Chapter 2: First Date at the Observatory
The sky was bleeding gold over Töölönlahti Bay when Jussi saw her waiting under the observatory’s dome, a silhouette against the dying light. She was looking at her phone, one ankle crossed over the other, a small black clutch under her arm. The little black dress was indeed little, clinging to her in a way that seemed both simple and utterly deliberate. It ended mid-thigh. Her legs were bare, goosebumps visible on her skin in the crisp evening air. She looked both impossibly young and agelessly sophisticated.
He felt a jolt of pure, undiluted panic. What was he doing?
Then she looked up, saw him, and her face broke into a smile that was like a shard of sunlight. The panic melted, replaced by a nervous, electric current.
“You’re on time,” she said as he approached. Her eyes scanned him—the new coat he’d bought just that afternoon, the shoes he’d had polished. “You look nice.”
“So do you,” he said, the words inadequate. “You must be cold.”
“I’m fine.” She slipped her arm through his as if they’d done it a thousand times. The contact sent a shock through his sleeve. “Let’s go up. I’m starving.”
The elevator was glass, soaring up the side of the building. Helsinki unfolded beneath them, a tapestry of darkening blue water, white snow, and pinpoint lights. She stood close, her shoulder touching his arm. He could smell her perfume now, something dark and floral, expensive.
“Nervous?” she asked, not looking at him.
“No.”
She chuckled quietly. “Your hand is in a fist, Jussi.”
He forced his fingers to relax.
The restaurant was a murmur of low conversations and clinking glass. Their table was by the window, exactly as he’d requested. She slid into the chair facing the view, her eyes widening as she took in the panorama. For a moment, the manipulative girl was gone, replaced by a genuinely impressed teenager. It was more disarming than any coy look.
“This is sick,” she breathed, the casual slang sounding oddly sweet.
A waiter materialized. Veera didn’t look at the menu. “We’ll start with the champagne. The Dom Pérignon, please.” Then she glanced at Jussi, a playful challenge in her eyes. “Unless you had something cheaper in mind?”
“That’s fine,” he said, his voice a bit tight.
“Good.” She turned back to the window. “This is exactly what I wanted.”
The champagne arrived. The pop of the cork felt like a starting pistol. She held her flute carefully, took a sip, and closed her eyes. “Mmm. Tastes like money.” She opened them, looking directly at him. “So. Tell me something true. Not about work.”
He faltered. What was true? That he’d lied to his wife about a client dinner? That his heart was hammering against his ribs? “I used to sail,” he said finally. “As a kid. On my uncle’s boat.”
“See? That’s interesting.” She leaned forward. “I’ve never been sailing. You’ll have to take me sometime. Somewhere warm.”
The food came—oysters on ice, steaks carved tableside. She ate with a focused pleasure that was intensely erotic. She licked a drop of lemon from her thumb, moaned softly at the taste of the beef. She asked him questions, drawing stories out of him, her gaze fixed on his face. She made him feel witty. Fascinating. He talked more than he had in years.
Halfway through the wine, he felt a pressure against his calf. He froze.
It was her foot, bare, having slipped out of her shoe under the table. It traced a slow, deliberate line up the wool of his trouser leg, stopping just below his knee. The touch was warm, intimate, paralyzing. His entire world shrank to that single point of contact.
She was discussing the art exhibition she’d seen that afternoon, her voice calm, her face composed. Her foot moved in a small, idle circle.
He shifted, swallowing hard. His mind went blank. She smiled, sipped her wine, and continued talking about brushstrokes and colour theory.
When the waiter left after clearing the plates, Jussi saw his moment. The candles flickered between them. She was beautiful, softened by the wine and the golden light. He leaned in, his voice low. “Veera…”
She didn’t pull back. She let him get close, close enough to see the faint silver dust on her eyelids, to feel her breath.
“Yes, Jussi?”
“Can I…” He tilted his head, intent on her mouth.
Her hand came up, a single finger resting gently against his lips. It was a soft, dry touch. A barrier.
“Not yet,” she whispered, her eyes holding his. There was no malice in them, only calm certainty. “You haven’t earned it.” She withdrew her hand and her foot simultaneously, leaving him cold and achingly exposed.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of desserts he didn’t taste and coffee that scalded his tongue. The bill came, folded on a silver tray. The number was staggering. He placed his card down without looking. She didn’t glance at it either.
In the coat check line, she stood close behind him. He felt her body heat through their clothes. His mind was a riot of frustration and want.
Outside, the winter air was a slap. His Mercedes was idling by the curb. She turned to him, hugging herself against the cold.
“Thank you, Jussi,” she said, and her voice was different. Softer. Sincere. “That was perfect.”
“You’re welcome,” he mumbled.
Then she stepped into him, wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his chest. It was a full, unguarded hug. He instinctively wrapped his arms around her, feeling the delicate cage of her ribs, the cool silk of her hair against his chin. She fit perfectly. She smelled like night air and champagne and that dark perfume. He felt himself harden, painfully, unavoidably, against her.
She held the hug for a long five seconds. Six. He didn’t dare move.
Then she released him, stepping back. Her eyes glittered in the streetlight. She saw everything—his desperation, his physical reaction, the conflict on his face. She gave him a small, private smile.
“I’ll text you,” she said. She turned and walked to the waiting car, the doorman holding it open for her. She slid in without looking back.
The car pulled away.
Jussi stood on the sidewalk, the ghost of her body imprinted on his, the taste of oysters and rejection sharp in his mouth. The night was spectacularly clear, the stars harsh and bright above the city lights. He felt empty. He felt alive. He was a man who had just paid a small fortune for a hug, and as he walked alone to his own car, his body still aching, he knew with devastating clarity that he would do it all over again tomorrow.