Chapter Eighteen

Eighteen

I wake up to the seductive smell of pancakes.

After a restless night where I skipped dinner and went right to bed, my stomach gives a happy leap when I enter the kitchen and see a shirtless Erik in jogging pants making my favorite breakfast in his expensive frying pan.

"Good morning," I say, sounding sleepy, but my body is fully awake, pumping blood into my veins at a frantic pace.

It's so wonderful to have him back.

And it becomes even better when he turns his head and gives me a big, sincere smile.

"Good morning, Sol." He turns a pancake, and my gut jumps again. Holy Mj?lnir, his muscles are well defined. He clearly comes from Asgard.

"Did you arrive late yesterday?" I ask.

"Around midnight."

It's early for him to be awake. Usually, he's not up before eight thirty or nine. "Insomnia again?" I lean against the doorframe.

"No, I slept surprisingly well," he says with an upbeat tone, and everything lights up inside me. "It's good to be back."

My heart pounds. Hard. OMG. Did Erik realize this is where he should be? Did he miss me?

"How's your dad?"

"Better. Already back to his workshop, inventing stuff," Erik says fondly, sounding like he's proud of his dad while at the same time thinking he is a hopeless cause.

"Isn't he a physics professor?"

"Yes, but he does handiwork projects in the garage. His profession is a way to earn money, not what he really wants to spend his time doing."

I sense Erik's deep identification with his father—and his fear of ending up like him: doing what he loves only as a hobby, not a career.

He is flipping another pancake, but his hair keeps falling in front of his eyes. "Hey, Sol, could you tie my hair back for me? My hands are dirty."

"Sure."

I move closer. Thump-thump, thump-thump goes my heart. How can he be so sexy?

That I thought Thomas could be my plan B now seems laughable.

"Would you kneel a bit, so I can reach your head?" I ask once I'm behind his wall of a body, laughing to disguise how nervous I am.

He kneels on the kitchen floor and leans his head back, blond hair falling over his shoulders like a golden cascade. I ask him where the elastic is, and he points at the counter. I retrieve it, loop it around my wrist, and start gathering his soft hair in my hands. The butterflies in my stomach wake up from their twenty-three-day slumber, and I enjoy this with every cell of my body. I slide my fingers along his scalp, brushing his smooth hair. An almost inaudible groan of pleasure escapes his lips, and he pretends it never happened.

"Ponytail or bun?" I ask, wondering if my voice sounds as choked as my throat is feeling.

"You choose."

I gather the lower half of his hair and "accidentally" caress his neck in the process. He moves as if tickled. I sense the shivers down his spine. I feel them too. The pancakes are slowly burning, but neither of us reacts.

"I think you should change your shampoo," I say. It smells masculine, like a man for whom I would skip work to spend all day in bed.

"Is it distracting?"

"No... It gives you split ends."

He laughs. It's a glorious sound, so contagious it gets me laughing too. I twist his hair up and tie it back. By now, the pancakes are screaming for help. Erik thanks me and hurries back to their rescue.

The pancakes are ready, but I unfortunately don't have time to sit and eat calmly. I gobble two down, thank Erik, and hurry to work.

Chiara isn't well. It's like we switched moods. Or maybe she has been down for a while and I didn't notice, too absorbed in my sadness over Erik's absence.

I didn't want anyone to notice I was having problems in my personal life, but I know she noticed. And perhaps those times she asked if I was okay, she expected me to ask her back, but I didn't. I couldn't see her pain. Now it's clear in her red eyes.

"Hey, Chiara. Are you okay?" I ask when we meet in the bathroom, not so much by chance. I went in to wash my hands and reapply lipstick when she left her desk and was gone for almost twenty minutes.

She walks out of a stall and washes her hands next to me. "Anika and I broke up," she tells her reflection.

I turn to look at her, in shock.

"What? No! I mean, oh, I'm so sorry to hear that. You guys were... I mean, I'm sorry." I have no idea what to say. They were so good together, looked so in love. "What happened?"

Chiara sniffs. She's keeping her cool. Pretending her world isn't falling apart. But I know very well what she is going through.

"She got a job in Sweden."

"That's good, right? Sweden is just a bridge away."

Chiara shakes her head.

"That's Malm?. She's moving to Stockholm. Eight hours away by car or bus."

"That must be just an hour away by plane, then?" I need to make her see the light. It can't be that impossible.

"I can't do this, Sol." She looks at me, defeated but with resolve in her eyes. She has obviously thought a lot about her decision.

"Long-distance relationships work for a lot of people," I say.

Chiara snorts. "Not for us."

"What about you moving there? You left Italy to come to Copenhagen. Why not go a bit farther north for her?"

Chiara gives me a humorless smile. "You make it sound so easy... What about my job? All I've built here?"

"She got her dream job?" I ask. "Will she work with jewelry design?" I remember what Anika told us in Tivoli.

Chiara nods. "I don't blame her for going. I know how much she wanted this, and things weren't working out for her here."

"And is this your dream job?"

She is silent for a moment. I've cornered her. We are at Scorpio Games, talking about her job not being her ideal.

"I don't want a QA career path," she whispers as if the walls have ears. We both look behind us, and there is no one in the stalls.

A lot of people enter the game industry through quality assurance jobs, but most have other ambitions. I can't judge Chiara, since I'm also aiming for another role. She is probably holding on to the possibilities of the post–Fun Season internal hiring as much as I am.

"Apply for jobs in Stockholm then," I whisper back.

"I'm doing that, but it will probably be too late when I get an offer there...if ever."

I frown. "You think she won't wait for you?"

"We broke up, Sol. It's not fair of me to ask her to halt her life there and wait for something that might never happen."

I hold her by the shoulders. "Chiara. Please think this through. You're unhappy here," I whisper even lower. "If she's the love of your life, take a chance."

Her face looks sculpted in stone. "I'm not unhappy here. I'm safe."

I hug her. I don't want her to be angry at me. All I want is to help. "Sorry if I'm being harsh," I say over her shoulder. "I understand you so well..."

"Is Erik back? Is that why you look happier today?"

I let go of her, wide-eyed, as if she caught me stealing cookies from the jar on the fridge. She invited us to watch a movie two weeks ago, and I told her we couldn't because Erik was taking care of his dad in Jutland. She and I didn't talk about the subject again, but Chiara is perceptive and understood he's been gone all this time.

"He came back yesterday," I answer hesitantly.

"You should tell the others, Sol."

My heartbeat rises. I know exactly what she's saying, but I pretend I don't. I mean, how could she know?

"Tell them what?"

"That you and Erik are not a couple."

I look around, now nearly having a heart attack. "What makes you say that?"

"That day at Tivoli," she begins, dead serious, "it was clear. Anika noticed it too." Her voice breaks when she mentions her ex-girlfriend, but she composes herself quickly.

This is...impossible. I thought we were so convincing!

But, no, of course we weren't.

"That kiss," Chiara continues, her tone more vivid now. "It was, without a shadow of a doubt, a first kiss. So full of insecurities and passion..."

Oh dear. Anika was being our cupid with that lie about the kissing tradition. How did I not notice it?

I'm getting so nervous about discussing this in a Scorpio Games bathroom that my compulsive looking around is bordering on paranoia.

"I don't understand why you had to lie about this, Sol, but you must have your reasons." I look down, not wanting to meet her eyes. "Lying is never a good idea though. Especially to your boss."

"Are you going to tell Lars?" I ask, my voice small.

"Of course not. I'm your friend. I'd never do that. I'm just advising you as you advised me about Anika."

I breathe, trying to calm down. "Then let us both think about each other's wise words," I say, and Chiara nods. She puts a hand on my shoulder and gives me a weak smile, ending our exchange in a way that makes it clear we're good.

I'm early for the afternoon design meeting. I take an empty seat next to Lars, a vacuum in my stomach sucking the air out of my lungs as I realize he might know everything because Martin knows everything because Thomas Hansen opened his big mouth.

I keep my gaze on Martin, listening to their premeeting chitchat with a rush of anxiety burning my veins.

Lars then draws my attention when he offers me something from a small package. "Want one? The best licorice in the world."

"What?" I blink a few times, relief washing over me as I stare into his smiling face and realize that Martin hasn't told him anything. Yet.

"Licorice?"

I smile back at him, doing my best not to look disgusted. I hate licorice and can't, for the love of me, understand why Danish people are so fascinated by this horrible salty candy.

But Martin is winning. He's playing all his cards, so I'll have to play mine too, no matter how much acting I need to do to be loved by Lars.

I take a licorice candy, thanking my boss. He is looking at me with so much expectation it would be an offense not to give the candy another chance. It's almost like a rite of passage. Once you have learned to like licorice, you can be accepted in Denmark as an equal.

"Great, right?"

"Mmmm!" I fake a sound of delight, trying not to gag.

When Lars is chatting with the others again, I discreetly turn around in the swivel chair, spit the candy into my hand and hide it in my pocket inside a crumpled receipt.

"What is your opinion, Sol?" Lars speaks to me, and I turn around, startled. "What is your favorite thing about Denmark?"

Not licorice.

"Oh." I look at them, pretending I'm still chewing the candy. "The design, I guess?" I say the first thing that crosses my mind and has a chance of pleasing Lars. He's design-obsessed.

Although I do appreciate Danish design, that goes below Danish pastries and cakes in my ranking. But Lars is even more of a health maniac than Erik. He allows himself a tiny piece of cake on Fridays, and that's all.

"I couldn't agree more. So many good designers," Lars says, and I smile, satisfied.

"What about the worst thing?" Simon asks me.

Licorice.

"The weather." It's not a lie, at least.

They all laugh, agreeing. I mean, who loves Danish weather?

"Favorite sm?rrebr?d ?" Lars keeps questioning me.

I have the answer ready on my tongue—chicken salad and bacon—but I pretend that all the options are so wonderful that I can't decide. "Hmm... I don't know. They're all great."

"What do you think of leverpostej —liver paté?" he asks me with his eyebrows raised, as if expecting me to be like all foreigners who can't understand Danes' love for liver paté.

I am one of those foreigners, but I won't disappoint him. I can't, not with Martin smiling across the table as if he's already the new game director. I want to show Lars I welcome and appreciate every aspect of his culture—the culture I'm trying to fit into.

"It's great, I love it," I say.

Lars nods, satisfied with my answers. I pray he won't start offering me licorice and liver paté sandwiches at every opportunity.

"Favorite place in Copenhagen?" Lars continues to interrogate me.

"That's a hard one," I say, this time with honesty. I love the entire city. "Christiansborg Palace." I choose to show I appreciate history and architecture since my real answer— Str?get , the main shopping street—would certainly disappoint someone as cultural and intellectual as Lars.

"Last one now," he says, enjoying the interview and my very suitable replies. "The best restaurant you have dined at with Storm?"

Ai, caramba. We have never been to a restaurant together, but that would be a wrong answer on too many levels...

Fuuuudge. I can't name any fine restaurant. I'm doomed.

Martin is looking at me with a victorious smile on his beetle face. I wonder why he didn't tell Lars anything. Did Thomas not share with Martin that Erik and I were never a couple? Does Martin just think we broke up? Or is he saving the bomb for later? He looks very pleased with himself right now. He's counting on me giving myself away.

But I won't give him the pleasure of my defeat.

"Noma," I say on impulse. Noma has been nominated as the world's best restaurant many times, which is the only reason I've heard of it.

"Oh, you've eaten there?" Lars sounds surprised—and excited. Oh no . "Lotte and I have been trying to get a table there for a long time."

"Yeah, it wasn't easy." I give him the fakest smile humankind has ever witnessed, deeply regretting the snowball of falsehoods I've created.

"Funny, because they have been closed half of the year," Martin says, annoying as always. "I thought you and Erik started dating in October."

All the blood in my body goes up to my face.

I've messed it up. So bad.

"I wasn't with Erik. I've been to Denmark before." I try to fix the situation, but it's going from bad to dreadful, and Martin's smile is just growing.

Got you , his eyes say.

Luckily, a mob enters the room at once, and our chatting must end. Lars doesn't seem caught up in my words. I sigh, relieved, even though I know my lie might come back to haunt me.

When the meeting ends two hours later, I'm eager to stretch my legs, so I grab a coffee just to have a break before returning to my desk.

To my dismay, however, Martin catches up with me.

"Wow," he says in a dry voice, putting a cup next to mine before I start the machine. I move a few steps away and cross my arms over my chest protectively. "What a stack of lies you've accumulated."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Come on, machine, hurry . I'm almost ready to abandon my coffee, just to get away from Martin.

But I know he won't leave me alone now.

"You're even dating other guys... I wonder how you're going to keep all those skeletons in your closet."

I swallow painfully. Thomas did tell him. All of it , for sure.

But I mean, why should he be more loyal to a girl he'd just met than to his good friend?

"I'm not dating anyone but Erik." I keep my composure. He wants to break me down. Get me to confess. I won't give him that. It's his word against mine.

"My sources say Erik has never been your boyfriend."

I'm shaking, my hands closing into fists. I could punch him right now.

Martin takes a step closer, his face uncomfortably close to mine. "Your farce will end, Marisol. You won't get to stay in this company, lying to a dignified man like Lars, winning a position that should be given to me or anyone honest who is at Scorpio Games for better reasons than to not be unemployed."

"I deserve to be here," I say, more to myself than to him.

"And that's another lie you tell. But keep that one to yourself."

He turns to take his coffee. I'm stuck in place, breathing hard, my entire body shaking.

"He'll realize at some point," Martin says with eyes on his espresso, the confidence of a winner exhaling through his pores. "Erik, I mean. He'll see he won't achieve his silly revenge and will only get his heart broken if he gives you a chance. Just like it was broken the first time."

The first time ... I want to kill Martin. With my bare hands.

"As for Lars," Martin continues, blowing on his coffee and billowing steam that makes his glasses foggy. "I won't leave that to chance. He deserves the truth."

I shake my head, biting my lower lip so hard it almost bleeds. I feel the tears coming, but I can't let him see me cry.

"If you don't tell Lars, I will," he concludes and turns to go back to his desk.

Fuck you, Martin.

I've said it.

But only in my head.