Page 39
“Ah, good. Potential. That clarification makes this so much more normal. I mean, who needs a diamond anyway when Viktor Karlsson has a proposal folder.”
He ignores me and dips his free hand into his front lapel pocket. The velvet box that appears in his palm a moment later is dark green.
My brain goes absolutely silent as Viktor opens it and reveals a diamond ring so large I’m sure my eyes are cartoonishly popping out of my face.
A sharp and incredulous laugh bursts out of me, because this is too much. Viktor watches me without moving, and the laughter dies in my throat.
“Oh,” I breathe. “You’re actually serious.”
“Yes.”
I sit down because suddenly, my knees feel wobbly. Fifteen minutes ago, I was drinking shit coffee in the staffroom, going over patient notes and trying not to think about my bank meeting. Now, a six-foot-four Swedish hockey player is standing in my office with a marriage proposal folder and a diamond big enough to redirect planes.
My eyes narrow at it, trying to decide if I’m hallucinating, but it keeps catching the sun through the window, sending ridiculous sparkles across the floor.
Viktor must notice, because he snaps the ring box closed and places it on my desk, then sets the folder beside it. I eye them both suspiciously, then move back to him.
“Okay,” I swallow. “You need to talk.”
He takes the chair across from me, and it immediately looks hilariously too small under him, but everything looks too small under Viktor.
“My grandfather died a few months ago,” he starts. “He left Solvik, my family property in Sweden, to me with conditions. If I am married by Midsummer, the middle of June, it transfers to me. And if I’m not, it goes to my cousin Anton.”
I press my fingers to my forehead. “Why would he do that to you?”
“I think because he was stubborn, but also sentimental and liked making jokes even in death.”
“Respectfully, your grandfather sounds like he shouldn’t have been allowed near lawyers.”
“Mm.” He nods. “I agree.”
The simplicity of that almost makes me laugh again, but Viktor’s stony face steals the humor from the room.
“Anton wants to develop the property,” he continues. “He would like to cut my home into pieces and call it progressive.”
I sit back slowly, considering his words. “So you need a wife, and you decided to come to me.”
“Yes.”
“Because I’m conveniently female and recently concussed?”
“You were not concussed.”
“Not the point, Karlsson.”
“I came to you because you need funding.”
Every soft, startled part of me hardens in an instant. Viktor must see it, because his eyes sharpen and he lifts a hand before I can shout. “I know how that sounds.”
“Do you?” I sit up straighter. “Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds a lot like you know I need money and decided to purchase yourself a temporary wife.”
“No,” he says firmly. “That is not what I want.”
“No? Sounds like you need me in a wedding dress by Midsummer so you can inherit your estate.”
“I do not care about a wedding dress.”
My head falls back as I scoff.
