He glanced away. ‘Signy and Ivar did all the hard stuff.’
She swallowed. There was a fluttering fullness in her chest she didn’t understand, like happiness mixed with nerves—only she didn’t feel nervous.
‘But it was your idea?’
‘I didn’t just want to say what I was feeling, I wanted to show you,’ he said.
Taking his words into herself, she leaned into him and kissed him again, until he groaned against her mouth and pulled away from her. Catching sight of the expression on his face, she smiled.
‘Later,’ she said softly, catching his hand. ‘Come on—let’s eat.’
There were soft rolls filled with sticky pulled pork or buttered lobster, and a creamy artichoke dip with crisp vegetable crudités. To follow there was hot mulled cider and some delicious kleinur—an Icelandic pastry that was like a twisted cinnamon-flavoured doughnut.
‘Signy is a genius,’ Lottie said when finally she couldn’t eat another mouthful. ‘Are you feeling better now?’
She spoke playfully, liking the way his eyes gleamed in response to her teasing, but liking the weight of his arm around her waist more.
He pulled her closer. ‘No.’ His eyes locked with hers. ‘But you feel wonderful.’
Her heart skipped forward. She felt wonderful too. Lighter, calmer. Happier. For the first time since her father’s rejection she didn’t have the nagging sense of being inadequate. Ragnar made her feel special and secure. He made her feel differently about herself.
A tic of uncertainty beat in time to her pulse.
But it wasn’t just her feelings that mattered—her father had taught her that—and right now Ragnar had given her no reason to think this was anything more than just a thoughtful gesture.
‘Is it always this empty here?’ Glancing across the deserted beach, she frowned. ‘Where I live there’s always someone on the beach. Dog walkers, or teenagers having a bonfire party, or windsurfers.’
He took a moment to reply. Then, ‘People don’t come here because it’s a private beach.’
It took a moment for his words to sink in. ‘Is it your beach?’
He nodded. ‘It came with the estate. There’s a lot of protected wildlife up here, so it’s probably for the best that there aren’t hordes of people traipsing all over it.’
His eyes met hers, and she could see he was weighing up something in his head.
‘Actually,’ he said slowly, ‘you’re the first person I’ve ever brought here...and you and Sóley are the first people to stay at my house.’
She stared at him in confusion. Was that true? And if it was, why were they the first? And why was he telling her now?
His skin was taut over his cheeks, and she could feel a tension in him that hadn’t been there before—a kind of rigid pose, as though he was bracing himself before jumping off a high-dive board.
Her own stomach tensed, but the question was waiting to be asked. ‘Why hasn’t anyone stayed at the house before?’
He stared past her. ‘I didn’t want anyone else before you,’ he said finally. ‘I come here to escape.’
Of course—he came to recharge, to rethink his business goals. Only she knew from the forced steadiness in his voice that he wasn’t talking about work, and she thought back to when she’d asked him about living here.
‘Was that why you went to Daniel’s house when you were a child? Because it was an escape.’
His eyes were still watching the horizon. ‘Pretty much.’ His mouth twisted. ‘It was difficult at home. My parents were arguing a lot. They got divorced shortly after that holiday.’
It seemed to Lottie that her head had never been so full of questions. She picked one at random. ‘What happened then?’
‘They remarried—both of them—quite a few times, actually. I have four stepfathers and three stepmothers, two full sisters and one brother, and the rest are halves and steps. It’s all quite complicated and full of drama.’
He’d used that word before. ‘What kind of drama?’ she asked.
He shrugged. ‘Oh, you know...the usual hallmarks of a good soap opera. Jealousy. Infidelity. Power. Pride.’