by L. R. Olson
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…”