He grinned. “Ja. I like the idea of going green as much as I like making it.” He winked.
“It’s really neat.” I reached out and skated my fingers across the sleek dash.
“We’ll get you one. You can have any color you like.” He put the car in gear and shot out, following the signs off the tarmac to the exit.
“No, no, no, it’s fine. I don’t need anything. I mean, well, I don’t need anything right now. Maybe I can just borrow yours if you have to work or whatever. I’m sure there’s something you’ll want me doing with my time when you have to do whatever it is you do,” I prattled on like a ninny.
He grinned and chuckled. “Stop being so nervous. We have plenty of time to figure everything out. Most importantly being, once the wedding is planned and settled, we’ll need to get you set up with the university. Find out how to best continue your education. If that means moving to the States, that’s what we’ll do.”
I was stunned stupid. Literally mute.
“Um, I figured, I’d have to wait to go back to school.” I swallowed down the nerves as he’d suggested.
He shook his head. “Nonsense. There is no reason for you not to continue your studies. It’s important to secure the education needed to continue your trade.”
Huh. I didn’t know how to take what he was saying. Then again, there wasn’t a precedent for what one did when they signed on for The Marriage Auction. Maybe this was normal. It sure as heck didn’t seem as though he had a plan for our marriage. Earlier he’d said we’d figure it out together, and for the first time, I genuinely believed that was his intention.
“Where are we going?” I changed the subject, not wanting to get too excited about the possibility that I’d get to continue my education even though I’d committed to a three-year marriage contract.
“I’m taking you to a park. One of Oslo’s greatest secret gardens. I thought it might be nice to stretch your legs and get outside, see some of the beauty Norway has to offer, prior to taking you to my home. How does that sound?”
I beamed with happiness. “Sounds amazing. Just what I need. Fresh air and nature. Being outside is something I’m very used to living on a farm.”
“I’ll bet. Though I think you’ll be surprised at what you’re about to see,” he stated cryptically .
Feeling a lot more settled after the flight and that intense kiss, I leaned back and watched the city of Oslo roll by, taking in every incredible sight that I could.
“Why are they naked?” I stood in front of an incredible, green-tinted bronze statue of a naked man who had not one, not two, but four babies flying around him. The babies were in the air as if they were being kicked, tossed, and even falling from the sky.
I moved to the next statue farther down the long bridge in the center of Vigeland Park. This one had a naked man holding on to a naked woman who had her legs wrapped around his torso and was pushing against his head. He was holding on, and she was pushing away. Another was a man stretched back, holding a woman aloft, her back to his chest, her feet kicking as though she was trying to get away, but he’d caught her. Yet another was an old man, grabbing a younger man and beating him, his mighty fist raised above his head as though ready to strike. It caused a very visceral, heated reaction within me as I took in each new sculpture.
The visuals were startling in their realism and movement even though they struck an angry emotional chord from deep inside, springing from a place within I rarely visited.
Erik took my hand and led me over to a smaller sculpture that I actually recognized from somewhere. Maybe a European art history class as the entire park was dedicated to the work of one artist, Gustav Vigeland, a very famous sculptor of the 19th century.
“Vigeland believed that when you stripped away the clothing, you saw simply the art and the real emotion and expression he was trying to display. When you add clothing, hairstyles, and such, it puts the art in a specific time period. As it stands now, these sculptures will resonate through people hundreds of years from now as if they were made yesterday, not a hundred years ago.”
“Wow.” I walked up to a statue of an angry baby. The sculpture was pristine in its ability to capture the exact size of a small toddler from its chubby puffed cheeks to its rounded head, blocky feet, and tightened fist. One of its hands had been rubbed of the green patina and stood out against the rest as a brightened unblemished golden bronze, reminiscent of Erik’s eye color.