Chapter Twenty-Four

Twenty-Four

E ight days until Scorpio Games' Christmas Party. There have been no more Fun Season events since the Escape Room + Pub Night. All that is left is to prepare for the talent show—Group Lars's final challenge.

I thought Erik wouldn't want to show up at Scorpio after everything that's happened, but he said he would attend to support me, and I gladly accepted his offer. For the talent show, he convinced me to choose something to represent my culture. So I suggested a Brazilian partner dance: forró .

When a skilled man is directing me, I can dance with grace. My cousins have brought me to forró clubs several times, where random guys invited me to dance to the live music. I could usually put on a show when my partner knew what he was doing. So the challenge here was to teach Erik. He watched a few videos, but it was so hard for him that as the days passed, we neglected the training entirely.

Erik's full focus has been on the app. In fact, he is working so hard I basically never see him away from the computer. Despite our close connection not so long ago, our relationship has taken a step back. Perhaps four or five.

We live together. We talk to each other. But there is no time for sex. I sleep in my room, and he sleeps in his. It almost feels like we are no longer a couple.

I hate this new distance. I come home from work, and we work together. Then I go to bed, and he stays awake, working. I wake up and he is on the computer again. I'm not even sure he sleeps. He looks like a zombie. He doesn't cook, doesn't eat, and doesn't go to the gym anymore. All he talks about is code and Love Birds.

He is obsessed.

Is he working so hard because this is how we stay together in the long term? Or is he running away again, as he did after our kiss in Tivoli?

I've been patient, understanding—or trying to. But our conversation at the playground haunts me. It was our last good day. Was it truly good though? Or were our kisses, our ideas, like a pretty cover for the wreckage underneath?

Maybe now he's letting go...

Maybe he's doing to me exactly what he did to Lena, neglecting our relationship because he fears it will end the same way, with me going back to my home country.

I'm sitting at the dining table, nibbling on a slice of toast with no appetite, while Erik types frantically on his laptop. It's been days since I stopped working on the project, and he hasn't even noticed.

Suddenly, a wave of anger rises in me, and I'm unable to stay quiet. "I'm tired of this, Erik."

His hands freeze, hovering over his keyboard, and he looks at me. "Tired of what?"

"You ignoring me."

He leans back in his chair with a sigh. He's not surprised. He's been waiting for me to confront him.

"I'm sorry, Sol." His voice sounds tired, like he knew he owed me an apology but simply didn't have time for it.

I keep staring at him, my arms crossed on the table. He rubs his red, watery eyes. He will go down due to the stress. It's what has been keeping me supportive all these days—my concern for him. But by indulging in his harmful agenda, accepting this distance, I'm hurting us both.

"You spend day and night on this project as if I don't exist," I say.

He looks down, silent, and I wait.

"I know I'm not being fair to you," he says.

"So why are you doing that?" I keep my eyes on him, and he still avoids me. He looks embarrassed, but not entirely apologetic.

"You know why."

I take a deep breath, trying to stop the tears from coming out. "Yeah, I know you think I'm going back to Brazil, but I'm trying to figure out if it's because you don't believe I'm getting the promotion or because you don't want me to get it."

Erik reaches for my hand on the table. His gaze meets mine, and he frowns, intense. "I want you to get it, okay? And I believe you can. I've just been thinking...you should do it without me." He swallows hard. "Look at me, Sol. I'm a mess. And it's not because of you."

I shake my head, pursing my lips. "You're obsessed. Even if it's not about us, you can't keep going like this."

He runs a hand over his forehead and his wild, untrimmed beard. "It's my weakness. I'm sorry. I told myself I would finish this project and nothing would stop me, and now I literally can't stop before it's over."

I've pushed him. I told him to not surrender, but my wish came true as a botched spell. "Is this how it will be every time you're on a deadline?"

He squeezes my hand. "I'm sorry, Sol. I'm an idiot. I know."

"What should I do about the talent show if you're not going with me?"

I have one week before I'm onstage, and I have absolutely no clue what I can do that will remotely impress Lars.

"You'll figure it out," Erik says. "It's going to be good for you to be there without me for once. You can use the opportunity to show them something about the real you."

I frown. "What is that supposed to mean—‘the real me'? Because I lied about us? Because I've been ‘hiding behind you' all this time?"

I'm not a sweet person today. Erik may apologize and justify his behavior, but I simply don't have the patience left for his hurtful remarks.

"Well, you did lie, Sol. We both did." His voice is also not exactly sweet. "You've only decided to do that Brazilian dance because I told you it was a good idea. But you keep being embarrassed of your origins, thinking we Danish people can't understand you or welcome you the way you are."

I snort. "Easy for the privileged white man to say."

"This is not about privilege, Sol. It's about you standing up for yourself and who you are." Erik leans forward, his light blue eyes hard like diamonds. "You don't need me. You don't have to be more Danish for Lars to like you. Fuck that. Fuck him. Just show them the fucking amazing person you are, and screw them if they don't like you."

I stare at the crumbs on my plate. He thinks I'm a fucking amazing person. Why does that not seem enough right now, in every way?

"I just can't afford to gamble the way you can," I say.

That's the difference between us. Erik will always be where he belongs no matter what he does or how he plays his "I don't give a shit" attitude. He will always be in his own country while I will be away from mine and at risk of being kicked out of his. I will always have to watch him be at home while I struggle to adapt and belong.

He is right about one thing though. I need to be a separate person from him if I want to succeed in Denmark. I can't let his concerns and dreams get in the way of mine. Especially now that I have seen how he will dive into his ambitions and leave me in second place, regardless of all the sweet things he said that day in the playground.

My phone rings. It's my dad. Glad for the opportunity to leave the table, I lock myself in my bedroom and sit on the bed to answer the video call.

"Hey, Dad," I say, happy that he called. I could use some advice.

Just seeing his face makes my heart warm up—and then become tight and small. As he smiles and says hi, I realize how much I miss him, with his Nike cap and Palmeiras T-shirt, drinking beer on the couch, both of us laughing at the ugly names he keeps finding for the referees when his beloved team is losing. My creativity for finding alternative swear words came from him, as he had to watch his language constantly at my mom's request.

I thought I didn't miss my life in Brazil, but homesickness comes crashing down on me, taking my breath away.

I realize I miss those sunny weekends when we would barbecue in the backyard, gathering the family and the neighbors. I miss the sense of community we always had in our neighborhood. I miss being there with them—watching soccer with my dad, helping Mom in the kitchen, and sitting with Larissa and my cousins in plastic chairs outside to eat beef on a stick and drink Guaraná Antarctica while listening to the corny Brazilian country music my mom enjoys. We'd sing along, loud, until my uncles would come and dance with us. I was the worst forró dancer among the girls, but only because they were so good.

"How are you doing, Sol?" Dad's voice comes out of my headphones, loud and clear as if he's sitting next to me. "It's been a while since we talked."

I give him a smile, but what comes out is a sob. I discreetly wipe my eyes on my sleeve, but, of course, he notices it.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?"

His protective-dad tone and the fact that we can't hug only makes me shed more tears. But I keep my composure, barely. "I'm fine, Dad, don't worry."

"Of course you're not fine." His face moves closer to the screen, and the camera makes his nose look disproportionately big. "Tell me what's going on. Are you homesick?"

I nod, sniffing.

"Are you thinking about coming back?"

I can't deny I've considered that option over the past few weeks. The more distant Erik became, the more I felt the need to be with my family. I realized this would be my life in Denmark. Whenever Erik is not with me, I'll feel lonely and separated from the rest of the world.

"I...can't go back, Dad." I look up to stop the tears that are pooling. "I'm..." But I can't finish my sentence.

"You're in love. I know."

I look at him wide-eyed. He knows I've been dating Erik because the gossip never ends in my family, but we never talked about my feelings. "And you're okay with me dating a Viking who lives on the other half of the world?"

Dad chuckles, and God , I've missed the sound of his laughter. I realize I've been avoiding my family to not feel the distance as much. I told myself it was to not have them interfere with my life and my decisions, but I was in fact trying to protect myself on a much deeper level.

This is not so bad though. It's comforting to know that my dad is one call away. Talking like this makes me feel like I'm not alone, no matter how far we are. I get to choose when I want to see my family, and they will be there. Here. Right in front of me, in my Danish home.

"We'll support you, sweetie, no matter what you decide," he says, confirming my conclusions. More tears fall, and I smile. It dawns on me that he is never going to judge me—none of them will—or remind me that before I came, he asked if I considered that my Nordic adventure might not work out.

My mom keeps reminding me I can have my old room back because it's the best way she knows to tell me I will always have a place in her house. They want the best for me.

Now I have to figure out what that is.

"We're having problems right now," I tell Dad in a low, shy voice.

"Can you fix them?"

I think for a moment. "I don't know... I mean, we're both focusing on our careers, and we like to say we support each other, but the truth is, chasing those dreams is only making us hurt each other."

Dad scratches his stubble, thinking.

"No couple lives off promises, Sol. The success of a family, even one made of only two people, depends on professional realization. It's like they say, Amor n?o enche barriga. " He quotes a popular Brazilian saying that means: "Love doesn't put food on the table."

I nod, acknowledging that my dad is right. Both Erik and I know this, and that's why we have to put ourselves first.

"So I should focus on my career," I say, more like an affirmation than a question. The air gets thick, almost unbreathable, when I think about leaving Erik. But I can't let him be the reason I breathe.

"You should," Dad agrees, then smiles. "Love is a dance, Sol, and your partner can guide you, but you can't let him carry you all the way. You need to be in control too. And you should know your moves so well you can always dance without him."

His metaphor makes me smile. My dad's wisdom never fails.

I'm going to fight for my career. For the Danish dream I came seeking. I will call Chiara and ask if I can stay at her place until the Christmas party so I can give Erik the space he needs—the break we both need.

I will go to the talent show. And I will dance without Erik.