It's been great to hear your relief in finding out Rose and Em are safe. The story of what happened to them is coming, but not just yet. Right now, we need some romance, I think.

Thank you to Ipsita for all your help!


Masen is different with the worry gone from his shoulders. Throughout his ordeal, he never stopped being affectionate, but today he's hyper attentive, brushing his lips across my temples, stroking my hair.

We're sharing his AirPods, finally enjoying the Spotify playlist we created for this trip, and I love that we've introduced music to each other, enjoying favorites from our pasts. I had forgotten the brilliance of Queen, Elton John, and Tom Petty, and that there was a time when I once lived for the release of the next Foo Fighters album.

I can't help staring when he sings to "Soaked" by Benee, or "Dreams" by Fleetwood Mac. What happens between his hips and his knees when Tame Impala is playing is positively indecent, and we've even had a couple of impromptu slow dances today. I'm so blissfully happy just being around him.

After leaving the apartment at an embarrassingly late hour, we decided to visit the Design Museum since it was in the same part of the city as the start of our brewery tour.

Before going in, we pick a busy little cafe, and I demolish the most delicious meatballs and creamy potatoes ever. Trying his first-ever reindeer burger, Masen says it's like a less-gamey kangaroo.

The museum is challenging and educational, promoting the idea that good design should work practically and functionally, and be available to everyone. The Bauhaus exhibition celebrates a hundred years of the "form follows function" ideal that originated in a German art school with the radical concept of combining fine arts with craft with design. At the time, they were reimagining the material world into a place where everything from buildings to furniture and coffee cups could all be pieces of art.

Another display shows how the Finnish engineer, Matti Makkonen, pitched the idea of sending text messages by phone in 1984, but took until December, 1992 to successfully send "Merry Christmas." Makkonen joined Nokia as they were designing mobile communication tools for people to work away from the office. It makes me consider how much the world has changed in my lifetime.

We have time before we need to meet for the brewery tour, so we stroll in the direction of the pick-up point. Masen pulls on my hand as we're approaching a jewelry store. "Come inside?"

"Sure," I agree, not knowing what's taken his interest.

"We should look at engagement rings, babe."

I hear him perfectly well, but I have no means to respond. With that statement, he's rendered me speechless and completely foiled my plan.

"I want to see what you like." When he realizes I've been struck dumb, he slides his arms around me. "I'll need a ring if I'm gonna propose, Miss Swan."

Astounded I've let him beat me to it, I pout. "I was going to ask you."

His eyebrows jump in surprise. "Well … you're too late. I got in first." With a smile taking over his face, he asks, "So, shall we go inside?"

"I already have the ring, Masen."

"Bloody hell." He stares at me, incredulously. "What ring do you have?"

"My grandmother's. I want to use her diamond in a new setting. Mom gave it to me after I told her I was going to propose."

Still surprised, he asks, "When was I supposed to find out?"

"When you agreed to marry me, of course." I kiss him and grin.

"And I thought you were dumping me." He shakes his head slowly.

I can't help my shoulders sagging. "Oh, Masen, I never meant to give you that impression."

He sighs and then pulls me against him. "So is the handing down of rings a Swan tradition?"

I hadn't thought of it that way until now. "It definitely signifies my mother approving my choice of husband. Plus, we're putting the family diamonds to good use. Maybe we're starting a tradition."

He nods in acceptance. "Bella, I really want to replace this January Christmas thing with something you and I can celebrate together."

All of a sudden, I feel threatened, not ready to give it up after all these years. "What did you have in mind?"

"We get married in Lapland and change the whole dynamic."

I wait, not wanting to spoil the moment by asking if he's aware we had to arrange this months ago.

"It would only be a ceremony, not a legal marriage, 'cause our parents won't be happy if they're not at our wedding, but it would be the date we made our commitment to each other. I've organized commitment ceremonies for couples in Australia."

I can picture us outside in the snow, declaring our love for each other, but I'm worried we've left it too late.

"How do we do this at such short notice?"

"Remember that couple we met at Porvoo who were on their honeymoon?" I nod, recalling his reaction when they described their wedding. "They gave me the name of the company that looked after them, and I called them this morning. We have a tentative booking for January 7th if you agree, and I'm gonna assume that smile means you like the idea."

I hadn't realized I was grinning my face off. "I love that this is what you've come up with, Masen. It's so much more than the usual romantic proposal." His smile wavers a little, but I meant to compliment him. "What I mean is … you're unique, and I wouldn't want you any other way. I love you."

Maybe it's because we're laughing and kissing outside a jewelry store, but people are staring and smiling at us. The Finns may have a reputation for being reserved, but they don't have any problems with certain kinds of public affection.

-0-

There are eight other people on our brewery tour. At first, I think it's funny when one of them sticks out his hand and loudly proclaims, "Mike and Jess Newton, Lincoln, Nebraska." Then he boasts he was the winner of the state beer chugging competition for three years running and asks if we've heard of him. They love Lincoln, and it's kinda cute when they rattle off every attraction their town has to offer, but it loses its charm when they repeat the same spiel for each person they meet.

I get the impression they're churchy, because they end sentences with things like, "When we're blessed with children." Married for years, they freely admit they've been trying to get pregnant for a while, but it won't be me who suggests it might be time to rely on more than just a higher power if they're serious about conceiving. They seem happy, finishing each other's sentences, and they're doing well enough to afford a European vacation, but they really are that unfortunate couple everyone avoids at the school reunion.

We also have four nice young Belgian men who are open about their limited experience with alcohol. Aro and Alistair are identical twins, celebrating their twenty-first birthdays. As the evening and the amount of booze in their blood progresses, they're less zipped up and gelled down, and give up trying to speak English.

The night is saved by the two M's from Barcelona. We're drawn to Marcus and Maria's sweet affection for one another. They are on their honeymoon a full year after they married, delayed because their families are poor but they wanted a big wedding. Although I'd prefer a small wedding and a big honeymoon, I can't help respecting that they've made it happen the way they wanted.

I'd love to tell everyone we got engaged today, but we didn't think we should share our news before our parents know.

Coming out of the final brewery, I'm suffering from information overload, forgetting which beers I liked best. Masen tries to jog my memory, but I don't recall which were lagers or farmhouse ales or traditional or what their malt content was. I know I have to eat. Apparently, I'm the only one who didn't understand that "light supper" meant a meal at the end of the tour. It might have been in the fine print somewhere, but Masen handled the booking. He must think I need an apology, because he spends the ride back saying he's sorry and kissing me.

We enter our restaurant with the hum of music drowned out by voices of lively people. Masen snorts when I tell him I don't have to pretend I'm listening to the Newtons anymore. He insists on me sitting in his lap, and I ask if we can get the attention of a waiter to order some bread. A glass of water from a table carafe never tasted so good.

The food arrives quickly on wooden paddles, with different breads and a tasting of Finnish antipasti. There's everything from salmon and herring to salamis—even reindeer liver and corned elk. There's not a lot of food, but everything is interesting and delicious.

While we're chatting to Maria and Marcus about where they've been in Helsinki, another course arrives with steak, lamb, sausages, and peppers skewered on mini swords, along with baked vegetables, mashed potatoes, lingonberries, and several different sauces. There's nothing left when our table is finished.

Marcus excuses himself to go outside for a smoke, and Masen says he'll join him so he can stretch his legs.

Maria offers their spare room if we'd like to fly home from Barcelona. A flight from Helsinki or Oslo is only fifty Euros. I invite them to come to Australia, but she says it's impossible. It has taken them twelve months to save for this trip, so they could never afford the airfares. I think Finland is expensive, and I guess everyone has different priorities, but Masen and I come from isolated places, so we're used to dropping a grand or two on flights.

Our two men have been gone for ages when a waiter comes to our table and asks for Bella. He hands me a scroll of paper, stating it's from Masen, and when I unroll it, I'm looking at his handwriting.

You believe I'm no romantic
But I thought you a practical girl
A modern, independent female
Your workplace, the world

It's I who chased you, don't forget
To continents far away
Through the air, across the sea
Even into the knee-deep snow

These actions were meant to be grand
To impress the girl I loved
Or so my mother tried to convince
A tragic and miserable son

Your views on marriage were a mystery
You never said one way or another
And it didn't seem to matter
Until the day came when it did

I feared I'd lost my family
Dreading the sight of my aunty's eyes
Dull and dead as mine had been
When I thought I'd lost your love

Today, a dear voice brought news from home
That cut the tethers from my heart
And freed the breath trapped in my lungs
Turning all my thoughts to us

You believe I'm no romantic
But there's time for me to learn
So please, my darling, teach me
Make me joyous and say you'll be my wife

All my love, Masen

I reread it until a tear falls onto the paper, and I scramble to find a clean napkin so I don't lose these precious words. I start blowing on the spot to dry it.

"What is wrong?" Maria asks. I must be making a scene because they're all looking at me.

Shaking my head, I laugh and I cry, but where is he? Why propose like this and disappear for my answer? I'm starting to feel quite put out that he's missing when all of a sudden, there's a roar as he and Marcus burst into the restaurant.

They're both wearing Viking helmets, and Masen has an enormous bouquet of red roses, which he thrusts into the air like Thor's hammer.

"Where is my beauty?" he sings out, and a hush falls over his audience.

"There!" Marcus points at me, quickly approaching, and I'm certain I must look terrified.

"Bring her to me!" Masen is so sexy as a Nordic warrior, powerful and downright compelling.

Marcus takes my upper arm, as if he's going to yank me up, but he's gentle, leading me over to where my Viking is holding court.

"Did you get my note?" Masen asks, but only for my ears.

"Yes." I answer without moving my lips.

Waving the bouquet like a beacon through the air, he announces, "On this eve, we are to be betrothed! What say you, maiden?" He drops to one knee, offering me the roses, and the whole restaurant erupts in whistles and screams. While it's not quite the surprise they think they're witnessing, there is something profoundly moving about the act of chivalry.

Accepting the bouquet, I lift it to my nose, and draw in the scent of the flowers. Smiling and nodding, I give him my answer. "I will be honored to be your wife."

He lifts me off the ground, and I don't care about the eager audience cheering our kisses. I feel so lucky to be in love with a man who would do this for me.

He carries me back to our table, scooping up my jacket and his note, before bidding everyone a good night. On the tram, he tells me he wrote most of the poem this morning while I was asleep, and ordered the bouquet from an after-hours florist, buying the helmets on a whim from a Viking-themed restaurant around the corner.

When we are finally in our bedroom, I tantalize him, playing the part of the submissive maiden, firing up his dominant Viking. No one has ever taken control of me before, but I like it with Masen, cumming hard while we're on our knees and he's thrusting from behind, stroking my clit. As I fall asleep with him spooning me, the last thing I remember from the day he proposed is him leaving a trail of kisses along my shoulder.

-0-

Long before the alarm is due to wake me, I gaze at the man I'm going to marry. Something is different, and I'm trying to make sense of it. People have said a proposal of marriage changes a relationship, and I guess it's like he's a part of me, somehow. Snuggling up to him, I need his skin to ground me, because this feels a little surreal.

Nuzzling his neck, I play with the soft curls around his ears. Kissing his jaw, I want to protect him and this euphoric feeling of love.

He stirs with a hum and his arms encircle me. "This is a lovely way to wake up."

"I know." Sighing, I sink deeper into perfect happiness as his hand slides up and down my spine.

"We're getting married," he sings. I look in his eyes and all the sadness that's lingered this week is gone. "When do I get to see the ring?"

"The ring?" I'm not sure if he means Grandma's ring or the remodeled version.

"Do you have a photo?" he asks, loosening his hold on me.

"Coming right up." It's embarrassing scrolling through the images of hair and dresses and table decorations. Finally, I locate the picture and hand him the phone. "This is it, only the central diamond will be pink."

"Wow," he says. "A lot of the world's pink diamonds have come from a mine in Western Australia."

"That would be cool to find out it came from there."

"What was your grandmother like?"

I wish she was still around so I could introduce them. "Very independent. She was a milliner."

He looks up and narrows his eyes. "I don't know what that is."

"Milliners design and make hats. Grandma had a shop in Phoenix, Arizona, she called Marie D' with an apostrophe. It always sounded very fancy to me."

"Why is a hat maker a milliner?"

"The word originated from the merchants of Milan who sold renaissance finery—things like bonnets, gloves, lace, and hats. A milliner creates hats exclusively for women, as opposed to a hatter who also looks after men. Have you ever heard of a fascinator?"

"Yeah, that's those little hats they wear at the races."

"That's right, and the term 'fascinator' comes from the practice of fastening a piece of lace around the head, but Grandma would call them a 'whimsy.' She actually made most of her hats for the races."

"Would you believe they have a public holiday in Victoria for a horse race called the Melbourne Cup, and no shit the entire country stops work to watch it?"

I giggle because it does seem ludicrous, but the more I learn about my future home, the more this kind of thing is very Australian.

He gives me the phone and kisses me. "It's very pretty. I approve."

I'm leaning on him, admiring the picture, when my mother calls. "It's Mom. I'll decline it."

"No, answer it, Bella," he advises. "I should have told you to call them."

A little perplexed, I put her on speaker. "Hi, Mom."

"Were you planning on calling us, Bella?"

There's that tone I hear when we haven't spoken in a while. "What do you mean?"

"We've been waiting all day."

"It's six thirty in the morning here."

"Well, it was morning here when Masen called to ask for your father's blessing. He said he was going to propose."

I stare at Masen, who winces. "Sorry," he whispers.

He should have told me, but Mom knows I wouldn't purposefully withhold important news. In fact, she might have ruined Masen's surprise by jumping the gun! I suppose I could have let them know last night, but it was a little overwhelming having a Viking carry me off to have his way with me, and I have been asleep ever since!

"He did propose, Mom, with an amazing handwritten poem, and then got down on one knee in the middle of our restaurant. You should see the beautiful flowers he bought me."

"Oh, how romantic. That must have been incredible." I hear her sigh and Masen grins, lapping up the praise.

"It was … and everyone cheered."

"So, he knows about the ring?"

Ugh. She knew I was concerned about how he might react to using a second-hand stone. Masen doesn't seem to mind at all, but this could have been extremely awkward if I hadn't told him yet.

Masen saves me from any unpleasantness. "Bella just showed me a photo of the ring, Renee. I can't wait to see it on her finger."

"We were hoping you wouldn't object to using her grandmother's diamond."

"If it makes Bella happy, I have no problem with it," he says with a kiss to my cheek.

"Ah, you're onto something there, Masen. Congratulations, you two." It's Dad. He never stays for an entire call, but he hovers and often drops in a comment or two.

"Thanks Dad. I am really happy."

"I don't know how long it takes to pull a wedding together, but I spoke to the builders today, and they can start work on the roof around the middle of February, so we either come then or leave it until after summer."

I look at Masen because last night's call was more than just getting Dad's blessing.

Masen explains. "We're saving the money on the detour to Anchorage, so I offered to fly your parents to Sydney."

"And at a time to suit us," Dad adds. "Very considerate."

Mom jumps in. "Can I just say you must give priority to your project this year, and it won't be easy planning a wedding from campgrounds and cabin rentals. You have the time now, so why not get married before you take off?"

I can accept there's merit in her argument, but I'd like to have a say in these decisions. "Well, we have a lot to discuss, so let's talk in a day or so."

"Congratulations!" they sing out in unison, and we end the call.

"Are you angry?" Masen asks, and I shrug.

"I'm not sure how I feel."

"Bella, you said you hardly ever see the few family members you have, and you've lost contact with your friends, so if there's a reason you don't want to get married in Australia, then let's hear it."

I don't have a reason. I just never pictured my parents deciding when it was convenient for me to get married.

"I only asked them which months of the year were better than others."

Masen has done nothing wrong, and I know I'm being pig-headed. My parents run a hotel they can only leave at certain times of the year, and I never expected Masen's family and friends to travel to Alaska for our wedding.

"When would you like to get married, Masen?"

"The sooner the better," he asserts with so much conviction, I have to know why.

"Any reason?" He frowns as if he doesn't want to answer. "Masen?"

"It will make me feel more settled … about us."

That really hurts, knowing I'm the reason he feels this way. He even wove it through the words of his poem. No matter how many times I apologize, there's still a little boy inside who needs reassurance, and I'm not sure how to win back the trust I lost.

I touch his hair and suddenly, the little boy shows me. I know exactly what to say.

"I better warn you, Masen. When I have a son with these curls, I'm not letting you or anyone else cut his hair."

He laughs, then hugs me. I don't know who kisses who first, but it feels like I'm finally doing something right.

Thanks for reading, xo

Happy Easter to those who celebrate. Take a little time to think of the poor souls fighting to save their country and the millions who've had to flee to keep their families safe.