Her cheeks went red.
“Well, it’s just... It’s just... I like... I like medieval Viking romance novels.”
“You mentioned this before. I cannot believe romance stories about Vikings exist.”
“I find them to be diverting.”
“Vikings specifically.”
“Yes.”
“But they were raiders. Pillagers. More often than not, they would simply take women captive rather than marry them. How exactly can that be a romance?”
He lifted a brow and regarded her closely. He did not know why her answer seemed suddenly important.
“Wow, Gunnar, I cannot imagine why the story of a woman who is forced into a life against her will and must find softness and pleasure in it, in spite of circumstances she will never be fully in control over, would appeal to me.”
And he didn’t say anything, because he had to sit with that comment.
It was a strange perspective.
One he certainly had never thought of. And who did she feel trapped by? Her father?
He supposed that at the moment she felt trapped by him.
But he could not let her go.
He would not.
They would be married next week, in a wedding that was certain to be the media spectacle of the decade.
And she would simply have to continue to live in her world of romance novels and whatever else she might need.
He was not a man who could make a different choice than this.
And he could only indulge her so far.
He looked at her, all of her softness.
And he ached.
Once had not been enough.
But soon enough, she would be his bride. And then... Then he would have her.
Raiders. Pillagers.
Was he any different?
He had not imagined that he was a Viking.
But in that moment, he felt as if he were.
The conqueror, quite eager to take the conquered.
Except he looked at the stubborn line of her jaw, and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.
No. Olive would never be conquered.
Instead, it would be a battle every day forever.
And he ignored the tightening of excitement in his gut at the thought of that.