The Gender Plan (The Gender Game #6)(50)

Delighted by his words, I laughed, and pulled back so I could reach up and cup his cheek. “Any picture that involves me and you, any setting, any circumstance—I don’t care if it’s… robots from the moon or whatever! If that’s your picture of us, then I’m happy, because I’ll be with you.”

Viggo gave me a stunned look, and then smiled a deliciously slow, smoldering smile. “That’s the type of language you use to tell a man you appreciate him,” he said, his voice husky and rough, making me shiver slightly. “That’s how you win the most awesome partner.”

My grin widened, and I pulled away from him, reluctantly, heading to our bedroom. I liked our bedroom; it was quaint. The bed was a bit old, but it was sturdy and big enough to hold the two of us, and that was what I cared about. Viggo and I moved in comfortable silence around the room, undressing and preparing for bed. I brushed my teeth in the bathroom, and then washed my face, using a little bit of the face cream Amber had given me. I had never considered myself a face cream person, but Amber had sold me on it the first day I’d begrudgingly tried it, when my face didn’t feel so dry.

The bedsprings squeaked and rattled as Viggo got into bed, and I turned in time to see his long legs disappearing under the covers. His chest was bare, and I felt my mouth go dry as I saw the strong lines of his pecs crossing his chest, almost leading my eye to the deep furrow that defined the center of his abs, straight down his body, until it disappeared beneath the covers. The only imperfections were those small puckered scars, still pink and fresh, one over his heart, the other on his upper ribcage.

I myself was only wearing a pair of shorts and a thin shirt. While there was a definite chill in the air, I had learned a long time ago that sleeping next to Viggo was like sleeping next to a furnace. I didn’t need much on to stay warm, and it was something I was entirely grateful for, especially as the nights grew colder.

He smiled in the periphery of my vision, and as I looked up to meet his gaze, I could see the knowing look he was giving me. His hand patted the empty space next to him, and I moved over to the bed, drawing the cover back and lying down.

We had just started to settle into each other, taking a few moments to adjust our limbs and bodies until we were intertwined and pressed together closer than should’ve been possible, when a sharp rap sounded on the door.

“Are you decent?” Henrik’s deep voice rolled through the door, and I exchanged a brief and confused look with Viggo. My first thought was that he didn’t like where I’d parked the drone.

“Ish,” retorted Viggo. “But you can come in.”

We disentangled ourselves as the door swung open, and Henrik entered, shutting the door behind him. Viggo stood up and put on an old t-shirt while Henrik waited. Once he was properly attired, he went over and shook the older man’s hand.

“What’s up?” he asked.

Henrik just smiled as Viggo grabbed a chair, bringing it to the foot of our bed, where Henrik dropped into it like all his strength had deserted him. “Thank you,” he said.

I shifted down on the bed some, but kept the covers draped over me, unwilling to face the cold again. Viggo sat down next to me, but we were both focused on Henrik.

He stared at us, and then leaned back in the chair slightly, resting an elbow over its wooden back. “I was going to start with small talk, but, well, there’s no sense in dragging the suspense out. I have something I want to give you—both of you.”

“What is it?” I asked, intrigued.

Henrik hesitated, and then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wooden box, about half the size of my palm. “Here.”

He offered it to me, and I took it, examining it. It was simple, plain, although the stain on the wood had a slight red tinge to it. As I shifted it to examine the seams, I heard something inside bounce and jingle, as though two metal objects had hit together. My curiosity intensifying, I examined the box more closely, and then finally pulled back the lid, revealing two wedding bands resting inside.

My head snapped up, the words coming from my mouth taking on a life of their own in their haste to understand what I was looking at. “Where did you get these, and why are you giving them to us?”

“Call it a belated engagement gift,” Henrik announced politely. “I didn’t steal them, if that’s your worry. Nor did I scavenge them. They belonged to my daughter and her husband.”

Viggo and I exchanged alarmed glances and then focused back on Henrik, listening, aware that whatever he was about to say, it was going to be a story… and likely not a happy one. “When my little girl announced she wanted to get married to a Matrian male, I had my reservations. But if she was happy, I was happy. Her husband Edgar was a kind man. Simple, but he cared for her far better than any Patrian male would have.

“Mathilda wrote me diligently, at least once a week. We scheduled times to call. I had just retired from being a warden when she called me up one day, out of the blue. She was pregnant with my first grandchild.”

He smiled then, his weathered face nostalgic, lost in his own story. I leaned my shoulder against Viggo.

“I put in an extended travel request to go see them, and, after calling in a few favors, it got approved. I showed up at her house with bags in hand.” He paused, and shifted slightly in his chair, his face going pensive. “I got to extend my trip twice while I was there. So I could spend time with my grandson and my daughter. Eventually, I had to go. We kept in touch, and I got to see Connor growing up through the pictures my daughter sent me, and the letters she wrote. But as his eighth birthday got closer, our conversations always centered around the test—would he pass or fail? There was no option to bring him to Patrus. Matrian law would never allow an untested male across the river. We talked the issue to death, all of us clinging to the hope he would pass.