Page 148 of Top Shelf

That night, I dream of the meadow.

Of flower petals raining down on me like confetti. Of lake light and old floorboards and Viktor’s hands careful around stems, careful around me. I dream of a house that creaks and a ribbon tied around joined hands, a thumb brushing my pulse while someone reads words I can’t understand.

And when I turn in the dream, Viktor is there beneath the long summer light, waiting beside the treeline as if he’s always been the place I was walking toward.

I wake before dawn to an arm around my waist. Breath warm against my neck. Seven flowers under my pillow, with my husband at my back.

And my heart, such a treacherous organ, already knowing who it beats for.

Chapter twenty-two

Viktor

The ring sits in my palm, glittering under the morning light.

It belonged to Ebba before she gave it to me this morning with no ceremony at all, only a small velvet box pushed across the breakfast table while Heidi was outside with my nieces, being taught the difference between flowers that belong in crowns and ones Vera thought looked “too sad for love.”

“For the blessing,” Ebba said.

I looked at the box, then at her. “Mormor.”

“She takes off the big American diamond too often.”

“Mm. The Denver Diamond.”

“Mm.” My grandmother’s mouth moved like she was trying not to smile. “It is… enthusiastic.”

“It is her ring.”

“That you chose for her when you wrote a contract.” She nudged the box toward me. “This is also a ring.”

I opened the box to Ebba’s golden engagement ring, worn smooth with years. An oval diamond in the center, with pale blue stones circling it and tiny leaves carved into the band.

I’ve known this ring my whole life. I saw it on Ebba’s hand when I was a child, when she rolled dough, poured coffee, held my face between her palms, picked burrs from Freja’s hair, pressed flowers in books, and pointed at me sharply across rooms until I confessed things she had not yet asked about.

I closed the box again. “No.”

“Yes,” she said.

“It is yours, Mormor.”

“It was mine, now it has been waiting.”

“For who?”

Her gaze lifted to me. “Do not become stupid before lunch, Viktorliko. It does not suit you.”

Now the ring rests in my palm while Heidi stands in front of the mirror in the blue guest room, adjusting the sleeve of her dress.

She wears pale cream that ties softly at her waist, the skirt flowing to her ankles, along with a cropped lace top. Practical enough for grass and garden, beautiful enough to turn my thoughts useless. Her hair is loose except for the pieces Freja twisted back and pinned with small blue cornflowers that make her eyes even bluer.

The Denver Diamond sits on the dresser, waiting to be placed back on her finger.

Heidi turns from the mirror. “Okay. Do I look Midsummer-family-blessing appropriate?”

My eyes drag over her, which is a mistake. Looking at Heidi lately is always a mistake. Every time, there is more. More color, more expression. More small, private things I know, and larger things I’m terrified I may never be allowed to keep.

She stands barefoot in my childhood bedroom with flowers in her hair, and I feel the lie of this marriage stretching thin around the truth of what I feel for her.