Chapter 8 #3
Josephine looked down at the basket. The words should have made her defensive.
Instead they sat quietly in the room with the baby clothes and the sunlight, too accurate to argue with.
Viktor had been clear from the beginning.
Intense, yes. Possessive, absolutely. But never careless, never vague, never uncertain about what he wanted.
“You don’t have to want less just because wanting more scares you,” Avery said softly.
Josephine swallowed and reached for another sleeper. “I know. I think I’ve known for a while.” Her hands moved more slowly now, but they didn’t shake.
Avery smiled, attention still on the blanket. “Good.”
Josephine finished folding the sleeper and set it with the others.
The future she’d avoided for years no longer looked like a trap waiting to close around her.
It looked like mornings with Viktor, a studio full of students, family dinners, a house with rooms that held noise and mess and people who stayed.
It looked like something she’d never stopped wanting, even when she’d been too afraid to name it.
By the time she left later that afternoon, the nursery was neater, the baskets full, her thoughts quieter than when she’d arrived.
She stood on the porch a moment, purse on her shoulder, glancing back through the window where Avery sat in the glider sorting one last stack of tiny clothes.
Josephine smiled, then turned toward her car with the steady certainty that the future she’d once avoided had become the future she secretly hoped for.
* * *
The ballroom buzzed with conversation as donors, volunteers, board members, and families moved between tables. Viktor stood near the back with a glass in his hand, listening to a foundation director explain attendance numbers. He heard every word. None of it held his attention for long.
Josephine did.
She stood near a display table, speaking with an older couple who’d supported the foundation for years. Within minutes both were smiling; a few seconds later the woman squeezed Josephine’s hand like they’d known each other far longer than the conversation allowed.
The director followed Viktor’s line of sight and laughed quietly. “She’s good at this. Some people spend years learning how to make donors comfortable. She does it without trying.”
“She listens,” Viktor said simply. “Most people don’t.”
The director excused himself, and Viktor’s attention returned immediately to Josephine, who moved through the room effortlessly — one conversation becoming another, one introduction turning into three more.
Never rushed, never rehearsed. She simply made people feel seen, and they responded every time.
A family stopped near one of the displays, their younger child more interested in wandering than standing still.
Josephine crouched to speak with her, and the girl smiled immediately; the parents relaxed, the father laughing, the mother joining a moment later.
Viktor watched longer than he intended, until Josephine looked up and caught him at it.
Her eyebrows lifted. He didn’t look away.
She narrowed her eyes, suspicious, and turned back to the family — the corner of his mouth lifting as she did.
A server passed with appetizers; he took one without looking at it, attention still fixed across the room.
The foundation had hosted countless events over the years, and he’d attended most of them.
Tonight felt different. Josephine no longer occupied a separate part of his life — she knew his family, spent time with Avery and Julian, knew his routines and his schedule, knew which coffee he ordered and exactly how competitive he got over Scrabble.
The realization settled comfortably. Nothing about it felt temporary.
A woman approached a few moments later — one of the foundation’s longtime donors. “Mr. Nygaard. This has been a wonderful evening.”
“It has.”
Her attention shifted toward Josephine. “Your wife has been absolutely lovely.”
Viktor followed her gaze without correcting her. Josephine stood near the stage now, laughing with two volunteers.
“She spent fifteen minutes talking to my granddaughter earlier. The child adores her.”
“Josephine is very good with people.”
“You’re a lucky man.”
His eyes stayed on Josephine. “Yes.”
The donor moved on, pleased. A corporate sponsor approached minutes later, and the conversation ended in the same place — your wife did an excellent job tonight — and Viktor nodded, said he’d tell her, and again made no effort to correct anything.
Josephine finally crossed the room toward him, accepting a glass of sparkling water from a passing server. “You’ve been staring at me all night.”
“You noticed.”
“Everyone noticed.”
“Good.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That wasn’t a compliment.”
“It wasn’t a complaint either.”
She shook her head, fighting a smile. “You are impossible.”
His attention moved over her face before settling on her eyes. “You’ve said that before.”
“Because it’s true.”
A volunteer approached before he could respond. “Josephine! Your husband was impossible to find earlier.” She blinked; Viktor stayed completely silent. “We need one more photo before the program starts.”
Josephine glanced at him. He looked entirely unconcerned. The volunteer led her toward the stage, and before she went, she pointed a finger at him. “Don’t think I missed that.”
“Missed what?”
She gave him a look promising the conversation wasn’t over before disappearing into the crowd.
The program began shortly after. Guests took their seats; Josephine sat beside him at one of the front tables. An older gentleman stopped near them on his way past, smiling warmly. “You two make a wonderful couple.”
Josephine opened her mouth. Viktor laid a hand lightly against the back of her chair. “Thank you.” The man moved on without waiting for anything more.
She turned to him. “You are enjoying this entirely too much.”
“Probably.”
She stared at him a few seconds before turning back to the stage.
The program continued, but his attention kept returning to her — the way she smiled at volunteers, listened when families spoke, fit naturally beside him.
At some point he’d stopped thinking about whether Josephine would become part of his future.
That question no longer existed. Watching her laugh quietly beside him while another speaker addressed the room, Viktor realized he hadn’t thought in terms of if for a very long time.
The only question left was when.
* * *
Josephine stood beside the balcony railing with a glass of wine in her hand and the city spread beneath them in a sea of lights.
Dinner had ended nearly thirty minutes ago, but neither of them had made any effort to leave.
The evening air brushed her bare arms; somewhere below, traffic moved in steady streams.
Viktor stood beside her, one hand on the railing, relaxed in a way few people ever saw him — tie gone, sleeves rolled to his forearms, top button undone.
Her gaze lingered a little too long. He noticed immediately, mouth curving. “See something you like?”
She took a sip of wine. “Your ego does not need encouragement.”
“That wasn’t a no.”
She rolled her eyes, smiling, the smile deepening when he shifted closer until his shoulder brushed hers. Comfortable. Familiar. Dangerous. She liked it far more than she should.
For several moments neither spoke. The silence felt easy now — not awkward, not uncertain. Just comfortable.
“The foundation board finalized next quarter’s schedule,” he said eventually, looking out across the skyline.
“You mentioned that earlier.”
“We’ll probably have three planning dinners before the banquet.”
“We?” The word slipped past her before she could stop it.
He glanced down at her. “Yes.” The answer came so automatically that she laughed.
“What?”
“You do that all the time.”
“Do what?”
She turned fully toward him. “You automatically include me in everything.”
He looked genuinely confused. “Because you’re included.”
She stared at him. He stared back. Neither moved. Then she laughed again. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”