The return to Trondheim wasn't as amazing as our way down south. The weather was rather cloudy, so I couldn't gorge on Norway's beauty as much. It didn't matter, though, because the splendor of the Westergaard estate was enough to satiate me.

Yuko was waiting for us with lunch on the stove when we arrived. After some warm reunions, we all ate her beef stew together before moving on with our day. Reginald ignored me for about an hour or so, apparently displeased to have been abandoned so carelessly. His resolve quickly wavered, though, and he accompanied me downstairs to the collection.

Although Ulrik and I hadn't talked about it yet, my pending departure loomed over us like a silent threat. Soon, my stay here would reach three weeks, and while I worked hard enough to justify it, I'd have to return home eventually. Possibly before the week ended.

That reality lingered as I tried to dive back into work. Things would change even if Ulrik came to visit often. I wondered if our story, still so young, could survive the long distance. Between my demanding work hours and his, we'd struggle to make time for one another.

It seemed I wasn't the only one with it in mind, though, because when I emerged out of the collection early in the evening, I found Ulrik busy in the kitchen and a beautiful table set for two people with candles that had yet to be lit and what must have been crystal glasses and fine china.

"Are we celebrating something?" I wondered as I approached him. He looked mighty appetizing, with his light blue button-up shirt and the anthracite apron tied around his waist.

"I thought I'd cook us something, and we'd have a nice evening together."

"Anything in particular that you have in mind?"

"Well, I thought we could talk about what comes next. You'll have to leave soon, and I... I'm not sure I earned my keep yet."

I didn't answer because I wasn't sure either. Yes, I didn't want things to end so quickly, and I hoped we'd keep this thing between us alive. But I wasn't naive enough to think everything would be perfectly fine, even with the North Sea separating us. We were both physical beings, and the most functioning aspect of our relationship for now was the sex. I adored his brain, too, and his mind, but would it be enough in the long term?

The fact that I wasn't rushing to reassure him made him doubt it even more, of course. His brows came together, his expression turning somber. Because I didn't want him to worry about an uncertain future, I walked up to him and wrapped my arms around his muscular build.

"One day at a time, yeah? We can't tell what the future holds for us, but what I know for sure is that I haven't had my fill of you, Norseman. I want so much more."

"The sentiment is reciprocated, love."

"Then I think we're good?" I said with a smile, rising up to kiss him.

He bent down but taunted me, his lips half an inch away from mine. "We are?"

"You'll come visit me in London, right?"

"Of course, elskling. I'll probably move there for the time being, with Yuko and everything."

"Then we're good," I asserted, moving swiftly to lock lips before he teased me some more.

Before whatever was sizzling in the pan could burn, I ripped myself away from him. "Do I have time to shower before dinner?" I asked.

He looked around the kitchen, discontented. "The real question is: do I have time to join you in there?"

I chuckled and shook my head. "All of this smells too good to be ruined. You keep cookin', Norseman, and I'll go get ready for a romantic evening."

He allowed one last peck before I left him alone in his sumptuous kitchen, surrounded by all those mouth-watering scents.

The shower felt great, especially since the long day had started in Oslo. Wrapped in a soft towel, I looked into the wardrobe to find something to wear. I didn't have sexy outfits with me here, aside from the fine lingerie Gigi had stuck in my suitcase. I couldn't have dinner in my underwear, though—otherwise, there would be no dinner at all—just fucking.

Still, I selected a pretty ensemble and slipped it on. It was black with red embroidered details, and the balconette bra barely covered my nipples. I was adjusting the garter on my thigh when my phone buzzed on my bed. As I picked it up, I noticed it was my father, which caused me to grimace. I'd been meaning to call him for ages, and the fact that he was the one doing it clearly proved it was long overdue. Dad tended to forget such things, usually caught up in time and too busy to think outside of work or his cozy little life.

"Hey, Dad," I greeted him as I picked up.

"Hi, squirt. It's been a while."

"Yeah, I'm so sorry... I've been working like crazy lately."

"I know the feeling, yes. You said you went to Norway?"

I'd texted him that I was traveling before leaving. "I'm still there, actually. Found a gold mine. I've never seen a collection as amazing as this one. And it's only the Viking stuff. The rest of the collection is spread all around the world with countless artifacts."

"Anything Egyptian?" he wondered, forever the Egyptologist.

"I suppose so, yeah."

"That's exciting. Who's the collection owner?"

"Ulrik Westergaard. I don't know if you've ever heard of—"

"Oh wow. We have a Westergaard plate here at the Smithsonian."

"Really? I'd never heard of this family before."

"It's a recurring name in the museum world. The Westergaards have been silent patrons for decades, maybe even centuries."

My eyebrows drew up, impressed that he knew all that. Maybe I'd never paid enough attention to notice the name, but at seventy-two years old with over fifty years of work in the field, my father knew better.

While pacing the room, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror, which reminded me that I was in the middle of something. "Did you call for anything in particular?" I asked.

"Yes, hm... I wanted to know if you already got your tickets to come for Christmas."

"Oh, not yet, no. Why?"

"Well, Marcia and I are...separating."

Marcia, the woman he'd been dating for the past five years, was both brilliant and incredible, precisely the kind of person he needed in his life. I was supposed to join them in Washington for Christmas so we could celebrate together, along with her family.

"What?! Why?" I wondered, surprised and disappointed.

"You know me, I'm...complicated. She is a wonderful, wonderful woman, but she's not..."

He trailed off, having the good sense of not finishing his sentence. That didn't fail to anger me, nevertheless, because I knew exactly where this was going. "You have to move on, Dad," I gravely asserted. "She abandoned us twenty-four years ago. You've been hung up over a woman you barely knew for almost a quarter century."

He sighed, already bothered that we were having this discussion yet again. But it wasn't my fault if he couldn't get over the woman who'd birthed me and dipped. "You'll understand one day," he said like a promise. "One day, you'll meet your person, the one made just for you out there, and that person will stick with you for the rest of your life. There's no moving on."

"I refuse to believe that, Dad. You knew her for barely two years. She was a complicated woman with some messed up agenda who abandoned you, as well as the child you made together. There's nothing about her that could make up for that fact."

"She was the most uniquely intriguing woman I've ever met, Jamila."

"So now, you expect all other women to live up to this false idea you've had of her? To this fantasy you've built in your head of who she is?"

"I knew who she was. She was wildly cultivated, deeply interesting, and remarkably smart. Her beauty was beyond what words could ever describe, and her mind... Oh, her mind was the most thrilling of all. We could talk for hours about our matching passion. She knew so much about ancient Egypt and lost history. And she had this mysterious aura to her that I could never get enough of. You can think whatever you want, Mil, but she opened herself up to me like she didn't with anyone else."

"Right... Did she open up too, the night she disappeared with all her stuff, leaving nothing behind—aside from a pathetic 'I'm sorry' note?"

This time, when he sighed, it was evident frustration was taking over. "I wish you'd known her, squirt. I wish you could remember her, how she'd look at you with nothing but love, or how she cherished you like the eighth wonder."

My eyes watered, emotions gaining me despite the fact that I was over this woman and what she'd done. "Don't you think I wish the same?" I said into the phone, my voice slightly trembling. "Don't you think I wish I knew what it's like to have a mother? A maternal figure who stayed by my side as I grew up? Don't you think I'd rather have fond memories, rather than crippling abandonment issues and some messed up idea of motherhood?"

"She never meant to hurt us."

I couldn't hold back the snicker that escaped me. "Really? What did she think would happen? That we'd move on with our merry lives? Did she not realize what abandoning her loved ones like she did was bound to fuck us up? If she did, maybe she wasn't as clever as you thought."

Another deep, defeated sigh. "I can't do this again, Mil."

"Me neither. I have to get ready for dinner."

I could tell he was hurt by my lack of understanding, but I was so over this. That woman had hurt us both more than anyone else, and there was no way I'd pick her side like my father constantly did. No matter what he thought, that woman had many secrets, and she'd vanished into the night with every single one of them, leaving me otherwise orphaned and him brokenhearted.

"I'll call you when I'm back in London," I said, hating the way my throat was tight and aching.

"Alright. I think I might come to you for Christmas if that's okay."

"Yeah, sure," I mumbled.

Marcia would be missed, but it was nothing surprising. This had been my father's pattern all my life, so I wasn't surprised by it. Not a single woman was measured up to his one true love, so they never lasted much longer than a couple of years before he pushed them away. I'd hoped that Marcia would break the pattern, and in a way, she did by lasting much longer than the others. A shame she couldn't entirely cure my dad from his old habits.

"Talk to you soon, Dad," I said before cutting the call.

As much as I loved him, his delusions regarding my mother would always upset me and create this gap between us. The subject was a particularly sensitive one, and the fact that I, the real victim of all this, had to be the voice of reason was exhausting.

Since my romantic mood was almost entirely gone, I slipped on the first thing I found and headed out. It wasn't like I could do much better than the midnight blue wrap dress, anyway.

As I walked back to the living area, I couldn't shake off the uneasiness this conversation had left in me. I tried to shake it off and ignored it, but in the back of my mind, I knew exactly why it had gotten to me so hard. It hit too close to home, didn't it?

His description of my mother, her aura, the mystery of her, their passionate exchanges, her secrets... It was Ulrik. All of it. And even if I refused to believe it, I couldn't help but wonder if I wasn't recreating the same messed up generational pattern, setting myself up for failure as my father had.

Would I wake up one day to find Ulrik gone forever? With nothing left behind but our child and memories that would haunt me for the next quarter of a century? The mere thought of it made my heart race in my chest, and I halted my steps, setting a hand on the wall to lean on it slightly.

There was no way I would let anyone else abandon me with emotional scars that could never fully heal. If he did that to me, I would find him, no matter what, and rip his balls out to feed them to him—even if it took me a lifetime.

Was I being as naive as my father had been by thinking Ulrik and I could make this work? Was I repeating my father's mistake by getting wrapped up in the wrong person's aura?

Soft music rose from the main area, pulling me out of my thoughts, and I swallowed a couple of times to chase away the lump clogging my throat. Gathering myself, I apprehensively took the few more steps that separated me from the end of the corridor.

There, I found Ulrik with a dish towel thrown over his shoulder, methodically lighting up the candles on the beautiful table he'd set for us. There was something inherently joyful about him as if he was looking forward to this little dinner together. He even whistled along with the melody as he returned to the kitchen.

No, I was being paranoid. This man genuinely wanted me, without some terrible agenda, like my mother. He wouldn't hurt me like she had my father. I was certain of it.

I took a deep breath to exorcize my worries, passed my hands on the front of my dress to arrange it, and took a step forward.

One day at a time.