"Deal."
Margareta brings the main course. Chicken in some kind of cream sauce, roasted vegetables, perfectly seasoned. It's restaurant quality.
"This is incredible," I moan after the first bite.
"Margareta's been with me for fifteen years. She knows what she's doing."
We eat and talk, conversation flowing easily. He tells me about growing up in the organization, learning the business from his father. I tell him about my mother, the good memories before she died.
"What was she like?" he asks.
"Warm. Funny. She could make friends with anyone. Dad used to say she was the only thing that kept him human." I smile at the memory. "She'd read to me every night. Made up voices for all the characters. I fell asleep to her voice every single night until I was eight."
"I'm sorry you lost her so young."
"Me too. But I'm grateful I had her at all. Some people never get that kind of love."
"Like me," he says quietly.
"Your parents weren't warm?"
"My mother left when I was five. My father was... hard. He believed in discipline. Control. Showing no weakness." Axel's jaw tightens. "I learned early that feelings were liabilities in our world."
"That's a terrible way to grow up."
"It made me strong."
"It made you lonely."
He's quiet for a moment, then nods. "Yeah. It did."
I reach across the table, take his hand. "You're not alone anymore."
"Neither are you."
We finish dinner, and Margareta brings out dessert. Chocolate cake with raspberry sauce. It's sinful.
"I'm going to gain so much weight with this baby," I say around a mouthful.
"Good. You're too thin right now."
"I'm stress eating. Does that count?"
"Only if the stress is my fault."
"It's definitely at least fifty percent your fault."
He grins. "I'll take those odds."
After dessert, he stands and offers his hand. "Dance with me."
"There's no dance floor."
"There's music and space. That's all we need."
I let him pull me up, and he wraps one arm around my waist. I rest my hand on his shoulder, and we sway to the music.
"I'm not very good at this," I warn.
