by L. R. Olson
“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.