Secret Heir

A few nights I’d padded out to the balcony with a bottle of bourbon.

It was all I had. It felt like an old friend. I listened to the sounds of the nearly silent city, watched shadows cast by the buildings and streetlights, the moon trailing across the sky over the rooftops. I saw it all without taking it in. I was a goddamn basket case, my mind running through the memories.

Memories of her.

Moments of us.

Visions of our time together.

The bright smile, the way she ran her tongue along her bottom lip when she was deep in thought.

Every word meant everything. Every moment of ours was precious.

The moment she’d caught me staring across the room at the Royal Academy was enough to send me over the edge. Her eyes darting up, cheeks flushing a sweet shade of cherry red. Those moments were the ones I lived for. They replayed in my mind like a broken record.

Even if I never saw her again, I knew down deep in the pit of my stomach that I would never get over her.

I'd never forget Pixie, she’d taken root in my soul.

My American Girl had turned into an American Mystery.

According to Bjorn, it seemed like she didn’t even exist.

Or she’d given me a false name.

I plucked my phone off the floor and landed ass backwards on the couch. What an unusual name she’d given me though, if it wasn’t real.

And then I had an idea.

Probably my best, as simple as it was.

I pulled up the most popular social media site in America, created a fake account with an old email address I used for spam, and then I started searching.

I searched Persephone Wells and came up empty-handed. Pixie Wells brought more than a hundred returns. I groaned, narrowing my search by the area of Boston, and then smiling when Pixie (Viking Girl) came up in the search results.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

My American Nerd.

“Well, sweet Pixie,” I tapped on her profile. “I’d like to fuck that grin right off of your pretty face.” I scrolled on her profile.

She’d checked into Rattigut train terminal three days ago.

“Shit.”

I launched off the couch. I should have known to check the old Viking village, the truth was, she’d mentioned it only once and I’d been so distracted by her that I hadn’t thought of the name since.

I swiped to my messages and tapped out a quick message to Sven, then grabbed my suit coat, prepared to leave the office for the rest of the day. Or a week, if I had it my way.

Just before I left my office, I pulled out my phone and tapped on Pixie’s social media profile. I hit the add friend button, and then sent a message.

Quickly I typed: Coming for you. Trust me, you’re not ready. I hit send.

I grinned, hoping she’d get my message and reply instantly. When she didn't, I tucked my phone in my pocket and walked out of the office doors to get my girl.

Pixie was mine, it’s time she learned I’m a man that stands by his word.

FIVE

Pixie

“I’m coming for you. You’re not ready.”

I frowned at the incoming message on my screen. The picture of the sender was blank, the name something that must be made up. It read: Bjorn No Name. “Ew, pervert.”

I hit delete on the message and then silenced the notifications on my phone and threw it in my duffle bag. I pulled out a pair of cut-off denim shorts and yanked them over my thighs. They fit perfectly. Until they reached my waist.

I groaned softly.

My last pair of shorts that still fit.

Rattigut was so far off the beaten path, maternity clothes were non-existent. Last week a little old witch lady had come to our small campsite near the archaeological dig of the Viking ruins. She’d recognized my condition instantly and wrapped me in a soft silk pashmina, telling me to come and visit her when I was ready for something more lightweight for the heat of summer or if morning sickness became too much—she had ancient remedies she promised.

I’d thanked her and laughed at the idea of any heat in the Danish Summer, but it’d only taken a week to make me change my mind. And thankfully the morning sickness never settled in. I’d had a great pregnancy, I just hadn’t told a single living soul I was expecting.

Now that Spring had turned to Summer, the temperatures had gone from hovering just above freezing at night to humidity that clung to the air and left me breathless during the day.

Well, the heat and the baby left me breathless during the day. And the baby kept me up at night already, not with kicking, but with horrible heartburn. I wondered not for the first time what it would be like for the baby’s daddy to be here with me now, camping out under the stars every night and digging for Viking ruins by day.