Page 50 of Golden Burn

It’s a long, long time before it does.

19

Etta

‘What Kind of Man Loves Like This’- Florence and the Machine

My eyes are bloodshot, my head groggy, but no ache is present. I spend several seconds stretching like a cat, testing out my limbs. I’m not as hungover as I should be. And I’m definitely not as heavy, subconsciously, that is. There’s a lightness in my chest that hasn’t been present in many months. A trill of satisfaction that thrums in my veins. Then I remember why…

Odin’s concerned expression. Odin blocking the ice cold water from touching me. Odin’s naked chest beneath my hands. Odin cradling my face. Odin’s delicate and monumental confession. His wife. Her death. Our shared agony.

Odin. Odin. Odin.

My entire being flushes with heat. My stomach twists with butterflies. I have to clap my hands over my face to keep myself calm.

Then I sense a presence to my right and notice Odin sitting in a chair, watching me.

“Good morning, Edward.” I stifle a startled yelp behind another yawn, arching my lower back. Odin is dressed—such a shame—wearing a cream linen button-up shirt rolled up his forearms and slightly loose fitted tan pants. “Have you never seen Twilight?” I prompt, reading his silence as confusion.

“No.”

In a weird male voice, I repeat the infamous line. “I like watching you sleep. It’s, uh, kind of fascinating to me.”

Odin grimaces. “That’s… unpleasant.”

“Consider it as my first form of payback after the wedding. Twilight marathon. I’ll get us matching shirts.”

Straightening, he slides forward till his forearms rest on his knees. He looks nothing like the man who stood with me in the shower. But then again, I don’t look like the woman who wanted to melt and flow down the drain, either.

“I’ll pass,” he replies, his voice smooth. Standing, he makes his way around the bed. I watch every movement, fascinated by the fluidity of his steps, the ripple in his thighs, the sculpted muscles of his arms. “Martise has organized a walking tour. You’re late, but you’ll be able to make it if you run.”

“What?” I throw myself out of the bed. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Because you never wake a sleeping woman unless you have a death sentence.”

Well, he’s not wrong.

There’s a polite knock at the door. “Dr. Lewis? I’ll wait for you out here.”

“She’s coming,” Odin calls. “Here.” He passes me a bottle of red liquid—sugary hydralite—and another one full of sparkling water. I take them greedily, my cheeks blushing with embarrassment, then I race into the bathroom to get changed. I’m out and walking with Martise in under two minutes.

It’s not long during the tour that I start to feel an empty ache spread in my chest. Not the usual loneliness, but one that has grown from an unlikely interaction between foes. Martise is wonderful, full of warm energy, incredibly intelligent and eager to speak with me, but I can’t shake the realization that I wish Odin was here. Even if we didn’t talk or look at each other. His protective nature, the certainty that he would make a great partner, is something I’ve always craved.

And that’s a quality I can’t help admiring in my fiancé.

Upon my return to our secluded lodging, I find Omandi standing at the door with a garment bag in hand. “Ah, Etta.Muli bwanji?”he says.

My answer to his question is a guess. “I’m… good?”

“Very good!” He lets loose a loud clap of laughter. “I have a delivery to give to you.”

I take the garment bag from him. “Thank you.”

“Dinner will be ready in half’n hour,” he smiles and shifts to walk away.

“How do I say thank you?”

He slows down the word for me to pick up on the syllables. “Zikomo.”

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