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“Are you ever going to tell me when we are getting married? I have to choose a dress, you know.” I take a sip of my drink, swallow the smooth liquid and savor the warm sensation as it travels down my throat.
Odin sits in one of the comfy chairs meant for reading placed opposite the bed. “The twentieth.”
“What’s the date today?”
“The fourteenth.”
“That’s so soon.” I suck in a breath and force it down. I should be furious at how soon it is. I should be relieved at how soon it is. I’m neither.
I’m… not sure.
“The quicker the better,” he replies.
I fall back into the pillows, cradling the glass to my chest. “What happens after?”
Odin tenses, then drops his chin to stare into the now empty glass. “I’ll let you go.”
“What do you mean? We’re going to be married.”
“In name only.” Does this man always provide such confusing answers? How is that supposed to work, anyway? Am I going to take his name and then disappear? “Does that bother you?” he asks.
“I don’t know. None of this has been particularly easy to process.”
He looks at me then. The full force of his attention is a lightning strike to the face. “It’s the best option. Trust me. I’ll give you whatever house you want, and you can live your life in peace.”
I hum, considering. I finish my drink in one quick sip, then gesture for another. Odin obeys my command, standing with the shadow of a smirk on his lips as he reaches for the bottle. He brings it with him this time. “How rich are you?” I ask.
“Rich enough.”
“Don’t say that. I’ll wring you dry.”
“I can’t imagine that,” he says, his tone sarcastic. I roll my eyes.
Silence ensues for a few minutes as both of us try to navigate this odd territory. Eventually, I can’t take the heaviness of the quiet. “I never thought I’d get the chance to travel,” I admit.
“No?” Odin leans back in the chair, exposing the impressive width of his chest, the solid quality of his legs.A flicker of heat sparks low in my belly as I catch a peak of his open collar, the tattoos on his left wrist—roman numerals—and even his black eyepatch.
“Money has never been one of my strong suits. Saving it, that is,” I admit sheepishly.
Our glasses are empty again. I push the sheets away and lean forward with my legs hanging off the bed. He pours us another. We drink. My muscles loosen. My mind begins to swim.“If money wasn’t a problem, where would you go?” he asks.
I tap my finger on my chin, thinking. “I’d come back and explore more of Africa. Maybe fly up to Egypt and Morocco. I want to go to Antarctica as well. And Laos and Cambodia, then head to Australia. I’ve always wanted to swim with great white sharks.”
“It’s scarier than you think.”
My brows rise. “And how would you know?”
He shrugs nonchalantly, the glass poised on the tip of his full bottom lip. “Experience.” He sips, swallows. My throat bobs, thickens.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Would you believe that one almost tried to eat me?”
Whiskey coats my lips as I smile. “Surprisingly, yes.”
“Do you think they could smell the steak I ate for lunch?”
“I think they were attracted to your sunny disposition.”
