Chapter 7 #2
For years she’d protected herself by keeping distance between herself and everyone around her.
Now she was closing that distance willingly, and the change had happened gradually enough that Viktor had noticed every single step — when she started reaching for his hand automatically, when she stopped pretending she didn’t want him around, when she started looking for him in crowded rooms.
He noticed everything.
Viktor leaned back, folding his hands across his stomach.
A slow satisfaction settled through him.
Josephine was choosing him — not once, not accidentally, but every day, every date, every conversation, every small decision.
She was moving toward him instead of away from him.
The certainty of that fact pleased him more than any business victory had in years.
His attention drifted to the framed photograph near the edge of his desk.
Most people assumed he kept it for the building in the background — a successful, profitable project.
That wasn’t why it remained there. Josephine stood near one corner of the image, laughing at something outside the frame.
She had no idea the photograph existed. Viktor had noticed her in it weeks after the event and quietly kept it, his gaze lingering on it longer than necessary.
The future no longer felt abstract. When he thought about next year, Josephine was there. Five years from now, she was there too. The image came easily — a house, a kitchen filled with her voice, Josephine moving through rooms that belonged to both of them, a wedding ring on her finger. Children.
His jaw tightened slightly. That image appeared more often than he cared to admit — Josephine pregnant with their child, beautiful, stubborn, arguing with him about something insignificant while carrying his baby.
The thought produced a satisfaction that would probably concern most people.
Viktor found it entirely reasonable, because unlike fantasy, plans required preparation.
That was part of why he was restructuring his schedule now. When Josephine eventually became his wife, he intended to be present for it. When they had children, the same. His father had spent most of his life chasing work; Viktor had no intention of repeating that mistake.
He glanced down at the contracts spread across his desk — property investments, expansion projects scheduled years out.
All of them mattered. None of them mattered as much as they once had.
For the first time in a long time, the most important thing he was building wasn’t listed anywhere in those files.
It was Josephine. The relationship. The life they were creating together.
The realization didn’t concern him. It pleased him.
His phone vibrated again. I hope you’re actually working and not staring at your phone.
A smile returned immediately. I’m working.
Liar.
The response came so fast he laughed. A moment later, a photograph arrived — Josephine in her studio, hair pulled back, playful expression, students in the background, casual and completely unposed. He stared at it longer than necessary.
There it was. The reason half his schedule had been reorganized.
The reason he no longer cared about attending every networking dinner.
The reason he delegated meetings that once seemed important.
The reason his priorities had shifted without apology.
Because eventually Josephine Collins would be his wife.
Eventually she’d stop looking surprised whenever he treated that outcome as inevitable.
Eventually she’d realize he’d never viewed their future as a question.
Only a timeline.
Viktor looked at the photograph one final time before setting his phone down, a slow smile spreading as he leaned back in his chair. Josephine was no longer running. She was moving steadily toward him. And Viktor Nygaard had always been patient when it came to things worth keeping.
* * *
The charity gala occupied the ballroom of one of Atlanta’s oldest hotels — crystal chandeliers overhead, a live band near the dance floor, guests moving between tables and auction displays.
The room was crowded, loud, full of people who wanted Viktor’s attention.
He’d spent the entire evening ignoring most of them.
Josephine stood beside him in a dark blue dress that should have been illegal. Every time she laughed, people turned to look. Every time she smiled, Viktor found himself forgetting entire conversations. Months into their relationship, and she still had that effect on him.
“You’ve been staring at me all night,” she said quietly, once another guest finally wandered off, lifting her champagne glass with a look equal parts amused and affectionate.
His gaze traveled slowly across her face before settling on her eyes. “You make that sound like a problem.” Calm voice, nothing casual about the way he looked at her.
“It might be.”
“It isn’t.”
A smile tugged at her mouth. Months ago she’d have looked away first. Now she held his gaze directly, confident enough not to flinch. The change pleased him more than he could adequately explain.
The band slid into a slower song, couples drifting toward the floor. Josephine glanced at the music; Viktor was already preparing to ask her to dance when another man approached.
“Josephine Collins?” the stranger asked politely.
“Yes?”
“My daughter takes ballet lessons and absolutely adores you. I was hoping I might steal one dance.”
She blinked, surprised. Viktor didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t react — at least not visibly.
Inside, his immediate response was simple: no.
He wanted to tell the man to find someone else, wanted to take Josephine onto the floor himself.
Instead he stayed silent. She wasn’t property.
She didn’t need his permission. She was a strong, independent woman who chose to be with him every day, and that mattered. So he kept his mouth shut.
Josephine looked at him; he met her gaze, then gave a small nod. The gesture cost him more than it should have.
“Of course,” she said politely. The man smiled, offered his hand, and led her toward the floor.
Viktor watched every step. He hated it — not the dance, the possessiveness, the irrational instinct that surfaced whenever another man looked at her. He was working on it. Trying to trust what he already knew: Josephine wanted him. Not the stranger. Not anyone else. Him.
The man was respectful, friendly, harmless. Viktor knew that. It didn’t help much. Across the ballroom Josephine laughed politely at something the man said, and Viktor folded his arms and reminded himself not to walk onto that floor. The reminder became increasingly necessary.
Then something changed. Her attention shifted, her gaze found his, and stayed there. The connection hit him immediately, even across a crowded room. The song kept playing, but Josephine barely seemed aware of her partner anymore — she was looking at Viktor. Only Viktor.
A few moments later she stepped back, before the song finished, before the dance was over.
Viktor watched her say something to the man, who followed her gaze toward him, laughed, and nodded.
Josephine headed straight back across the room, and the sight produced a satisfaction Viktor made no attempt to hide.
She stopped in front of him. “I didn’t want to dance with him.”
His pulse kicked hard. “No?”
She shook her head. “I wanted to dance with you.”
For a second neither moved. The noise of the ballroom faded, the people disappeared, everything narrowed to the woman in front of him. Then he held out his hand, and she took it immediately. The second his palm settled at her waist, the tension he’d been carrying dropped away almost instantly.
There. Much better.
“You behaved remarkably well,” she said as they moved together.
His eyebrow lifted. “Behaved?”
“You wanted to interrupt.”
“No.”
She laughed. “You’re a terrible liar.”
A reluctant smile. “I considered it.”
“There it is.” The pleased look on her face nearly undid him — she actually looked happy about his possessiveness. Not threatened. Not annoyed. Happy. The realization was dangerous.
The song continued. Neither seemed interested in talking much. She rested her hand against his chest; his stayed firm at her waist. Their bodies moved together naturally, close enough that he caught the faint scent of her perfume every time she breathed.
“You know,” she said quietly, “that’s probably the most jealous I’ve ever seen you.”
“I wasn’t jealous.”
“Viktor.”
His mouth twitched. “I wasn’t happy.”
“Better.”
His eyes darkened. “I had no reason to be happy.”
Her smile softened. “You trusted me anyway.”
“Yes.” The answer came immediately, without hesitation, without thought. She looked at him for several seconds, and the look in her eyes made his pulse jump.
The song ended. Neither moved. Couples began leaving the floor around them, but his hand stayed exactly where it was, and she didn’t step away either.
“I think we’ve done enough socializing,” she said softly.
“I agree.”
“I don’t want to talk to anyone else tonight.”
“Good.”
Her laugh followed immediately. “That’s not a normal response.”
“It is for me.” The truth was he hadn’t wanted to share her attention all evening — every conversation had felt too long, every interruption unnecessary. The only thing he actually wanted was time alone with her, and she looked suspiciously pleased by that.
A few minutes later they offered polite apologies to the organizers and headed for the exit. Neither lingered. Neither looked disappointed to leave.
The moment they stepped outside, cool night air wrapped around them.
For several seconds they simply stood there, looking at each other, neither speaking, neither pretending there wasn’t tension crackling between them.
Viktor reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear — a simple gesture that felt more intimate than half their conversations over the past several months.