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“Judith,” Björn insists, “why do you think I showed up with a bottle of champagne? Either he explained it badly, or you didn’t want to listen.”
I blink. I shake my head.
Eric was going to ask me to marry him?
That’s crazy!
“When the whole Betta thing happened and he found out about everything, he got really mad. His mother and sister gave him quite a telling-off. He told me that everything that happened wasn’t your fault. That it was his for being how he is. He wasn’t angry with you, darling. He was angry with himself. He couldn’t understand how he could be so thick as to let everyone lie to him and hide things.” I blink, almost not breathing, and Björn continues. “When he came to my house and told me, I said what I’ve always said. His way of saying things, so cutting, intimidates people, and then they don’t tell him anything. It was hard for him to hear, but he understood. He thought about it for days. That’s why he wasn’t talking to you, and when he finally realized that he wanted to make up for it, everything had already gone to shit. You kissed me. He shut everyone out, and you left.”
I’m dumbfounded. Björn snaps his fingers in front of my face.
“Still here?”
I nod.
“You have to come back. He’s so proud that, in spite of knowing he did wrong, he can’t ask you to come back even though he’s dying inside. And so, darling, if you love him, you have to take the first step. Everyone who lives around him will thank you for it.”
My mind is racing.
“I can’t do it, Björn. We hurt each other too much.”
He sighs and stands up.
“How can you both be so pigheaded?”
“It takes practice,” I respond, remembering the answer Eric once gave me.
“You love each other. You miss each other. Why can’t you work it out? You separated the first time because he threw you out. The second time because you left. One of you has to give in this time, right?”
What I’m hearing stuns me.
“I need to get out of here. Let’s go. I’ll buy you a drink.”
We go out that night and talk. He never tries to cross the line with me; he behaves like a true gentleman and a better friend than Eric. After dropping me off at my house at nine o’clock, he leaves. He has to catch a flight back to Munich.
The next day at the office, I’m writing an email when the man who makes me crazy suddenly appears in front of me and, without stopping, slams his hand down on my desk and says, “Miss Flores, step into my office.” And storms right back out.
My heart rises into my throat. Eric, here? I can’t move.
My legs tremble.
I’m hyperventilating.
Three minutes later, the phone rings. An internal call. I pick up.
“Miss Flores, I’m waiting for you,” Eric insists.
I stand up carefully. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him, and suddenly, he’s here, mere feet from me, and demanding my presence. My neck tingles. I close my eyes, breathe in, and walk into the office. The impact of seeing him takes my breath away. He’s let his beard grow.
“Close the door.”
His tone of voice is low and intimidating. I do what he asks.
“What were you doing out with Björn last night?” he asks all of a sudden.
I blink. We haven’t spoken in months, and that’s what he asks me? How could he ...
When I manage to open my mouth, I answer, “Sir, I ...”