As soon as I opened the door, the flow of oxygen returned into my body and gave me lightness, allowing me to fully breathe since I had entered the house. On the porch, Ansgar stood with a bouquet of wild flowers and a basket of mushrooms, looking embarrassed and wary, possibly expecting another rage attack. When I opened the door, he took a step back and extended the bouquet, trying to signal his peace offering before I started criticising him again.
His view set on me, form tense, taking a defensive position, his other hand holding tight onto the basket of mushrooms. I looked at him from head to toe, taking the time to properly analyse him. He was wearing boots and grey trousers that hung low onto his naval, a long sleeved shirt covering his torso, lax enough to let him move comfortably but tight enough to embrace his muscles and force his biceps to stretch the sleeves. His hair draped his shoulders, as always, strands hanging free with only a few braids that seemed to be strategically created to keep it out of his face.
“I came to apologise,” he took the reins of the conversation,
stretching the bouquet so much towards me that the flowers practically tickled my nose. “I am sorry, I had no intention to make you feel like you had to explain yourself,” he stuttered. “Please forgive me,” he bowed his head apologetically.
The oven decided to finish cooking the pizza at that exact moment and started beeping so loudly that we both flinched at the noise.
“Sorry,” I said and went back into the kitchen to turn it off. I allowed a smile to shape my lips into a new form. As soon as I stopped the noise and opened the oven door, I returned towards the entrance door where Ansgar still waited, surprised by the interruption.
“I am sorry too,” I replied while grabbing hold of the flowers he kept extended, his hand relaxing and enjoying the new freedom. “I probably exaggerated and did not give you an opportunity to defend your point of view.”
He nodded in acceptance, shoulders relaxing and chest falling slightly, like he had been holding in a breath since he first knocked.
Another smile crept up on my lips and I made no effort to contain it. “Why do you have a basket full of mushrooms?”
He looked down at the crate, at the fat mushrooms arranged deliciously inside, forming different shapes and sizes.
“They are my favourite, I thought you might enjoy them. I brought them as an alternative to the flowers in case you decided to throw them at me.” His lips curled into a smirk and that damn fluttering in my stomach almost raised a storm at the sight of it. Of him. “I hoped you would at least accept the food,” he turned towards the basket, admiring his arrangement.
“What am I supposed to do with wild mushrooms?” I chuckled.
He looked surprised, not understanding my point and checked the basket in his hand, then extended it to me as he did the flowers moments earlier.
“Make a stew?” he replied, the expression of innocence portrayed across his beautiful features.
“I can’t cook that well,” I raised my hands defensively.
A provocative grin replaced his innocence. “Do you want me to teach you?”
“I do,” I replied without hesitation, more out of instinct than a rational decision and moved away from the door to allow him to enter. He did so wearily, looking around and taking in the grandeur of the place, like a deer walking in the open field.
What the hell was I doing? I had barely been allowed to stay in this mansion, in this protected place, my dad had to pull all the strings in the world to offer me the most exclusive peace and quiet ever known to man. And here I was, inviting a stranger in a home that was not mine, whose illegal walks through the forest I hadn’t reported to cook mushroom stew?
Not only was I disrespecting the mansion and its history, I was hiding a trespasser and allowing him to enter the small palace, a place almost as protected as the forest around it.
My face must have been a reflection of my thoughts because he stopped in place and looked at me with concern, then took a step back towards the entryway.
“Do you want me to leave?” he murmured, an offer he clearly did not want to make, judging by his barely audible voice.
“Do you have a phone on you?” I scanned him, his pockets, looking for a mobile phone.
“I do not,” he chuckled at the ridicule of the question. “Why would I carry a phone?”
“This place is very precious, a gift from the King of Sweden to his Queen, almost nobody can enter. I was allowed here because of the friendship of the royal family with my own.” I took the time to explain it in detail, all the while giving myself a minute to reconsider the invitation. “I had to sign so many NDAs just to be able to step on these grounds and I cannot risk it if you are going to publish anything about this place or even photograph a single painting. I could be kicked out,” I bit my lip with concern.
“You can blindfold me and I will dictate the recipe to you,” he offered with dead seriousness, his face still and pure. I wondered if he would be willing to do it, if it was not just a joke and my insides twitched at the thought of a blindfolded Ansgar, with only his lips available for the taking.
“That’s ok, we’ll leave the blindfolding for another time,” my flirtatious-self replied. “Just please don’t tell anyone you’ve been here, not even on instagram and don’t take any pictures. Promise me.” I paused, my entire body still as I looked at him with seriousness. He had to understand how important this was.
As a response, Ansgar raised his right hand and placed it over his chest, then intoned solemnly “I, Ansgar of Sylvan Regnum, vow to you Anwen…” he stopped and looked at me inquisitively, until I realised he wanted to know my surname.
“Odstar,” I answered, to which he nodded, adopted the solemn features once more and started again.
“I, Ansgar of Sylvan Regnum, vow to you Anwen Odstar that I shall not reveal my visit to this residence to anyone of The Instagram nor will I take photographs of the insides of this mansion.” He finished with a reassuring smile.
Ignoring the kaleidoscope of butterflies swarming through my stomach, I grabbed the basket he had left on the floor and walked into the kitchen. The oven emanated heat from the pizza I had planned to eat, now abandoned onto the countertop.
