“The reason why I said yes to this TV show was you.”
Suddenly, it was as if the world was holding its breath again. Her heart was racing, and the expression in his eyes made her head spin as if she had knocked back a whole glass ofcrémant. She looked at him warily. Was he flirting with her?
“I’ve said too much.” He shook his head. “This ... My mom hates this side of me. Too talkative.”
“I think it’s fantastic.” She meant it.
“Oh?”
She nodded. “It makes me feel special. The fact that you share things with me, it’s wonderful. It’s a great quality, being vulnerable and opening up to someone else.”
“It’s naive.”
“I think it’s a sign of trust. And it shows you’re genuine.” She wanted him to understand how valuable that side of him was.
He nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off her.
She didn’t really want to break the mood, but she cleared her throat anyway and bent down. “Ready for another game?” She gathered up the boules, the dust whirling around her as she moved across the court.
They positioned themselves at the short end of the court. He touched her on several occasions: placed a hand on her arm when he laughed, squeezed her shoulder when she achieved a good throw. It was intoxicating. At the same time, a clear voice inside her head said,This is not ideal.Although this guy clearly appealed to her, the last thing she needed in her life was a man in crisis. He hadn’t gotten over his wife; this flirtation was just a way of making him feel better. A rebound. Which Bente could usually tolerate, and might have this time if it wasn’t for the fact that this attraction felt so different from her usual ones.
Plus a relationship between them could scuttle the show.
She couldn’t help returning his touch, though. She wanted to be near him.
They played a second game, and once again she won.
She gave him a triumphant smile. “Another secret, please.”
“Sowho’sbeen playing boules in their spare time?” He laughed. She loved that laugh. Deep and clear. Just like his voice—he could sing tenor in a choir.
“Come on, what’s your next secret?”
He smiled and thought for a moment, then the smile disappeared. He cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his thick, wavy hair.
“This might be too personal, I ...” He broke off. “No, I can’t.”
“Surely that’s the definition of a secret? Secrets are personal. Isn’t that the whole point of a secret?”
“Maybe.” He bit his lower lip. Oh God. She couldn’t get enough of gazing at that mouth.
“Okay.” He swallowed hard, looked at her. “I don’t know if I can have kids.”
The atmosphere changed in a heartbeat. She didn’t know what to say, so she nodded and left him the space to say more, if he wanted to.
“We tried to have a baby for a long time. Several years. And when Lovisa met someone else, she got pregnant right away, so ... What other conclusion can I draw?”
Had he really just said that? It was the first time he’d put it into words, even in his own mind. Bente’s green eyes were fixed on his.
At first he’d thought she wouldn’t go along with this silly competition. She was so incredibly private, it had been a ruse to try to make her reveal something, get a little closer to her. Instead he had ended up babbling about himself. And now this—the words had just slipped out somehow. He hadn’t intended to tell her, but in hindsight it felt good, as if he hadwantedher to know.
Presumably this was a way of processing the whole thing. Lovisa was pregnant, by someone else. So the fault for it not happening for them must lie with Didrik.
He clapped his hands. “So shall we continue our Parisian adventure?”
Everything had gotten so serious, and now he wanted to leave it behind for a while. To try to have some fun—he didn’t want Bente to feel she had to act the role of therapist.
She smiled. “Good idea. One thing I think you have to do in Paris is buy a bottle of Meursault and drink it on a hill with a fantastic view of the city.”
