Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
“Where is the restaurant?”
“By the water,” she says. “You’ve been there before.”
I try to think, but I have no idea what she’s talking about. The wine bar with James? No, that couldn’t be it.
Then everything starts to look familiar, even in the dark, and as we pass the Viking ship museum, I realize where she’s taking me.
The car stops right outside the Fram Museum.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Einar comes around and opens the door for me, helping me out onto the shoveled sidewalk. I look behind me at Ella for explanation, but she’s only slid over to my seat, staring up at me with a mischievous look. “Are we supposed to go into the museum? Is that where we are eating?”
“It’s where you’re eating,” she says.
I don’t understand. “What about you?”
She shakes her head. “I have plans with my husband. I’ll see you later.”
Then she reaches over and shuts the door just as Einar goes back to the driver’s seat.
“Wait, Einar, you can’t leave me here alone,” I call after him.
He gives me the rarest of smirks and nods at the museum. “You’re not alone.”
I turn to look at the museum again, and this time I see James, dressed in a tuxedo, standing at the front door with a bouquet of flowers in his hand.
Oh my god.
What is happening?
Before I can ask Einar, the car drives off and I’m alone at the museum with James.
“Why don’t you come inside where it’s warm?” he shouts from the door. “You can call a cab from here to take you back if you’d like.”
He’s got a point there, though part of me just wants to stand where I am and stare at him. Let my heart keep tripping over itself.
I walk a step, and then my heels wobble on the slick path.
In seconds James is by my side, holding me by the crook of my elbow to support me, and gently guiding me toward the museum.
I stare at him, at his freshly shaven face, at the way his eyes glow blue under the lampposts, at his tuxedo that definitely pushes him into the James Bond category.
Then I stare down at the flowers in his hand. A bouquet of daisies, orange on the outside and purple in the middle. The colors from my dream.
“These are for you,” he says, handing them to me. “You never struck me as a roses kind of girl.”
“You’re right,” I manage to say as I take them. I like roses and all, but they always felt too stuffy and adult for me. Daisies are actually my favorite, but I don’t want to tell him that. In fact, what I should do is turn around, call a cab from my phone, and wait in the cold. That’s what I would have done in the past, when my anger was its most potent.
But I don’t have the strength to do that.
I don’t want to turn from James anymore, even though he hurt me.
I don’t want to hate him either.
I just want to love him and for him to be okay with that.
He opens the door to the museum, and we step inside. All the main lights are off, with a few mood lights here and there, and alongside the ship is a table lit by candles. Behind it, in the distance, are a couple of waiters dressed in black tie.
“What is this?” I ask, looking around in amazement.
“This is for you,” he says, pulling back a seat for me.
“I don’t understand.”
“This is me telling you I’m sorry.”
He comes over to me, taking the flowers from my hands and placing them on the table, before reaching out and cupping my face, his strong, warm fingers pressed into my cold skin.
“This is me begging you to trust me again,” he says, his voice lower now, his eyes watering with emotion as he stares at me. “This is me telling you that it was your love that made me swim to the surface, Laila, and I will spend the rest of my life trying to prove to you, and to myself, that I am worthy of it.”
I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out.
I don’t know what to say.
I don’t know what to feel.
He runs his thumb over my bottom lip, staring at me in awe, like I’m something he lost that he never expected to find again.
“And maybe,” he says, leaning in closer, “maybe you will find my own love worthy too. Because the truth is, Laila, that I’m in bloody love with you.”
His words light me up inside. It’s instantaneous. I dreamed of what it could feel like if he ever told me he loved me, and I didn’t think it would hit me like this. So sharp, so fast, and so deep. All at once the ice around my heart thaws, the icicles around my ribs shatter, and I feel, really feel, what being loved by this man feels like.