She slept fitfully, and the next morning she wandered around the massive house alone. She wasn’t certain if Gunnar was even in residence.
She had a croissant and a tea for breakfast, then answered some work emails. After an hour or so she was restless.
The house was incredible. Huge. There were so many rooms, and any one of them could be the nursery. The nursery.
Her heart squeezed tight. She was here, committed to making a family with Gunnar. Committed to...
There was so much between them. Heat and anger and despair.
She wanted more.
She didn’t know if he would ever give her more.
She started to push the doors open, looking inside. There was nothing remarkable about any of them. And there was one door, painted blue. She stopped, and pushed it open. And inside was... It was nearly identical to the room in Gunnar’s home in Iceland, except there was a crib in it. But the walls were painted bright colors, and there were games, toys. She walked out of the hallway. “Gunnar?”
She heard footsteps coming up the stairs. “What is it?”
“Did you have a nursery put together for the child?”
He stopped at the top of the stairs and nodded gravely. “Yes.”
“It looks like... The room in Iceland. Was that meant to be a nursery too? Except... It didn’t have a crib in it... It’s because your father took your toys.”
“Olive...”
“It is. It’s because your father took your toys, and you replaced them.” Her chest went horribly tight. “Gunnar...” She moved to him, and she touched his face. “You’re going to be a good father.”
He turned his head away. “I choose to be a good man. I choose to do good things.”
“You are a good man.”
“Any man is capable of being corrupted.”
“Is that an accusation directed at me?”
“I can see how you would think it might be given our history. But no. This is about me. And what I know of men. Men like my father.”
“I’ve never seen you display a violent temper. Even when you were angry with me in my office... I fainted and you took me to the doctor.”
“And yet it is complacency that could create problems. I will never be complacent.”
But he had bought all these toys. It was like the only way he knew to show affection. And suddenly... She was filled with hope. Hope for their future. He had said that he could not love, but what was this if not... The very depths of his soul brought out before them. The one thing he had wanted more than anything. It was a physical representation of what he had thought a father’s love might be, and what he had been denied. And here it was. Here it was.
“It’s beautiful.”
“It may not work for a girl,” he said.
“It’s perfect. It’s perfect no matter what. We are not our fathers. Our child will have birthday parties here. In the yard, with friends. And there will be ponies.”
“Ponies?”
“Yes. And chocolate cupcakes.”
And she saw something soften in him.
“Perhaps.”
“What else happened? With your father.”