She was not as in control as she would like him to believe. And when he thought back to the entire actions of the day, from her clutching the crackers and behaving in such a ridiculous manner, to now, he could see that all of it was a wild attempt to keep him at arm’s length. Because she had most certainly known that she was pregnant, whether she had taken a test or not.
And she did not want him to know.
Whatever she said, he had a feeling she was certain enough whose child she carried. He felt as if women generally did know such things. That even if they had multiple lovers, they often had suspicions. Her desperation to hide it from him gave him a fair idea of what her suspicions were.
“Was that an offer of pleasure?” She asked again, attempting to look bold.
“That all depends. I personally like a bit of pleasure with my pain. I’m not certain that you feel the same.”
She shivered.
But he knew it wasn’t from her lies or even fear.
Oh, yes. This was the problem. He had always sensed that little Olive was his match in a great many ways. In the bedroom, at least.
She had been asking him questions that were dangerous for him to answer with those wide beautiful eyes since she was far too young to be asking them.
After that exchange, Olive pretended to nap. She was not asleep, he was certain of that.
She was like a little kid, feigning sleep with her eyes scrunched tight.
He would’ve found it charming, if he were capable of finding her charming.
The plane landed on his private airfield, at the base of the mountain. The snow had begun to fall in earnest, capping craggy black rocks.
The house—made of concrete and thick glass—was nestled into the side of the mountain, all the better to shield it from the harsh weather.
The sea was to one side, the hot springs midway to the top of where the house sat.
All of it accessible only by tram.
He had one built specifically for the journey both to the hot springs, and the house.
They disembarked from the plane, and Olive looked around, her eyes wide. “Are we supposed to...walk?”
“Yes. I hope you brought your trekking poles.”
“I didn’t. And you well know I don’t have a parka,” she said, still wrapped in the blanket, standing out there with the vast expanse of snow behind her. She looked like a little drop of blood out there in the pristine wilderness, and he could not help but wonder if that were a metaphor of some kind. Certainly one he did not wish to examine too closely.
“I’m kidding.”
“Are you capable of kidding?”
“Clearly. We take the tram to the top.”
“What?” she asked, clearly not any more appeased by this than she was at the idea of walking.
“Yes,” he said. “We take the tram to the top. It is quite nice. Beautiful view.”
“I don’t... That is...”
“Clearly you are not made of hearty Icelandic stock,” he said.
“No. I am a city-dwelling marshmallow. This is... This is not... No.”
But she was not about to freeze to death, and when he grabbed the edge of her blanket and began to tug her along, she came, taking tiny indignant steps as she endeavored to stay bundled up.
He took them to the edge of the tram platform, where the car was sitting. “It’s probably cold in there,” he said, not bothering to sound apologetic at all.