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Peter’s eyes were full of mirth. “You always say that.” They darkened when he approached her. He trailed his fingers over her collarbone. “You’re missing something,” he said, replacing his touch with his mouth. He flicked his tongue across her pulse.

“Where’s Ulla?” she said, catching her breath.

“Entertaining her guests.” He walked over to the dresser, tugged open the top drawer, and reached inside to pull out a small velvet box.

Ronja parted her lips in surprise.

Peter opened it. Inside, rested a simple gold band, and, before she could protest, he said, “Moderskap.” Motherhood. He was gifting her a traditional Swedish motherhood ring. Emotions crowded her throat and eyes.

He touched her lips. “That’s not all.” He returned to the dresser, this time emerging with a flat long box that matched the velvet of the other. Peter popped it open, revealing a string of diamonds. He walked behind her and fastened it around her neck. They looked at one another in the mirror. Her gaze dropped to his arm tightening around her stomach. Ronja slid her hand up his neck. “You’re not making it easy for me to hurry,” she moaned, accepting his hungry kiss.

“Who said anything about hurrying?” He lifted her onto the vanity and spread her knees apart.

Ulla was indeed entertaining her guests when Ronja, still weak-kneed and drunk from Peter’s touch, allowed him to guide her down the stairs in her black stilettos.

Ronja watched the scenery unfold with each step. Co-workers was an understatement. There must have been a hundred people dressed in cocktail attire. A jazz tune played from the record player, and cigar smoke clouded the ambiance. She sobered immediately upon seeing Ulla smothered by a group of women. They were feeding her a lollipop.

Ronja let go of Peter and inserted herself into the circle of women. Ulla reached for Ronja, babbling, “Mamma, mamma, mmm . . . ” She took her baby into her arms, kissed her cheeks and nuzzled her, inhaling the scent of motor oil. She really should’ve given Ulla a bath, but at least her hair was shiny in soft yellow curls around her heart-shaped face.

Ulla, clearly mesmerized by Ronja’s diamonds, immediately took to the necklace.

“Oh my goodness,” said one of the women to Ronja. “Now we know why she’s the most beautiful little girl we’ve ever seen!”

“Peter,” one of the women called. Ronja felt him behind her and smelled the familiar scotch. He dropped a glass of chardonnay into her free hand and kissed her cheek. “Yes?” he replied.

“How did you and your wife meet?” she asked.

Peter slid a firm hand around Ronja’s waist, and she felt his words drip down her neck. “Once upon a time.”

The women laughed. Ronja didn’t correct her for saying wife.

A bubbly, yet masculine, voice called to Peter. “My God! No wonder you lock her away from the rest of the world.”

A portly bald man with cherry cheeks eyed Ronja. “I’m Gabby, Peter’s boss.” He thrust a hand in greeting, but hers were occupied with wine and Ulla.

“He’d like to think.” Peter chuckled and took a sip of the whiskey.

“Gabby,” Ronja repeated. “Leo’s uncle?”

Gabby laughed heartily. “Indeed.” He took a swig from his tumbler and slapped the air. “The name’s really Donatello, but people say I don’t shut up. So Gabby it is! Ha!” He waved someone over, “Eh, right, Leonardo?”

Ronja spotted Leo. She would’ve missed him at first glance. He was dressed uncharacteristically in a tight black suit, walking like someone had kicked him in the groin. Leo brightened when he saw Ronja and Ulla, but he first hugged his uncle, kissing his cheeks in a very un-Minnesotan, very Italian gesture.

“My favorite nephew!” Gabby exclaimed. “With the best hair, eh!” He rubbed Leo’s tattooed head and wheezed at his own joke.

Leo waved at Ulla who tucked her face into Ronja’s neck.

“Is Bridget here?” Ronja asked him.

Before Leo could respond, Gabby pointed at Ronja’s motherhood ring. “Peter, you need to upgrade that to a real rock!” He ribbed him with his elbow.

Ronja adjusted Ulla on her hip and tried to force a soft, dismissive laugh, but Peter drew her gaze into his own, instantly enfolding her inside his words when he said, almost achingly, “I would if she’d let me.”

More guests crowded them, breaking their eye contact. They were joined by two large men. One towered several inches over Peter and, much like Leo, wore a too-small suit that squeezed his shoulders. The other, shorter but just as muscular, with a thick neck, lobbed an arm around one of the women and undressed Ronja with his eyes.

“Peter, you keep the best ones for yourself, eh?” said Thick-neck.

The comment sickened Ronja. What was that supposed to mean? She watched Peter’s response. His eyes glowered at the man behind the rim of his whiskey that he threw back. He let go of Ronja, projected his voice over the noise of the party and music, and said brightly, “I think the birthday girl wants to open her presents!” He gave his glass to a server and clapped his hands at Ulla, saying in Swedish, “Come here, min lilla stumpa.”