Page 59 of Hannah.
This is exactly the question I wanted to avoid answering. I rack my brain for something vague enough without lying, and all I can come up with is a lame “...maybe.”
“Of course, of course…. How about you come to dinner tonight, Champ? Astrid’s parents are going to be here anyway. It’d be good for everyone to catch up. I assume you’d be fine bringing her along.”
This is even worse than him asking a million questions about my plans for the weekend. Dad isn’t one to pry, but there’s no hiding that my parents and Astrid’s parents are very invested in the two of us getting engaged. As if it’s a given after spending a summer together. It’s frustrating as hell but not altogether surprising considering the status of our families. With us, a quick courtship, engagement, and marriage are expected…as long as the future spouse is an acceptable match. And there isn’t a much better match than Astrid and I.
Too bad I don’t want to marry Astrid, nor do I even see her in any romantic sense anymore. Every molecule of me is drawn to Hannah. But I want Portmeirion house this weekend and keepany drama from our inevitable split to a bare minimum. “I don’t know–”
“Come on, Sonny. Your mom will be so appreciative. It will be a wonderful surprise, and you can take all the credit for it like I didn’t just think of it now.” He sounds satisfied with himself as if he knows I will agree.
He’s not wrong.
“Fine. Just do me a favor…don’t mention Portmeirion. I’m…uh, well, I want alone time, believe it or not, and I don’t want to hurt Astrid’s feelings.”
He sounds surprised but agrees easily enough. At this point, I can feel a treacherous headache building in the back of my skull, and I’m even more grateful for the cooling outside air, even if the drizzle is dampening my hair to my forehead when the wind blows just right.
Taking a bracing sip of my coffee, I pull up Astrid’s contact and type a message out to her, feeling more guilty than ever. Poor girl has no idea what’s going on or what I have planned.
She especially doesn't know that I plan to have her good friend underneath me tomorrow night. Damn. I might be a bad person after all.
But there’s nothing I can do about it right now. I’ve set my plan in motion and intend to see it through. If that means I need to have a meal with Astrid, her family, and mine, then so be it. At least it’s a weeknight, and we have good enough reason to leave early.
Johan:Hey, our families want to have dinner last minute. Don’t ask. My Dad has it in his head that it’s going to be a surprise for Mom. Pick you up at 5:30?
She replies three minutes later.
Astrid:Sounds lovely. :)
Then I decide to handwrite a letter to Hannah, pouring all my feelings and thoughts onto paper. Once finished, I stand up,pay, and head to a flower shop, determined to surprise her with the most beautiful red roses she has ever seen. I’ll arrange for a courier to deliver the roses along with the letter when she returns to her dorm, most likely by the evening. If she really has feelings for me, I hope this will mean something to her.
The drive to my home estate isn’t far, and while I was afraid things would be tense between Astrid and me, she quickly proved me wrong. Astrid, obviously, thinks we are still on the same page as we were after the party at her home. Casual–sleeping together and dating in a sense, but nothing technically serious.
Throughout the drive, I relax in increments, conversation with Astrid coming easily. Damn, as much as I care for Hannah to the point of obsession, I can’t deny that being with Astrid is justeasy. She’s funny, quick-witted, intelligent, and so genuinely sweet that it’s almost painful. Beautiful Astrid should make me happy. Considering how perfectly she fits into everything, it should be the missing piece in my life, but she just isn’t.
I can’t make myself love her, and as much as I want Hannah, part of me can’t help but feel disappointed that Astrid isn’t the one. Things would be much easier if she were. She deserves a good man. A great man, even. But that’s not me—at least not for her.
I don’t pull away when she reaches over to hold my hand, but I don’t make an effort to curl my fingers around hers, either. If she notices, she doesn’t say anything.
As I drive through the gates that lead to my parent’s estate, the rolling hills of the countryside stretch out around me, awash in the rich, warm hues of autumn leaves. It’s an hour's drive from Cambridge, a journey I’ve made countless times, yet the sight of the expansive property nestled in this serene landscape always stirs something deep within me.
The estate itself sits majestically atop a gentle rise, its grandeur unmistakable. With its elegant symmetry and classic lines, the Georgian architecture stands proud against the backdrop of sprawling lawns now dotted with fallen leaves and well-tended gardens that showcase the last blooms of chrysanthemums and late autumn flowers. The house's large windows catch the sun's glow, casting long, golden shadows across the lawn, illuminating the scene in a soft, amber light.
I pull the car to a stop in front of the grand entrance, and we step out, greeted by the crisp autumn air. Astrid smoothes down her soft yellow wrap dress and smiles at me. “Ready?”
I force a cheerful expression, pretending I’m not counting the minutes until this meal ends. “Absolutely.”
Astrid follows me closely, her eyes taking in the beauty of the outdoors. As we ascend the stone steps to the entrance, the heavy oak door swings open, and Edward, the family butler, greets us with a warm, familiar smile.
“Welcome home, Mr. Johan,” Edward says, extending a courteous nod toward Astrid. “Miss Astrid, it’s a pleasure to see you again as well.”
Thanks, Ed,” I reply as we follow him through the grand foyer, our footsteps echoing softly on the polished marble floor. The house's interior is as stately as I remember, adorned with fine antiques and portraits of ancestors lining the walls.
Edward leads us to the dining room, where the sound of laughter and the clinking of glasses greet us before we even enter. I look down at my watch and notice it is still twentyminutes to seven. We aren't late, but it doesn't surprise me that they've already started. To my mother, on time is late, and early is on time.
“Astrid? Johan?” Mom calls out from the dining room, her voice bright and clear, as if surprised.
She stands when we enter, her face welcoming and her lips always red from that signature lipstick she loves so much. “What a lovely surprise! Sit down, sit down.” She gestures towards two empty chairs, and I pull out one for Astrid.
“We are so pleased that you could join us,” Nina says, smiling widely.