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A little after 8:30pm, Angela and Soren walked into the Mercer Hotel, which was located in the Barri Gotic, in the old part of the city—close to where she and Kieran had been less than an hour ago.
The hotel building was of historical significance with its medieval architecture, and was built on top of the old Roman wall that had enclosed the ancient city of Barcino.
Angela could see why his family would choose this place: it was luxurious, but unpretentious, and had a strong sense of permanence.
They walked into the restaurant, which felt like a wine cellar with its rough, wheat-colored mortar walls. High stone arches drew Angela’s eyes upward to the white, wood-beamed ceilings. The bright, but rustic, feel of the architecture was tempered by the clean modernity of mid-century Danish furniture including Hans Wegner’s famous wishbone chairs. The lighting was low and the overall feel of the restaurant was spa-like: warm and organic. She felt like she was in Tuscany or Napa Valley.
Soren’s family had made an early reservation, preferring to dine at a time more attuned to their own customs than the customs of Barcelona. There was a smattering of other nationalities around the dining room; further proof that not everyone likes to eat dinner at 10pm, as was the local custom.
Angela squeezed Soren’s hand. He nodded his head stoically. She could tell he was agitated that they were late.
She sighed. The fading light had been so beautiful, that she and Kieran had kept shooting as long as possible. Soren had seemed annoyed when she returned to the hotel room thirty minutes later than planned. She held her tongue and jumped in the shower, and was ready to leave in only twenty minutes.
Her face was flushed from all the rushing, her hair not fully dry.
The maître d' showed them to a private room to the right of the main dining room.
They entered to find Soren’s entire family seated, their faces grimly serene as they turned to watch them enter.
Angela took one look at Soren’s family and her heart began to race.
The entire Lund family stood up as Angela and Soren approached, dwarfing Angela by many inches. Soren immediately let go of her hand and started greeting his family, the sound of murmured Danish echoing off the walls.
She glanced around the room, which had the same stone walls as the hotel’s foyer, however here they were not plastered over, allowing the original reds and browns to show through. This room also had high arches, however the wood-beam ceiling was a chocolate brown instead of airy white. Moreover, this room was taller than it was wide, with small windows set well above head level, giving it the claustrophobic impression of a well. Thick iron rings set in the wall—probably to tether animals—gave the impression of a dungeon. She was in a dungeon full of Vikings.
A cold sweat broke out on her forehead.
She blinked her eyes, took a few deep breaths, and forced her concentration on the five adults and two children present. They were all talking quietly. Soren hadn’t seen his family since Christmas, apparently there was a lot to catch up on.
Angela was grateful for the chitchat; it gave her the opportunity to collect herself and study them without being noticed.
His parents were the definition of fit elegance. They were both dressed in shades of blue that brought out their eyes and fair complexions. Soren’s mother wore her hair in a short, stylish cut off her face, but Angela could see where Soren had gotten his mane of hair.
Her make-up was flawlessly light and she wore large, baroque pearls in her ears that managed to be both understated and extravagant at the same time.
She was a couple of inches taller than Angela but with a voluptuous, earth goddess figure; she was gorgeous and elegant—intimidatingly so.
Soren’s father was just as tall as Soren but with a slighter build. He had short, straight hair combed exactingly into place. Angela guessed that it was never a millimeter out of place. Round-rimmed glasses gave him a professorial look, and a white sweater tied loosely around his neck made it appear that he was off to a tennis match. He had Soren’s same, inscrutable face, but with a sober severity that seemed etched into his wrinkles.
She could see their blend of personality and physicality in Soren.
Soren came back to Angela and smiled. He was a lot more relaxed now. “Come with me, I want to introduce you to everyone,” he said, his voice flush with excitement.
He guided Angela to the table with his hand in the small of her back.
“Mother this is Angela,” Soren said with obvious pride.
Mrs. Lund warmly clasped Angela’s hand between both of her own. “Call me Johanna,” she said, pronouncing her name yo-HAN-nuh. “It’s a pleasure dear, we’ve heard so much about you.” She leaned forward and gave Angela a kiss on the cheek.
“And my father,” Soren said with his hands outstretched towards his dad, his jaw clenched lightly.
“Hullo,” Mr. Lund said with a formal shake of his hand, his eyes like ice cubes: hard and emotionless.
“Nice to meet you,” Angela replied, forcing her most winning smile.
Soren turned Angela to his siblings. “This is my elder sister Celina, my younger brother Filip, and the baby of the family, my sister Isabel.” There was a chorus of “nice to meet you’s” and warm handshakes as she went around the table.
“And these are Isabel’s children, the two superstars of our family: Gyda and Hagen.” Soren swooped down and picked up the platinum-blond children dressed like mini adults in a pressed dress for Gyda and suit for Hagen. He planted multiple kisses on each child’s cheek and they squealed with pleasure.
Angela laughed aloud as she watched, the release of pressure calming her. She’d never seen Soren look this light-hearted. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Mr. Lund’s lips pressed into tight, flat lines.
Angela took in the glowing blondness that surrounded her. She hadn’t seen this many towheads in one place since the summer she spent as a camp counselor, deep in the Iron Range of Minnesota.
She was surprised at how disconcerted it made her.
The tune from the Sesame Street song “One of These Things is Not Like the Other” played in her head.
Gyda whispered into Soren’s ear and his eyes lit up. “Gyda asked me to tell you that she thinks your hair is beautiful.
Angela’s heart melted. “Tell her I think her hair is beautiful too.”
She took a deep breath, willing the nerves to go away, and reminded herself of what an accomplished woman she was. She was more than Soren’s equal, there was no reason for her to feel intimidated just because it looked like she was being interrogated by the cast of Logan’s Run.
She took a another breath, broke out her most dazzling smile, and stood up straight, determined to win them over.
“Angela, why don’t you come sit over here?” Johanna asked, gesturing to the seat on her right. Soren sat next to Angela, with his siblings Filip and Isabella across the table from them. The twins were at the end in high chairs, between Isabella and Soren.
Right now Angela would have given anything to be seated between the three-year-olds instead of next to Johanna Lund.
She smiled weakly and sat as Soren pushed in her chair for her. “Thank you.”
He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
Angela pulled her lavender cashmere wrap tighter around her as much for comfort as for warmth.
She was wearing sleek, black wool pants that fit like a glove and a black silk shirt with a purple floral pattern. Simple pearl studs completed her “meeting the parents” look.
“So, Angela. Soren tells me you write children’s books...” Johanna said, as she reached for a piece of crusty bread and smeared it with a thick layer of butter.
Angela noticed Mr. Lund also taking a piece of bread and putting it in his mouth without a single swipe of butter. He didn’t appear to be enjoying the food; it looked as if he was eating just for the sake of eating.
Angela was grateful she wasn’t sitting next to him.
“Yes. My first book is about to go to the printers and will have its launch party in five months.”
A waiter set a glass of water in front of her. She took a big gulp, her mouth dry.
“What’s it about dear?” Johanna chewed slowly and methodically, and stared at Angela with her intense, ocean-colored eyes.
Angela relaxed. She could talk about her book in her sleep. “It’s about two children and their experience participating in Barcelona’s biggest cultural festival. It’s illustrated with a combination of photographs I’ve taken and animation of the children over the photographs, and the text will be in both English and Spanish. I want my books to be a cultural experience for the children who read it.”
Johanna dipped her head slightly, her mouth turning up a bit. Angela interpreted this as a sign of approval.
“It’s really impressive Mother. I had the chance to see an early version when I was in Los Angeles after Christmas,” Soren said, leaning in slightly.
Johanna’s lips flattened slightly, her nose flaring. Angela sensed disapproval.
Johanna raised her eyes to Soren. “I remember. You missed our trip to Tivoli Gardens because you went to Los Angeles.” She turned back to Angela and smiled with her mouth, but not with her eyes. “It’s a family tradition. It was the first year Soren missed it.”
“Mother...” Soren said, his voice full of warning.
Angela started. This didn’t seem like new tension between Johanna and Soren. I wonder what she thinks of us...what she thinks of me.
A voice across the table brought her back to the present.
“So, Angela. Tell me about Los Angeles. I’ve never been there, although I did spend a semester in the U.S. on the east coast,” Filip said, a reassuring smile on his lips.
Angela furrowed her brow. “I don’t know where to start; it’s a big place.”
“Well I know where to start. When I was there, we went for a picnic at a lake near Angela’s flat. It was about 70-degrees Fahrenheit and beautiful,” Soren said. He gave Angela a reassuring lift of his chin as if telling her to buck up.
“A picnic in December? That’s sounds heavenly,” Isabella said.
“I love picnics,” Gyda chimed in, her white curls bouncing.
Everyone at the table laughed except for Soren’s parents.
A chill went up Angela’s spine, and it wasn’t because she was cold.
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