Page 49 of Valkyrie Confused

A minute ticks by, and still nobody speaks. I need to say something. I’m the author; I have all the words.

Pan comes over, and I love him a little in this moment. “Hello, ladies. Hope you had a good day,” he says in English, for my benefit.

They preen and grin and assure him it was great. “The village is lovely,” Girl-to-my-Right says. “Tomorrow, we’re thinking of driving to lake Doxa. I hear it’s magical.”

“It is, and you definitely should,” he says. “Now, what would you like to drink?”

“Wine.” I don’t need to think about it.

The girls ask for the same, and I look at Pan expectantly. When he doesn’t ask for ID, I say, “Shouldn’t you card them?” I don’t want us to lose our liquor license.

He chuckles. “We don’t do that here,” he says.

Of course they don’t.

“I’ll bring a pitcher for the table and your starters.” He nods and turns to go, but not before pulling out the chair at the other end of the table.

For Arnlaug to fold his long self in. “Good evening, everyone.” The big guy sure cleans up nice. He’s trimmed his beard neatly, except for the braid that's now accessorized with a blue bead that matches his eyes. His hair is back in a sleeker ponytail than usual, and he’s wearing a white button-down shirt that looks about to pop over his wide chest. The thick veined forearms peeking out of his rolled sleeves were bare all day in his T-shirt, but now seem even sexier. Is it because of the tame wrapping he’s encased his lethal body in?

The girls are drooling over him too. They mumble among themselves in Greek, before he introduces himself and I get to hear their names a second time. The one I didn’t know is calledStamatia. I repeat it in my head, till I’m reasonably sure I’ll remember next time.

“So, are you Scarlett’s inspiration for Amastan?” Jenny asks.

“Oh no,” I say. “No no.”

Arnlaug snorts. “I’m not, in case there’s any confusion.”

“He may be in my new book, though.” I shouldn’t have said that. Lines like this lead to rumors.

A man and woman walk in holding hands. The woman looks at me, gapes, and heads straight for our table, tugging the man along, but Pan steps in their path. “I’m sorry, but Ms. Rivers is hosting a private dinner party tonight.”

The man protests, but the woman huffs and leads him to a table farther away. I’ve never felt more pretentious or like more of a celebrity in my life. Do I like it or do I hate it?

Pan leaves a couple steaming dishes on the table. “Quiches.” He waggles his eyebrows at me. “One is feta, tomato, and leek, and the other is spinach and bacon.”

I take the glass pitcher of local white wine from the tray he's holding, fill my water glass, and guzzle it down. Great. The lipstick left a mark on the glass. Is it smudged? I want to use my phone cam, to check, but Katerina is watching me.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Did you say something? I spaced out.”

“She does that a lot,” offers Arnlaug.

I glare, and the girls laugh.

“I said Arnlaug would make an awesome Berserker,” Katerina says.

Eleana pokes his bicep. “True. Very true.”

“Stop that,” Evgenia hisses. “It’s rude.”

I laugh. “He’d make an excellent Berserker. You should see him with a sword.” The wine is strong, and my stomach is empty.

“Eat something.” Pan reappears. He takes my fork and uses it to move a precut slice of the nearest quiche to my plate.

I try a forkful. It’s the feta one, and it’s amazing. Also, I’m seriously hungry. I shovel some more into my mouth. Mmm… So good.

“Sword?” Katerina asks.

Shit.I shouldn’t have said that, should I? I refill my glass and wash down the remnants of my bite. “It was a photo shoot,” I say. “For the cover.”

---