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“Tonight,” she whispers, “I’ll see you tonight.”
“I want you now,” I growl, clenching my fists but she lets out a squeak, running away from me and it’s probably for the best. Better not to risk it. For her sake. But I’m still worked up and if I’m not allowed to have her soon, my frustration will only rise and rise and fuck knows what I’ll do.
Dragging a breath, I come up with a plan. Tonight after dinner, I’ll speak with her father and ask for his daughter’s hand. If he says no, I’ll do coldblooded murder and if he says yes, then...Valkyrie will be mine. Forever.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Valkyrie
I’m trembling as I walk down the staircase. I’ve put my hair up and I never wear it up but I thought that Iversen might like it. My hand shudders on the banister and I’m so nervous that I doubt I’ll be able to get a bite down. Entering the dining room, I pause when I catch the look in my father’s eyes. His gaze roams down my dress and he murmurs,
“You look like your mother.”
With a pained look on his face he turns around and I hide a gasp as my heart squeezes. He’s never said that before, barely even mentions her but his compliment fills me with warmth and gives me a sense of pride. My mother was no wallflower. She was a fierce woman and being compared to her...it makes me want to burst out in tears and I rub off some water from my corneas.
Inhaling to soothe my nerves, I look around and the dining room is gorgeous tonight. Everything’s lit up and sure its gothic as always but the candlelight gives it a softer hue. Taking a seat I wait for everyone to sit down but Iversen isn’t here yet. The other soldier is here though, the one Iversen calls Paleface and he asks my father if he can sit next to me.
To my relief my father declines and I breathe out from relief.
This night would’ve progressed in the wrong direction if he’d sat down next to me. I don’t think Iversen would’ve liked it, maybe he would’ve even done something reckless and I’d prefer it if everything could go smoothly.
Our dinners are always so theatrical. There’s always some fight and I think they do it on purpose because they enjoy the aggression. It was even worse when I was younger and many of the men unmarried. I don’t know how many times I had to crawl under the table and wait for the blowup to be over so that I could come out again and enjoy my mac and cheese like a normal kid.
At least these days, their wives have managed to somewhat calm them down.
I straighten in my seat when I feel my neck prickling and I know Iversen just entered the room. Trying to act unbothered, I take my napkin and spread it on my lap while listening to his footsteps. His boots make the floorboards creak and there’s a faint hint of his scent in the air and I squirm, rubbing my thighs together and it’s a good thing the table cloth is long.
The closer he comes, the harder it is to keep it together and the chatter sounds like a constant buzzing in my ears. I grow dizzy, licking my lips and I want Iversen near me. He’s so mighty and dreamy and with him close I feel so much more self-assured.
“Fádir,” I whisper, trying to be discreet because I don’t want to make a big deal out of this. “I’d like for soldier Nox to sit next to me.”
My father’s eyes zone in on me. “You want Iversen to sit next to you?” he practically shouts to my horror and it’s obvious he’s had one drink too many. Not only that but the chatter around the table stops and everyone turns to look at me.
I’m in the center of attention.
I turn bright red in the face.
And I can’t breathe.
Why did he have to scream it!
“I’ll allow it,” my dad says eventually and my heart pounds when Iversen pulls out his chair and sits down. He’s staring straight ahead and his torso isn’t naked tonight but he’s wearing a t-shirt. A black one, a ripped one and it makes him look hotter than hot in a grim reaper sort of way.
Licking my lips, I address my father again, asking for permission to talk to Iversen and I’m so happy when he agrees that I almost do a victory dance. “Bread?” I ask Iversen, holding out the basket with freshly baked rolls and he takes one and puts it on his plate. His eyes roam over my face, haunting around my mouth.
“You look lovely,” Iversen says in a low voice and I twitch when I feel his hand quickly give mine a squeeze. “Blossoming...I choke on a breath every time I see you.”
“So do I,” I breathe, “when I see you, I m...mean...”
It’s a good thing nobody can hear our conversation because if they did, they’d probably burst out laughing at my attempts to be coquettish. But Iversen doesn’t seem to mind my awkward attempts. He just straightens until he looks bigger than usual, grins and winks at me before biting into his roll.
Taking a sip of my wine, I drag a breath because this is what I want for the future. For him to be accepted at the table, to finally get the respect that I know he deserves. He’d make an amazing underboss.
“I like being able to have dinner with you,” I whisper and he glances at me, his eyes full of emotions and for a second I get worried, he’ll grab my face and plant a kiss on my mouth.
“After tonight, you’ll be having all your dinners with me.”
My heart smashes in my chest. What does that mean and does it mean what I think it means?
