by L. R. Olson
He stands, his back to me. His jeans are hanging low on his hips. As much as I want to check off “lose my virginity,” something isn’t right. Maybe it was too fast, or maybe not fast enough. Slowly, I stand on trembling legs, and smooth my dress back into place. Maybe we’ve spent too much time together.
“So, umm…thanks for tonight.” I blush. “I mean the club.”
He pauses, his back to me, his shoulders stiff. Have I offended him in some way?
“I mean…”
He turns toward me, cups the sides of my face, and presses his mouth to mine. He’s kissing me again, and again I’m falling…falling into him, molding my body to his muscled form. A touch. All it takes is a touch. His tongue sweeps between my lips and wraps about mine, velvety soft. Just as I’m sliding my hands up his chest to wrap my arms around his neck, he pulls back.
“We will continue this,” he whispers. “That is a promise.”
I feel hot and cold all at once. Hell, I’m not sure how I feel. And suddenly, I realize what the problem is…I like him. Really, really like him. I’m not supposed to like him. This is supposed to be impersonal. A one-night stand.
A key rattles in the door. Christian untangles my arms and steps back. He’s going to leave me here. Leave me aching and desperate. Part of me wants him to go and take the confusing emotions he stirs within. The other half of me wants to drag him to my bedroom.
“I have a day off Saturday.” He brushes a lock of hair behind my ear, a gentle touch. “Have you been outside of Copenhagen yet?”
I’m still feeling off balance and confused, disappointed and relieved all at once. I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly cold. “Umm…no.”
“Great. I’ll be by around ten.” He heads to the door just as Gabrielle enters. “I’ll see you soon.”
They say pleasant goodbyes while I’m standing there aching from the loss of him. Confused, because I shouldn’t miss him when we just met a week ago. I don’t seem myself. I feel suddenly lost, off balance, and I don’t like it. Is this what it’s like to be intimate? The door closes. So does my libido.
Gabrielle kicks off her boots. “Did I interrupt something?”
“No.” I sigh, pacing to the open window. Christian leaves our building and heads down the dark street. Like an infatuated fool, I’m desperate to get my fix and I watch him until he disappears around a corner. “Kind of.”
“Oh God, I’m so sorry.” She settles on the edge of the couch. “What happened? They said you didn’t feel well?” Her eyes widen. “Oh my god, did you fake an illness to get him here?”
I laugh. “No.” I hesitate. I don’t want to tell her the truth, but I’m tired of lying. Exhausted, attempting to keep everything hidden. Damn it all, I don’t want to be weird and mysterious. I sink onto the couch next to her.
“Thank you for the dress.”
“Of course. And I want you to keep it.”
I shake my head. “No. I couldn’t.”
“Yes. You can. Your birthday present. It looks way better on you anyway. I mean it, you can’t say no to a gift.”
“Thank you.” We fall silent. I stare at the floor, wondering if now is the right time. Is any time the right time?
“What is it, sweetie?” she asks.
I meet her gaze. “Gabrielle, there’s something I need to tell you.”
She takes my hand, her fingers warm and soft. Her gaze is so kind, it’s almost my undoing. “You can tell me anything.”
And so I do.
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 m
enus 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?