my mitten back to the ground: “Like that.”
My hair tumbles loose from behind my ear. Aksel reaches his right arm across his body and tucks the stray lock back. Tingles spread down my ear to my neck, collecting at my throat in a wave of heat.
“What about you?” I ask, trying to maintain my composure.
Aksel smiles tentatively. “What do you want to know?”
“Why were you born in Germany?”
“My dad’s German—he met my mom at Harvard during medical school. They were visiting relatives when I was born.”
Germany. Berlin. The Bubble. It must all be related—but how?
“When did you first come to Waterford?”
Aksel gestures back toward the house. “I spent my childhood here. My parents were both doctors, but my dad was always committing to speaking assignments, humanitarian missions … My mom went with him when she could, but mostly, she loved the mountains, the privacy. She grew up with a summer home here. On this property actually, though my parents rebuilt it.”
“So, you moved here to get away?”
“Yeah, I guess. It’s fun here. Swimming and running in the high altitude. Shooting.” Aksel shakes snow off his boot. “Waterford adults think teenagers should target practice in the woods.” He smiles coyly.
“Aksel, why were you in Berlin?” It comes out suddenly.
With his sleeves pushed up above his wrists, I see the muscles in his forearm go taut. His smile fades. He gathers a chunk of snow and throws it into the lake like a baseball.
A stream of clouds roll in, shrouding the moon. When they clear, Aksel pushes his palms against the ground, reclining with his legs straight out in front of him. His chiseled profile is silhouetted in the moonlight.
“I was in Germany over spring break when I got a request to meet an official at the American Embassy.” He glares ahead at the lake. “They said they had information about my parents’ plane crash … to be shared in person …”
Although less than a meter away, Aksel feels distant, almost robotic. I pay attention to every syllable that crosses his full lips.
“The embassy seemed normal enough until they escorted me to a secure floor. It was weird being inside the Bubble, you know? This woman asked me a few questions, told me what she said they knew, and that was it.” He shrugs.
Restlessly, his fingers spread out over his knees, then he balls his hands into fists and extends his fingers out again, his knuckles cracking.
“Did you learn more about the plane crash?” I ask, wondering if he’s told me all he will.
Aksel smiles, but it is a sad smile and doesn’t reach his eyes.
“My parents’ plane didn’t crash, Sophia.” He brings his knees up to his chest and stares out at the lake. “It was shot down.”
CHAPTER 23
Planes don’t just get shot down. That happens in my world—not his.
Several seconds later, I still haven’t let out a breath.
“Aksel, I’m so sorry,” I breathe out, but a sideways glance tells me he doesn’t want my sympathy.
“Yeah, I know,” he apologizes. “One day I’ll learn to say thank you when people say that.” He stretches his hands out again. I notice a small scar across his left knuckles.
The intimacy of our shared history is overwhelming—we are seated feet apart, and yet I have never felt closer to someone, or more vulnerable, in my life.
Tucking my hands inside the lining of my jacket, I stand and walk to the edge of the luminescent lake. “You must swim here often,” I comment.
Aksel sits forward, propping his hands on his knees. “Sometimes. The hot springs keep the lake from freezing over. It’s not warm, but it’s not too cold either.”
I take off my mittens and toss them on the rock. “Do you want to race?”
His eyes gleam. “You’re joking.”
“If you’ll get in, I’ll race you.” I peer at him challengingly. “Unless you’re scared.”
Aksel stands and points to the lake, apparently checking which lake I am referencing. “You will get in there?”
I tug at the laces on my snow boots. “Sure.”
Suddenly, his hand is on mine. His palm sends fiery sparks across my skin. I pause, pulling the lace out of its knot. My heart thumps in my chest.
“The lake may not be freezing, but it’s November,” Aksel cautions, “and we don’t have any towels.”
“As long as there’s no avalanche, we should be good, right?”
His eyes linger on mine. Briefly they land on my lips. How long would it take for his mouth to reach mine?
“The only thing we’re missing is the northern lights,” I say.
“Let