Page 52 of Top Shelf

“Grant,” Heidi corrects her quickly. “I’m keeping Grant.”

“Oh yes, my apologies, Dr. Grant,” the clerk says, turning toward me. “You must be very proud of your wife, Mr. Karlsson.”

My wife.

The words hit hard, because they’re said by someone who does not know the truth. Someone who sees Heidi as the brilliant person she is, and thinks pride is the obvious thing a husband should feel. She is not wrong.

Heidi is laughing at something Carina says behind us, her ring flashing as she reaches for the copy of our certificate, and I stand there feeling the words settle over me.

Wife should mean more than legal status. But for us, it is a deadline met and agreement honored, property protected, and a studio funded. It should not feel like a hand sliding beneath my ribs and squeezing.

Carina throws both arms around Heidi the second we step back into the hallway. “My best friend is married!”

Heidi laughs easily. “I’ve been married for nine seconds.”

Reid comes toward me while Heidi is trapped in Carina’s embrace. He looks at me for a moment, then holds out his hand. But when I go to shake it, he pulls me into a brief hug instead.

“Congratulations, Vik.”

“Thank you.”

When he releases me, his gaze moves to Heidi, still trapped in Carina’s arms, her laughter bouncing off the dull courthouse walls. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

“No.”

“Good.” Reid nods and pats my chest. “Means you’re paying attention to what’s inside here.”

Outside, Carina insists on photos. Heidi complains for the first thirty seconds, but I don’t mind. We stand close together, my arm wrapped around the warmth at her waist, and her palm lying flat between my shoulder blades.

In the best one, wind has blown her hair across her cheek, her yellow dress is bright against the courthouse stone, and I am looking at her and not the camera. I do not remember doing that.

While Heidi demands to approve every photo Carina has, I send my favorite of the bunch to my mother before I can talk myself out of it. Solvik is safe. It seems easier than calling to explain.

However, my phone rings before we reach my car.

“Mamma,” I answer.

Swedish hits my ear so fast, I hold the phone slightly away, and Heidi watches me from over the roof of the car, her brows lifting as my mother’s words are spoken so quickly I catch only pieces. Married, America, no family present, your grandmother, and absolutely unacceptable.

“It was necessary,” I say in Swedish.

“You sent your own mother a photograph of your wedding.”

“It was a legal ceremony.”

“She is wearing a ring!”

“Yes. That happens at weddings.”

“Do not become funny now, Viktor. This is not a funny moment.” In the background, there are more voices, including Ebba’s rising over everyone else, demanding to hold the phone. My mother ignores them. “How did you meet?”

“We have been dating in private for a while,” I lie.

Mamma inhales sharply, probably aware I am not telling the truth. “And what is your wife’s name?”

I close my eyes. “Heidi.”

“You bring Heidi home for Midsommar.”