by L. R. Olson
“You are so beautiful,” Christian whispers.
My fingers curl into the blankets, as a rush of pleasure overwhelms me. It’s not the first time someone has called me beautiful, but it’s the first time I believe it. The sudden tears that burn my eyes are embarrassing and annoying. I haven’t cried in a long while, but my tears seem to be a common occurrence here. I try to will them away, but they only remain, welling up within my eyes like a toddler who refuses to go to bed. One falls, then another. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, and pray he doesn’t notice.
“Hope?” Christian hovers over me, concern written all over his handsome face. He might tease, he might demand, but he always seems to know when I need his compassion the most. “Are you alright?”
I swipe at my damp cheeks, but the tears keep coming. “What do you think happens when we die?”
He braces himself upon his elbows, his biceps flexing, and he looks adorably thoughtful. “I don’t know. We don’t talk about it much here. But…we’re made of energy, right? Everything is. And energy can’t be destroyed.”
Exactly what I said. I slide my hands up his chest and loop my arms around his neck. Impressions of him will remain with me until I die. This moment. Every moment we’ve shared together will be imprinted in my cells. From the scent of burning wood in the fireplace, to the weight of his heavenly body atop mine. “I suppose.”
“I’m not saying I believe an old white bearded man is sitting on clouds handing out punishments, but I think our energy goes on.” He cups the sides of my face in gentle hands, his thumbs brushing away my tears. “Scandinavians aren’t like Americans. We just believe that death is…a natural transition. Nothing to fear.”
“I think I like your way better.”
He leans down, his lips hovering over mine, tempting and taunting. He’s like a magnet. Unable to stop myself, I tilt my head and arch my back, straining up against him. I want to breathe him in. Soak in his very essence. I want all of him, forever, until my heart stops and I’m cold in the ground. Dare I tell him about the cancer? Dare I let him decide our fate?
“And who knows…” he murmurs. “Maybe we go to Hogwarts when we die.”
Startled, I push away from him. “What did you say?”
A smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. “Sorry, I don’t mean to joke.”
“No.” I throw my head back and laugh. Truly laugh. How very odd the world can be. How very strange and unexpected. Is it a sign? No, I don’t believe in signs. Do I? “It’s just that I said the same thing recently.”
His hand trails down my body, cupping the curve of my hip, and that charming, crooked grin is back in place. “Well, great minds do think alike, right?”
I press my lips to his shoulder, still smiling. My body is constantly aware of him. His touch. His smile, his scent. I could be blindfolded in a room with a hundred men and I’d recognize him. His mouth covers mine, his lips drugging me. And even as I kiss him back, my good sense rebels.
You’re leading him on, the wind seems to whisper against the windows. It’s not fair.
“Stay with me,” he murmurs. “Don’t go to Sweden.”
“I’m still thinking,” I lie.
Stay. There is a shiver of temptation I can’t deny. Temptation that teases, offers hope when I least expect it. Stay with him. But for how long? He’s already pushed my world off balance, made me believe in things I shouldn’t. I have to leave. And soon. This relationship is becoming too complicated. I’m becoming too attached. He’s becoming too attached.
“Don’t think,” he whispers, pressing his lips to my jawline. Then lower to that pulse in the side of my neck. “Just stay.”
Dare I? For a brief, wonderful moment I imagine staying, imagine telling him everything. I wrap my arms tightly around his neck and kiss him with all the passion that simmers within me. Somehow, at some point, he broke through my defenses.
I will not fall in love with him. I will not.
But I know deep down it’s already too late.
Much too late.
Because I’ve already fallen hard for Christian.
Chapter 14
Go on a European shopping excursion
Go to a European medical clinic
Whereas on the way to Bergen the car was filled with strained conversation and feigned normalcy, neither of us bother to make small talk on the way home. Other than the music coming through the speakers, it’s rather quiet in the car. We might have gone to bed with hopes and dreams of a relationship, but in the light of day things are real. Too real.
Dare I tell him the truth?
I don’t miss the fact that Christian stares straight ahead. The way his hands are tight around the wheel of the BMW. The way that every few minutes his jaw clenches. His calm silence makes my discomfort grow. He’s done playing games. Maybe I am too. I stopped trying to fake a smile three hours ago. Stopped pretending as if nothing is weird two hours ago. Five hours in a car with him is too much. I can’t anymore. Mentally, emotionally, physically, I’m exhausted.
I need to leave, or tell him the truth.
When I sent Heidi a text telling her that we would leave for Sweden as planned, she’d typed one simple thing, Tell him about the cancer, Hope.
My irrational, crazy cousin wants me to be rational.
It’s drizzling again. I watch the drops hit the window, leaving trails down the glass. The dreary mood mirrors my misery. Maybe there’s a little part of me that does want to admit all to him. Christian wouldn’t abandon me. He’d be disgustingly supportive and loyal. And the weak part of me is desperate for his strength. His support.
“Do you mind if we stop at my mother’s home?”
I stiffen, jerked from my thoughts. Shit. He wants me to meet his mother, now of all times? What the hell does that mean? “What? Why?”
Hearing the panic in my tone, he slides me a knowing, wry glance. “I need to return her car.”
Talk about jumping to conclusions. He doesn’t want to introduce me to his mom, he just wants to return her car. I clear my throat. Good. That’s a good thing. So why does it hurt? “Oh…sure. That’s fine.”
We’re driving through a neighborhood of white homes much like the cottage where Christian lives. But these are larger. Slightly newer. They scream perfect little family. Wealthy little family. I know instinctively this is where he grew up.
“You don’t mind if we take the motorcycle home if it stops raining, do you?”
My relief is immediate. I’d prefer the motorcycle. Taking in a deep breath, I smooth my hands down my jeans. A motorcycle means not having to worry about making small talk. “No. Not at all.”
He parks the car in a driveway and cuts the engine. I have a moment to take in a deep breath, calm my racing heart as he pushes open his door. Before he reaches my side, I’m standing. I can see the confusion in his gaze. He’s always opened the door for me. I give him an innocent smile, hoping he’ll buy it. I don’t want him to be nice to me. I don’t want him to be that charming gentleman. It will only make this more difficult.
When we walk up to a large white house on a hillside, surrounded by bright pink and purple rhododendrons, he startles me by taking my hand. So, he hasn’t given up on me after all. My fingers are cold and his hand is so damn warm. That heat races through me and centers in my belly. I barely notice the chill drizzle. My mind might be rebuilding that emotional wall but my body is still open for business.
“Is this where you grew up?” I ask, before I think better of it. I shouldn’t ask, I shouldn’t care. Asking says I’m interested. Yet, at the same time, the silence has become awkward and obvious. I don’t want things to be weird in front of his mom.
“We moved here when I was fifteen and my parents got a divorce. Father would have hated this house.” He gives me a humorless smile. “Too small.”
It’s way bigger than our house in Florida, which says a lot about his dad. We move up the front stoop. There are potted plants everywhere, adding a brightness to the d
écor. I already like his mom and I haven’t even met her. Too bad I’ll never really know her. He opens the door and calls out something in Norwegian that’s too quick and complicated for me to even try and understand.
The house smells like flowers and vanilla. We move into a large, open living room. A white couch faces a brick fireplace and open windows look out into the front garden. White curtains flutter on the cool breeze. It’s homey and chic all at once.
“Christian!”
I barely have enough time to take in the older woman’s blonde hair and slim body before she throws her arms around her son. Christian’s mom, like her house, is chic. She wears a long, white sweater and expensive jeans on her lean frame. This woman might be loving and kind, but I have a feeling she’s actually the stronger of his parents. She’d have to be to put up with his dad.
Christian says something in Norwegian, and she laughs that truly delighted sound only a mother makes when she’s thrilled to see her kid, and finds everything he does perfection. I can’t help myself and smile. His mother is where he gets his goodness.
All of my ease disappears when I hear him say my name within a jumble of Scandinavian words. He’s talking about me. His mother releases him and turns my way. I’m trying to prepare myself when her gaze meets mine. Recognition is immediate. She’s the doctor from the clinic where I had my blood drawn a couple days ago. The woman knows I have cancer.
For a brief, blessed moment there’s only mild curiosity in her blue eyes. Christian’s eyes, I realize. He gets them from her. But just when I’m hoping she doesn’t recognize me, realization dawns, clear and sudden. My heart palpitates. My palms grow damp, the entire world pauses. I don’t miss the bemused glance she slides Christian, who is clueless and speaking to his mom about our trip to Bergen.
Teens talk openly about relationships here, Audrey had warned me only yesterday. His mom knows we stayed overnight together and she doesn’t care. There’s no shame. But realizing his mother knows we slept together in that cottage is the least of my worries. Will she call me out? Will she demand answers?
“It’s lovely to meet you.” My anxiety eases slightly. But only slightly. She’s a doctor. She’s a professional. She won’t tell him…I hope. At least not until I’m long gone, or I’ve told him myself. She tears her gaze from me and focuses on Christian. “It’s still drizzling, do you have time for coffee or tea?”
“Of course.”
He can’t very well say no when she’s let him borrow the car. But I’m terrified to stay. How had I not noticed the woman’s last name on her tag at the clinic and put two and two together? I was so damn eager to escape and get away from anything doctor related, I’d left as soon as possible. I take in a deep breath and settle on the sofa. I can do this. I’m good at pretending everything is okay. I’ve had years of practice.
“Christian, do you mind getting the refreshments?” his mother asks. “That way Hope and I can talk.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
All feeling has left my body. I stiffen, my hands clasped tightly on my lap. I feel suddenly off balance. Dizzy. Nervous as hell. She’s going to confront me. I’m good at lying, pretending. I’m not so good with confrontation.
His gaze jumps to her. Now he’s suspicious. Maybe he hears something in her voice, notices my paleness, or maybe he can just sense the tension. “Yeah. Okay.”
With one last glance my way he heads toward the kitchen. His mom waits by the fireplace. Moments later, through the buzzing in my ears, I can hear the clank of dishes as he makes our tea. Then it’s painfully quiet. His mom is watching me. I know what’s coming. She starts forward, her steps slow and hesitant.
I surge to my feet and head to the large picture window, my heart hammering madly. On the window seat are a variety of photos. One is of Christian and his sister when they were young. Little kids with huge smiles. Seeing the happiness upon their faces tugs at my heart, makes my chest feel tight with emotions I don’t want to contemplate. “You have a lovely home.”
She pauses next to me. The vanilla scent that permeates the house is coming from her. She smells exactly like a mother should, warm and comforting. But she’s not my mother, and her first priority is her son. “That’s my daughter, Christian’s sister Kate.”
She picks up the frame in front of me and stares hard as if trying to remember the past, understand what happened. How their lives have come to be this way. It’s the same shell-shocked expression my mom gets at times. I want to reach out, tell her that it’s okay. But I can’t, because it’s not.
“When she died, it nearly killed him.”
I swallow hard. Maybe I’m paranoid, but there seems to be a hidden message in that statement. She doesn’t mean to be cruel, and is probably just trying to protect her son, but I grow instantly wary. His sister’s death nearly destroyed him. He doesn’t need another traumatic event. He doesn’t need me and my drama.
She replaces the photo frame and meets my gaze. “Does he know?”
It’s hard to look at her when her eyes are so much like Christian’s. I shake my head, feeling miserable, guilty. I’m a liar. A cheat. I’m pretending to be someone I’m not. If it didn’t bother me before, it does now. “Will you tell?”
“No.” She crosses her arms over her chest in a protective manner. She looks sad, exhausted. “I wouldn’t even if I could. That’s our business, between doctor and patient.”
I nod, grateful, yet feeling ashamed at the same time. She sees me only as the person who is lying to her son, the person who might break his heart. Three weeks, I want to shout at her. We weren’t supposed to have feelings after only three weeks. It’s not fair. It’s not my fault. Yet, deep down, I know it is. It’s my fault for going to Norway with him. My fault for sleeping with him more than once. My fault for leading him on.
“Please,” she says. “Don’t let this go on without him knowing.”
I’m tired of the guilt. The shame. Damn it all, I was only trying to protect him. Always. I have to force myself not to sound combative. “Dr. Lund, I’m leaving soon. I didn’t mean…I wasn’t expecting this.”
She nods like she understands. And maybe she does. But I see the worry, the unease in her kind, blue eyes. She doesn’t want her son to get hurt. I don’t either, this is why I’m leaving. Why I’ve lied. Why don’t any of them understand?
“It was supposed to be a fling,” I try one more time.
She sighs, and I can see the overly protective mother in her warring with the compassionate doctor. With a trembling hand she brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. “He will stand by you…he won’t abandon you if you tell him the truth.”
She knows him better than anyone. It’s taken a lot for her to say it. But she didn’t need to tell me. I know him well enough to know he would stay with me. I don’t need her reassurance. He’s got his studies, we live an ocean away, we just met three weeks ago. It would be insane for him to give up his life for a woman he just met. “That’s what I’m afraid of. I don’t want him to go through that kind of heartache again. I don’t want to hurt him.”
She hesitates for a moment. Guilt, empathy, worry, relief, all run across her face at once. “Do you love him?”
Talk about being blunt. A flush burns my cheeks. The question makes me panic. My chest grows tight. That flight response is in full run mode. But I can’t deny that underneath it all…there’s a warmth that tiptoes through my body. Birds singing. Rainbows. Hearts. It’s so close to the surface, if only I’d allow it. Yes, I want to say, yes, I love him. How can I not? “I…I just met him.”
She smiles softly, as if she knows without me saying the words. “Part of me thinks that he deserves to know about your cancer so he can decide himself. The other part doesn’t want him to know. Wants to protect him.”
I feel no anger. I understand. “I don’t want to hurt him. If I break things off, he’ll be angry, but at least he won’t have to deal with my…with me. If he knows the truth…”
Tears fill her blue eyes. �
��He’ll stand by you and be crushed…again.”
It’s a helpless situation. I know it and she does as well. I don’t realize I’m crying until she steps forward and cups the sides of my face, swiping away the tears with her thumbs. I take in a deep shuddering breath as she wraps her arm around my shoulders.
“You could live for years.”
Or I could die next month. We both know the longer Christian and I stay together, the harder it will be for him.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” I repeat in a whisper. “I swear.”
She nods. “I know.”
And the look in her gaze tells me she understands the turmoil I’m going through. But she’s still his mother, and I’ve been lying to him by omission. Trying to find the right words, is near to impossible. “What do I do?”
She shakes her head as she leads me back toward the couch. “I can’t tell you that. But what I can tell you is that if he’s brought you here to meet me, it’s getting serious.”
The panic increases. In other words…I need to make a choice and fast. “No. He just needed to return your car…”
She rests her hand on mine, stopping me. “Christian has never brought a woman here. Whatever you’re going to do, you need to do it soon.”
“Mor,” Christian calls out from the kitchen. “Where’s the tea?”
She smiles and stands. “I’ll be there in a minute.” As she walks by me, she rests her hand on my shoulder. “If you need anything while you’re here, if you don’t feel well, you call me.”
I nod and give her a tight smile. There’s nothing I wish to do more than run. Escape and never come back. It’s only as she leaves that I’m finally able to breathe with some normalcy. I sink back into the plush couch, taking in the many photographs. There isn’t one of Christian’s father, but there are plenty of him with his sister. I focus on a photo of Christian with his arm around his sister, Kate. He’s probably eight. He was adorable even then. This family has known so much grief. I can’t add to it. I won’t be that selfish.