Page 164 of Top Shelf

Her expression softens, and she sighs deep. “I know, but that’s business I guess.”

“They should know better.”

“Well… that’s why Zoe and I are putting together the proof.”

“You do not have to do it alone.”

“I’m not.” She says it gently, but the words are careful too. “That’s the point. I have Zoe and Mila, and they have the waitlist ready. I’m not white-knuckling this by myself.”

Her eyes flick to the clenching muscle in my jaw, and I try my best to relax.

“Viktor. You look like you’re about to go outside and punch capitalism in the face.”

“Yes. I could do that.”

She hums a small laugh. “It would probably increase demand, honestly.”

My mouth curves despite myself, and her hand slides from my wrist to my chest, right over the place where the cornflower has healed into my skin. She does this often now.

“We’ve got a plan,” she says. “I can do the plan.”

I cover her hand with mine and breathe out slowly. “Okay.”

This time, when she smiles, it is real enough to take the edge off—but we still leave late.

At training, everything is fresh and new for the start of the new season. Hockey draws closer, and workouts have less laughter. Everyone can feel the season starting to gather itself again. Chase is the first to notice my face, which is unfortunate because Chase notices loudly.

“You look like someone insulted Sweden,” he says as we stretch near the boards.

“They did not.”

“Your wife?”

“No.”

“Did she insult Sweden?”

I sigh. “No.”

“Did she do something hot and now you’re mad because you had to come here?”

My eyes cut to his, and Chase points both hands at me. “Oh, that’s close.”

I tape my stick and say nothing. The skate helps while we’re focused on the ice, then we come off the rink, and I check my phone in the locker room. Heidi has sent a photo of the studio. The reformers are lined up under the windows, and Mila is in the background, half-blurred, standing on a chair to film from above. There’s a caption typed below the image.

Min fru: LOOK AT HER. SHE’S REAL.

Another message follows.

Min fru: The studio, not Mila. Mila is also real. Very useful. Slightly scary.

My chest loosens, and I type back: The studio looks good.

Then I delete it, because it doesn’t feel true enough for what she deserves to hear right now.

Me: It looks exactly like the dream you imagined, min älskling

Her reply does not come immediately, but when it does, it is only a photo of her hand over her face, Ebba’s ring visible on her finger.