Nine Hours

Chapter 17

"This is your idea of a less tense day?" I grill Gunnar with a glare. It's enough to break through the heaviness which has settled in. Everyone laughs.

"I suppose I should work on that, eh?" The levity doesn't last long, however. A measure of sadness—or is it disappointment?—rolls over Gunnar. "Cassie, I fear I am doing a terrible job of wooing you, sweetness. At every turn I've done nothing to earn your trust."

Trust. There it is. I don't trust him. I hadn't trusted him. How could I? Should I? Instead of meeting his strong gaze across the table, I lower my head and dutifully inspect my fingernails.

"Cassie, talk to me. Look at me."

"What can I say, Gunnar? No, I didn't trust you. My reaction deviated so far off the trail to trust..." A sad, small sniff escapes. "I've told you before. I'm not cut out for this fairy tale. If this isn't proof, I don't know what is."

"Please, look at me." Slowly, I raise my head. What I see is utter devastation on Gunnar's face.

A hand smacks down loudly on the table, rattling the vase of flowers and snapping everyone's attention to Karla. As stern as an old-fashioned schoolmarm, she speaks. "Gudene gir meg styrke. Gods give me strength. In all of my hundred and twenty-five years on this land, I have never seen two people so determined to throw themselves into the sea."

I gasp. "A hundred twenty-five years?" Karla doesn't look a day over sixty.

"Perhaps. I lost count around ninety-nine. Could be more. That's not the issue here. What is at issue is the two of you." She stabs an index finger in our direction. Then lambasts Gunnar with a rapid-fire string of words in Norwegian that make him pale, flipping back to English to finish him off. "You are supposed to make her at ease. Show her the way. Let her learn about you. About us. Not scare the bloomers off the poor girl at every turn and send her running. If you can't handle courting and winning the woman the Gods have practically dropped into your lap, how do you expect to them to trust you with the universe?"

Trust him with the universe? Whoa. Are they for real?

"Of course you don't trust the fool. He's given you no reason that I can see." She turns her glare on me, then softens her tone a bit. "However, you are pushing away before you even try. Before you even see. How many times have you told Gunnar you aren't worthy? That you are the wrong one? That he should send you home? Will you allow your fear of the unknown to deny you what could very well be the best thing of your life? What is truly was meant to be? The Gods do not make mistakes, Cassie. Certainly not ones of this magnitude. Every single one of the pairings they've made have been perfect and true. Including the ones which were difficult at the beginning. Those, often, are the strongest, the most loving."

Lars clears his throat.

"Britta had me thrown in jail."

"Mother did what?" Gunnar's astonishment is comical, and I quickly stuff down an inappropriate snicker.

"Turns out, tossing rocks at her bedroom window in the middle of the night while drunk off your ass and singing love songs isn't as romantic as in the movies. Especially when the girl hates you to begin with."

"Mother hated you? The two of you were so in love. Always kissing when you didn't think us boys were watching."

Lars smirks. "Oh, we knew you were watching. Three boys sneaking around pretending to be quiet. Hah! It's when you really weren't watching that the magic happened, son." Lars' face crumbles with sadness. "The day I held your mother while she breathed her last breaths, I thought I might go right along with her. I wanted to." He peers at Gunnar through misty eyes. "Do you know her last words to me? This woman who fought me tooth and nail at the beginning of us?"