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His tone stuns me. I didn’t imagine our reunion so cold. Maybe he’s like that with everyone. After all, we are at his father’s funeral. He must be suffering from his death. I myself was devastated by the death of my mother.
Don’t let yourself be discouraged.
“I… I’m sorry for your loss…”
Hesitantly, I cross the last inches that separate us, I kiss his bearded cheeks. This tingling sensation is not familiar to me. When I met him there was no hair on his face. Yet, I can still feel the softness of his skin. My lips stay longer than necessary on his cheeks. I soak up his musky scent, which makes my heart race. Niklas has become a man. ArealViking.
A painful memory resurfaces at the sight of the scar that marks his right temple. Suffering seems to permeate the whole house. Hendrik’s death is proof of that.
“I understand the pain you are going through.”
His smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and stares into mine.
“What do you know about pain, huh?”
More than you think…
“My mother, I… you know.”
I don’t like the discomfort between us. But can I blame him? I left leaving him a horrible letter and we meet again for his father’s funeral. His grudge is tenacious, I have always known it. But towards me? I bite my lip.
“I’m going to stay until tomorrow, we could talk?”
I owe him the truth.
“Yeah, for the inheritance, that’s all you care about,” he spits.
“It… it’s not just for that. Niklas, I—”
“There you are.”
Rikard places himself at my side and puts an arm on my slender hips. They are sizing each other up. They are both the same height, but Niklas is the bulker one. Their difference in style is striking. Rikard is clean-shaven, dressed in a beautiful black suit. He exudes a sophisticated beauty; he is a man of the aristocracy. My stepbrother, on the other hand, has golden-brown hair tied in a bun, and wears a neat, inch-long beard that makes him look like a Viking. A sensual beauty, wild even, emanates from him. His new look doesn’t leave me indifferent.
A jolt of testosterone radiates from them and makes my hair stand on end.
“My condolences,” Rikard presents, holding out his hand.
If Nik’s eyes could kill, my boyfriend would have died instantly. Seeming to contain himself, the last descendant of the Ekman’s ends up taking his hand. I don’t know how much force they’re exerting, but their knuckles are turning white, each trying to get the better of the other.
Men, I sigh to myself.
Finally, Niklas breaks off this exchange with a small evil grinon his lips.
“So, he’s the one who’s been supporting you?”
“I’m her boyfriend,” Rikard says, with a grunt.
“Does it change anything?”
Niklas raises his head and stares at a point above me. Without announcing it, he walks around us and joins a couple of fifty-year-olds whose hands he generously shakes.
“What a son of a bitch,” Rikard snaps.
“Rick!”
“What?” he growls. “Did you see how he spoke to me?”
“He’s in mourning, he must not know what he’s saying.”
