Chapter 1
Alivia
Alivia hates the quiet that comes with government offices. The shuffling of papers, snaps from the staplers, and the constant whirring of machines pumping out paperwork, passes, and who else knows what. Taking a deep breath, her hand falls to her stomach, which is currently in knots as she waits for the immigration officer to return from wherever he’s gone. She’s been in the building for three hours and in this little room for the past hour. Looking down at her watch, Alivia wonders how long this should take.
She’s been in Sweden for two years. There was nothing to keep her in the States after Henry died. She packed up and never looked back. Now, she’s wondering if that was the most brilliant move, considering the hell immigration has put her through lately.
The sudden door opening causes Alivia to jump a little as the immigration officer finally returns. He closes the door behind him, and it makes a sound like a whoosh, followed by the soft click of the lock. He sits down in his high-backed, white chair with chrome embellishments. Sweden tries to make their government offices look slightly modern and trendy. Maybe they think it’ll calm people down by giving them a false sense of security and assuring the to-be citizens and workers that they have everything under control. It’ll be fine.
Alivia did assume that she might have a certain amount of privilege coming here. Wrongly, she thought that being an American living in a secular, western nation would give her a leg up. No, at least not here. She is still black—a Black woman at that. Yes, being an American means that, in many folks’ eyes, Alivia is better than Black Europeans, Canadians, or someone from Africa. Yet, in the eyes of these ethnic Swedes, she is a foreigner. She is a Black American woman who left her country and is now trying to make a home in theirs.
The graying man clears his throat and looks over a stack of papers. The soft green paper is one she recognizes: her letter of recommendation and affirmation from her boss, Mr. Lindqvist. Licking her lips, Alivia adjusts her bottom in the seat and waits for the man to speak.
“I’ve read your letter and just got off the phone with Mr. Lindqvist to verify it.” Her teeth instinctively bite the inside of her cheek to keep her from saying something stupid. So he thinks she’s lying? That she’d bring some fake letter from one of Sweden’s most prominent private jewelers and hope he’d accept it? It’s tough for Alivia to keep a look of astonishment and annoyance off her face, but she must have succeeded because he looks up at her with a smile.
“How are you enjoying your time here in Sweden?” He stacks the papers together and places them inside a manila folder.
“It’s been wonderful. I came to feel it out, but I’ve fallen in love, and so have my children.” She’s trying to make a point by saying she has children here. Two, American-born, but her son has taken quite a liking to Sweden and loves his school and new friends. “I have a wonderful job, doing my best to learn the language and assimilate.”
“Assimilation.” The immigration officer gives her a gentle smile. There’s something behind it, though, and it’s an irritation that she can feel. “That is one thing that many refugees don’t-”
“I am not a refugee.”Confidence, Alivia. She says in her head. “However, I know of some who are also trying their best, sir. The US and Sweden are markedly different, but I prefer it here. This is why I’d like to make my residency more permanent.” What Alivia doesn’t want is to be drawn into some conversation about refugees and their status here by a conservative bigot. That’ll cause more problems.
“Of course,” He clasps his hands together. “However, and please note this is nothing against you-” From there, he launches into the fact that Alivia came to Sweden on a tourist visa, which she then changed to a work visa, courtesy of Mr. Lindqvist, without leaving the country. This is frowned upon. The system doesn’t work that way. So, instead of taking her case as it is and because she’s been an upstanding citizen and a model for her own country, he denies her.
Alivia feels crushing defeat as she walks from the immigration offices, albeit with her head high. They’ve hounded her about her work visa for the past ten months. They began appearing at her job and son’s school and calling her non-stop. They’ve frozen her bank accounts twice while “analyzing” her funds and called Mr. Lindqvist at least four times this month to “verify” her employment. It’s embarrassing and annoying; half of Alivia wants to pack up and try somewhere else. She can’t, though. The kids like it here; she likes it here despite the shit the government is putting her through. That makes Sweden feel a lot like the US. The government likes to meddle with the minority citizens.
What it’s doing is costing Alivia time, money and her patience to sit through this shit but what else can she do? Try again. It’ll be three more years before they take her claim more seriously unless she can get a million dollars to invest in a business. Alivia Mueller is a sitting duck.
“I’m not going back to that hellhole now that the Supreme Court has lost their ever-loving minds.” Getting into her car, she tosses her purse onto the passenger seat and tries her best not to slam her hands on the steering wheel in frustration.
Laying her forehead on the steering wheel, Alivia is trying to force herself to do a few cleansing breaths when the sound of her phone vibrates, buzzing from the passenger seat.
“Oh, hello, Alivia. Did everything go alright? I hope so! You’re a wonderful employee. A great asset, and you’ve helped my business grow.” The voice chuckles. “Sweden needs more people like you, and what better way than to give you permanent residence!” Just like always, Mr. Lindqvist is excited and talking a mile a minute. “What did they say? No, wait. Don’t tell me anything. Come to the shop.” She hates to disappoint him.
“Hello, Mr. Lindqvist. I’ll speak to you when I arrive.” The Volvo purrs to life, and Alivia switches the car into gear.
“Mr. Lindqvist,” He snorts. “It’s Kjell. Your voice sounds neutral. I can’t tell if that’s good or bad. Tell me nothing, ok? See you soon!” He hangs up, and Alivia lets the phone slide into her lap.
“Here’s hoping he’s as disappointed and frustrated as I am.” Hunching over the wheel, she tries not to let it bother her, but Alivia’s never been good at letting things go.
“You’ve been in Sweden for some time now. I don’t understand?” Alivia lifts her head to gaze at the tall, older gentleman before her. Mr. Lindqvist is six-two with black hair streaked with gray in the front. It’s a simple patch that he’s pretty proud of. His hair is styled in curls to catch the attention of whoever may be looking. His piercing blue eyes stare at Alivia over his glasses. They sit low on his nose, and now he sniffs, moving them up a little with his thumb, waiting for her to answer.
“Two years,” Alivia smirks, setting her hands on the desk. Why does this conversation feel like it’s going somewhere specific? “I know this must also be a hassle for you, and I apologize.”
He hums softly, adjusting the collar of his tan sweater. “You have worked here for a year and a half?” His English is heavily accented, but to Alivia’s ear, it’s understandable.
“Correct.” She raises an eyebrow in suspicion. She’d seen this look on his face before. He’s thinking about something. Alivia’s mind starts to reel from all the possibilities. Is he trying to fire her?
“Do you like Sweden?” Now, Mr.Lindqvist sits at the desk, folding his hands in front of him. “Do you enjoy living here? The quality of life? I am asking because I am curious about a foreigner’s opinion.”
He’s asked her this before and then promptly brought Alivia lunch of a bunch of ‘delicacies’ to the Swedish palette. She still shudders when she thinks about salty licorice. She opens and closes her mouth slowly, trying to think of an answer. “Well, I love it here. People are friendly, it’s safe, and the quality of life is great. Are you asking me if I plan to return to the US? Not at all.” She chuckles. “I left that hellhole for a reason.”
The older gentleman sits back in his chair and crosses one leg over the other. He smiles and nods, tapping his right hand’s fingers on his knee. “Good, good. How are your children?” Alivia wishes he’d say whatever he’s going to; this drives her crazy.
The children, though, are Bria and Cian. They are at school now—well, Cian is. Bria is at home with her tutor. She has social anxiety, but what better place for mental healthcare than Sweden? Another reason Alivia is lax about leaving.
“They’re great! I don’t think they miss much.” She shakes her head. “Correction, they miss some foods and candy.”
“Ah,” Lindqvist nods knowingly. “Understandable.” It feels to Alivia that he’s dancing around some questions.
Usually, Mr.Lindqvist, who insists on being called Kjell, is very friendly. He brings Alivia coffee in the morning and makes small talk. He asks about her children, and when Cian walks to the office after school, he’s eager to talk to him and sometimes plays catch. He’s a great boss, and she has no qualms with any member of the Lindqvist family.
Kjell has two sons: Ulf, the younger son, is serious and makes most of the finer jewelry pieces in gold, silver, and platinum. All the Lindqvist men are incredibly tall and tower over her, even at her five-nine height. Ulf is six-three and has sandy blonde hair and downturned brown eyes. They always make him look tired. He mostly stays to himself but always has a kind smirk for Alivia. His older brother, Fredrik, is six-four and has the same black hair and ice-blue eyes as his father. He’s the one who made her heart stutter the first time Alivia saw him.
It’s just past noon, and Kjell is sitting in front of Alivia’s desk, acting a little strange. She wonders what he’s up to.
“I hate to be blunt with you like this, Kjell, but I feel as though there is something you want to say to me or ask me?” Like in the government office, she’s nibbling on her bottom lip and wringing her hands in anticipation.
He nods, taking a deep breath. “Forgive me for this intrusion, Alivia, please. How is your dating life?”
Well, that’s sudden and not what she’s expecting at all. Closing her eyes, she lifts her eyebrows in shock. “I’m sorry?”
Kjell chuckles nervously. “It’s probably rude. I apologize but want to ensure I will not upset your boyfriend before continuing.”
What the fresh hell? He can’t be serious right now. He’s not going to ask what she thinks, is he? Alivia smirked, feeling embarrassed and downright uncomfortable, but she couldn’t help the giggle from her mouth. “I’m sorry, that was not what I was expecting. I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t even date.”
“Really?” He seems truly surprised. “You are a beautiful woman, Alivia. Well, that makes this easier.”
She should stop him before he starts, but a piece of Alivia wants to hear what exactly he’s proposing. “Mr. Lindqvist,” She swallows hard. He’s her boss, but he’s also a nice man. Alivia is trying her best to figure out how to be discreet about this. “I love working here. I love my position, and I don’t think that…” She falters. “A proper working relationship would include us getting involved in any way. I mean, what would your sons think?”
Alivia doesn’t expect him to laugh at her—like from the belly, doubled over laughing. He even slaps his knee, and for a second, she wonders if she’s the one who got it wrong.Nice going, Alivia. Turn your boss down; he isn’t interested in you like that.Who knows, maybe the old man wanted to make sure she was happy here despite her troubles with the government. Happy people date or have relationships with others, right? Maybe. Henry’s been gone for six years, so she hasn’t dated since then. Alivia knew she’d always hurt, not because she was still distraught about Henry’s passing, but because she was uninterested. Hell, Cian was two when Henry died; she had other pressing matters at hand.
“Not me,” Kjell wipes his eyes. “Forgive me, Alivia. You are gorgeous, but I am an old man who is fine with being alone.”
“Oh,” That takes a load off, leaving her incredibly embarrassed. Alivia smiles, still not understanding. “Well then, what is this about?”
Kjell sighs and wipes his eyes. “No, no, it’s fine. I was asking for someone else.”
Well, this is news. Who’s interested in her? Why send Kjell? Is it a customer? Some hunky guy who’s playing shy? “Who then?”
Kjell smiles at her with a face of absolute sincerity. “Fredrik. My son.”
