I lift my glass in a silent salute then leave her. But as I walk away, I realize I am upset. A variety of feelings bombard me all at once, leaving me confused and bewildered. I don’t care. I shouldn’t care. I do care. I place my water glass on a table.
Dating him was a bad, bad idea. It was supposed to be a fucking one-night stand. Yet, I can’t even think about Christian and Kirstin together without wanting to puke. Please, please let him end up with anyone but her. I move through the rooms, flushed and annoyed because she’s right. He and I won’t last. I won’t even be in this country tomorrow. Let alone on this planet in a couple years.
I hear Christian before I see him. He and his father are talking near a palm. To say I’m relieved, is an understatement. I don’t want to admit it, but I feel better when he’s near. And even as I seek him out, I’m pissed because I’m not supposed to need anyone. They’re speaking in Danish so I can’t understand. Neither seems to notice me. I move down the few steps and into the atrium.
“You can’t be serious,” his father snarls, switching to English. “American trash? You’re embarrassing the family by bringing her here.”
I freeze at the bottom of the steps. Shit. I can take a lot, but being called trash is a bit harsh. I can’t decide whether to laugh, or slink off unnoticed. Christian snaps back something in Danish. His face looks as hard as the granite statues around us. He looks pissed. I don’t want to come between him and his father. It’s not worth it.
“You’re going to get rid of the American and you’re going to continue with political science. You are not switching majors.”
This is personal. It’s not about me, it’s about Christian’s future, a future where I don’t fit. Where I don’t belong. And it’s too fucking much. It’s hot. I feel dizzy and exhausted. From my cheap dress, to the snubs from those I meet, to my own body’s reaction…everything is reminding me that I’m not supposed to be here.
I drop my pretense of indifference and move across the atrium, weaving my way through the crowds to get to the entryway. I’ll text Christian and tell him I had to go. Wasn’t feeling well. Run away. It’s what I do best.
A waiter steps in front of me, a tray in hand. “Something to drink, Miss?”
I shake my head, and dart around him, frantic to escape. Why does the door seem so far away? I can’t breathe, my chest feels tight. I refuse to have a panic attack here.
On the front steps I finally pause to take a breath. A soft, cool rain is falling. Puddles shimmer like obsidian under the street lights. Everything smells musty and clean. I tilt my head back and relax my shoulders. Pure relief. I’m not sure where I’m going, but I’m not worried. Despite being dark, the street is busy enough that I know I’ll find a cab.
“Hope,” Christian calls out.
Shit. No sly escape for me. “Yeah, hey,” I say, starting down the steps, not daring to turn and meet his gaze. “I’m not feeling well. I’m just going to go.”
He grabs my hand, his fingers so strong and sure, I sort of hate him. “It’s raining. Wait here, I’ll get a cab.”
But he doesn’t leave and we stand there on the stairs, staring into each other’s eyes. Is he going to pressure me to stay? No, because he’s Christian and he doesn’t ever pressure. He’s too damn respectful. Hell, maybe I was delusional to imagine I could have a one-night stand with this guy. Why did I have to pick him? Why?
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry I said anything negative about your father.”
He frowns, shaking his head. “No. Don’t be.”
The rain thickens. My dress is getting soaked. A fine sheen of water covers my arms and legs and I’m starting to shiver from cold. He’s soaked too, and it’s ruining his suit. Still, we don’t move. I have this horrible, wretched feeling that once I get into that cab, I’ll never see him again. “You seemed…upset.”
He reaches out, resting his hands on my upper arms, his fingers so damn warm. Water trails down the harsh planes of his face, highlighting the masculine angles. “You think that’s what upset me?”
I give a little shrug. “What else?”
“Hell, no.” He rakes his hands through his hair, slicking it back. “I’m upset because you’re leaving tomorrow. You’re right about my father.”
My breath catches. He’s upset about me leaving? “Oh.”
He paces in front of me, flustered and confused in a way he’s never been. “You overheard us talking, didn’t you?”
I cross my arms over my chest, trying to keep warm. I know with my weakened immune system I shouldn’t be at a damn party anyway, nor should I be standing out in the cold rain, but I can’t seem to leave. “Maybe.”
He curses in Danish again and turns his back to me. His shoulders are stiff, his anger palpable. He hates his father. It’s something he’ll have to deal with for the rest of his life, but I won’t be here to offer him support. He turns to face me again, shrugs off his jacket and places it around my shoulders. It smells like him. I have to resist the urge to bring it close and breathe deeply.
“I wondered why he switched to English.”
I stiffen. “You mean he knew I was there?”
“Most likely. Everything he does is planned.” His white dress shirt is getting wet, and clinging to his chest. His jaw is clenched, his gaze dark. He’s all but admitting his father is an ass. “I’m the one who is sorry.”
I don’t understand this world. I don’t understand these games. Frankly, I don’t want to understand. I leave tomorrow. Which, at this point, is probably a good thing. We were getting too serious. It needs to end. So why am I not hailing a cab? “It’s okay.”
He’s so close he’s practically blocking the rain with his tall body, broad shoulders. “I guess we both have less than ideal fathers. Yours abandoned you, and…is it horrible to say I wish mine would?”
Before I can respond, he takes my hand and leads me under an awning of the building next door. He releases my hand only to wrap his arms around me. “I don’t want you to leave. Not yet.”
I close my eyes and press my face to his shoulder. Because I want to memorize every detail, I breathe in the scent of rain and his cologne. His hands are moving up and down my back. Comforting. Soothing.
“Christian, my dad didn’t abandon us.”
His hands pause. “What do you mean?”
“He died…of cancer.”
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “I’m so sorry.”
My voice is muffled against his chest, but I don’t want to move. I want to hide away within his arms. “You know when he found out, he didn’t tell us. He just left for two weeks. I was young, I had no idea what had happened. He came here. I guess he just needed to get away. To learn to accept it.”
He kisses the top of my head. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. It’s my fault. I should’ve explained. It’s just that when something defines you most of your life, sometimes you just want to pretend it doesn’t exist. Start over.”
He cups the sides of my face and forces me to look up at him. “I understand.”
And I know he does because he’s kind and caring, and is completely empathetic about everything. His thumb brushes my lower lip. I close my eyes and sigh. He pulls me close, resting his chin atop my head. For a long time we stand there, his arms wrapped around me, as the rain falls, pattering on the overhang above us. And I wish I could ignore the fact that I’m leaving tomorrow. Ignore the sting of tears that dare to burn.
“I don’t want you to go,” he repeats.
We can’t stand here forever. It has to end, and I’m going to have to be the person who ends it. I force myself to smile and step back from him. Distance. We need distance. “Christian, I’m leaving tomorrow.”
He rests his hands on his slim hips, looking out over the streets. “Yeah, about that…”
Shivering, I pull the lapels of his jacket closer, huddling within the warmth. “What?”
He rubs the back of his neck as his eyes lock on mine. “Why not stay with me in Norway? I can go home early…”
I turn, starting back toward the road, startled by fear, and a hope I don’t want to dwell on. My heart is thundering so loudly I barely hear him call out to me. “No. That’s crazy. We just met.”
He catches up to me. “I have a small cottage in Stavanger. You’d love it there. I have roommates, but there’s an extra room. I don’t expect you to stay in my bed—”
“You’re serious?” I stop and face him fully. “You want a woman you just met staying with you?”
He gives me that lopsided grin as if he realizes how insane this is, but doesn’t care. “A week…right? Then you’re off to Sweden. I can show you my country.”
I don’t respond because I’m too stunned to speak. Stay with Christian? In his home? Is he insane? Or…is he brilliant? I can’t. I won’t. So why is the thought working its giddy way through my mind? I won’t have to say goodbye. One more week.
He lifts his hand, hailing a cab, his gaze flickering from me to the road and back. “Just think about it. Will you?”
This is a bad, bad idea. It’s stupid. It’s horrible judgement. My mom would freak out. I can’t. I won’t. “Okay, sure,” I say, just to appease him. “I’ll think about it and let you know tomorrow.”
He gets the hint. I’m not asking him back to my place tonight, and I’m not going to readily agree to his insane offer. He takes my hand as the taxi slows next to the curb. I don’t want to say goodbye, and maybe he senses that. Or maybe he, too, doesn’t want to say goodbye. He kisses me gently, and then opens the cab door.
“It’s just a week, Hope. Just a week.”
But I know how much damage can be done in a week. It’s been only two weeks and I’ve fallen so very hard, so very deeply for him. I start to shrug off his jacket.
He steps back, his hands in his pockets. “No. Take it.”
With his coat still wrapped around me, I slide inside the warm, dry interior of the cab. The door closes. But like the gentleman he is, he hands the driver money, speaking to him in Danish. I should reject his offer to pay, but I don’t. I just want to get home. To be alone. To think. He’s still standing there in the rain, watching, as the cab drives away.
With a sigh, I settle back against the seat and close my eyes.
No way.
As tempting as the offer is, no way am I going to Norway with a man I met two weeks ago. I might be a lot of things, but I am definitely not insane.