Page 97 of Bitter Secrets

He nodded. “That’s just one of many.”

“I want to see them all,” she said.

“That will take time.”

“Perfect.” She wanted to avoid being idle.

Mo waited at the bottom of the steps. Like Johan, he was on alert, eyeing the tourists with such suspicion that some of them looked a tad nervous. He fell into step beside her as she strode through the doors and out onto the street. She paused to take in the garlands strung over the busy streets and ornaments hanging from trees lining the sidewalks. It seemed the premature Christmas she experienced at the Davies’ townhouse had expanded to a whole city.

“What’s the plan?” Mo asked.

She turned to Johan. “I want the ultimate Copenhagen experience. Tell me what to eat, drink, how the Danes do life. Do you know how many days…?” When they shook their heads, she spread her hands. “Then we need to fit in as much as we can before he decides to leave.”

Johan cocked his head. “You’re a writer, right?”

She gave him a deadpan stare that made his lips twitch.

“I only ask because of Hans.”

“Who?”

“You’ve heard of Hans Christian Andersen?”

“The author ofThe Little Mermaid? Of course. What about him?”

“He’s from here. There are some statues of him in the city and some tours that—"

“Yes, let’s do that too.”

She couldn’t resist visiting the old haunts of renowned writers. She had visited quite a few estates, hotels, and bars, where writers penned famous works, hoping that some of their genius would rub off on her. Walking in their shoes, even if it was centuries later, made her feel as if she were one step closer to achieving something great. She looked around her at the stunning, historic buildings, and wondered how Hans’ environment and culture shaped him into the writer who penned one of the most tragic fairytales.

“Where shall we start?” she asked Johan.

“Coffee?”

She linked her arm through his and ignored how he stiffened in alarm. “I like the Danes already,” she said gaily and tugged him along the sidewalk, while Mo followed a step behind, shaking his head.

* * *

She had never putmuch stock in the holidays, but it was impossible to resist being drawn in by the twinkling lights, Christmas music playing over the speakers, and festive decorations everywhere she turned. She moved through the crowd, grinning from ear to ear. Strangers smiled back, filled with the same sense of giddy delight. Copenhagen awakened her inner child, who desperately wanted to believe in Christmas miracles.

Around every corner was a Christmas market, some piece of history to explore, or an eatery that needed to be investigated. Johan was a patient, indulgent, and informative guide that clearly had great love for his country. There was so much to see, and she wanted to avoid wasting a moment, but Johan forced her to take breaks, ushering her into cafés and restaurants to rest. When she protested, he reminded her that she wanted to live like the Danes. He introduced her to Hygge, which loosely translated into the English word for cozy, but it went a bit deeper than curling up in front of a fire. According to Johan, it was about slowing down to enjoy life’s simple pleasures in a relaxing atmosphere. He pointed out the heated kissing bench in Tivoli Gardens, the boardgames at a café, and the blankets restaurants offered if they wanted to sit outside and people watch beneath heated lamps. The more Johan told her about his culture, the more she wondered why he left it to follow Roth around the world.

She took his advice to heart and made a conscious effort to slow down and live in the moment. They took a boat tour where the cheerful skipper pointed out buildings and landmarks and regaled them with Copenhagen’s history. They biked through the city, visited the Black Diamond Library, and toured the Christiansborg and Amalienborg Palace along with Copenhagen Opera House and King William IV’s pleasure palace, Rosenborg Slot. Before she collapsed in bed the past two nights, she jotted down notes of everywhere she’d visited and details she wanted to use for future stories. Copenhagen was a treasure trove of inspiration.

She tipped her head back to look up at a cloudy sky, backlit by a silver moon. There was a damp chill in the air, but she was comfortable, thanks to the knitwear she picked up at the markets and a steady stream of hot beverages Johan provided to keep her warm. He was constantly appearing at her side; a hot chocolate in hand with a dash of whiskey, Irish coffee, tea, or Gløgg, a mulled wine served with almonds and raisins. She glanced around the busy square and spotted her guards, who had been infected by the holidays spirit as well. They were grinning as they drank their coffees and took in the festivities.

A family of five posed in front of a towering Christmas tree. They were all beaming, arms around each other. She pretended to take a photo of the tree, but she wanted to capture their rosy cheeks, the joy shining in their eyes, and a closeness that sent a pang of longing through her. Normally, she preferred empty landscapes, streets, and architecture, but in Copenhagen, she found herself focusing on the people. There was a quiet contentment to them that fascinated her. From quiet boardgames to standing around fire pits, chatting amicably as they warmed themselves, and the fact that there were more bicycles than cars, there was a simplicity to this city that she wholeheartedly embraced. Copenhagen felt like an alternate universe untouched by the complications of modern life. She found herself trying to mimic the locals by slowing her march to a stroll and enjoying the moment instead of trying to predict the future.

She signaled to Mo and Johan before she ambled into the Christmas market. Unlike New York, she didn’t have to battle the crowd. People made space for her at crowded booths, so she could purchase fudge, handmade wool ornaments from Nepal, a knit blanket for Polara, and other knickknacks. She enjoyed the clash of foreign languages and followed her nose to investigate tempting smells.

When she caught sight of snow globes, she made a beeline for the booth. She had picked up several during her travels and was always eager to add more to her collection. There were the expected holiday themed globes—snowmen, Christmas trees, and kids on sleighs, but it was the ones that were unique to Copenhagen that captured her attention. There was a miniature of Nyhavn, Copenhagen’s iconic waterfront, castles that looked straight out of a storybook, a Yule heart perched at the top of a mountain, and a replica of the Little Mermaid statue she had visited earlier in the day.

She picked up the glass sphere and examined the lonely, dejected figure perched on a rock, and felt an odd kinship with her. She knew firsthand how a one-sided love could destroy you. She shook the globe, engulfing the mermaid in glitter and swirling white. The snow should have softened the scene, but it only seemed to enhance the mermaid’s despondent, unhappy fate.

She ran her thumb over the glass, wishing she could reach the girl trapped inside, but she was forever beyond her reach. Was her life any different? Roth put her in a glass cage. People could talk to her through the invisible barrier, but she had no voice. She couldn’t confide in anyone or ask for help. From the outside looking in, everything looked glamorous and romantic, but no one knew that inside, she was just as lonely and devastated as the mermaid who had sacrificed everything for a man who had chosen another.

“Mrs. Roth?”

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