Page 21 of Kicking it with my Fake Fiancé
“Steve and Brock are going to meet us at Sentralstasjonen.”
Soon enough, we’d taken a bus to the main train station, and then hopped a train to Oslo. The trip from Drammen took about an hour, all told. We made our way through the station and out into the large plaza, people bustling every which way, most speaking in quick Norwegian or some other language I couldn’t keep up with. A few were speaking English, but my head still spun with the newness of it all. I kept quiet and followed Matty to where he said we’d be meeting with Steve and Brock—directly in front of a massive bronze tiger statue.
“Wait, what the hell is this?”
Matty looked confused for a moment. “It’s a tiger.”
“Yes, but why is there a tiger at Central Station?”
He chuckled, giving me a soft smile. “Oslo is also known as the Tiger City. Tigerstaden.”
“Okay, that makes evenlesssense.”
“It’s based on an old poem, I think.” He reached out and patted the tiger’s neck. “I wouldn’t think too hard about it.”
There was no sign of Steve, so I walked around the tiger, trailing my fingers over it, appreciating its size and— “Wait a second. Are thoseballs?”
Matty did a double take before a laugh burst out of him. “Oh. Yes. Those are his balls.”
“Is there a reason the tiger has giant balls?”
“I mean, he’s a rather large tiger, don’t you think? It would be stranger if he had small ones, wouldn’t it?”
I buried my face in my hands to suppress my laughter. “You cannot be serious.”
“What? You’d rather he not be anatomically correct? Or be female?”
I shook my head, tears springing to my eyes. I didn’t know why but the concept of a huge, anatomically correct male tiger effectively being a city mascot was ridiculous. It wasn’t like we didn’t have similar things in America—there was the bull on Wall Street, after all. Still, I couldn’t help my laughter.
“There you are!” Steve’s voice cut through my laughing, and I took a deep breath to get myself together. When Steve made it to us, he looked from Matty to me and back. “Did we miss something?”
“Only a puritanical American shocked by anatomy.” Matty tsked and shook his head, but the smile on his face was affectionate.
Brow furrowed, Steve looked at Brock, who could only shrug. “Okay, then. Let’s review the plans for the day.” We talked about our sightseeing trip, Matty’s ideas about taking me to see the palace and the sculpture park, and some of the interviews and sound bites Steve wanted to get. When he’d finished talking, he instructed Brock to get some confessional footage of Matty. Once they’d started, Steve pulled me aside.
“What’s wrong?” I was on high alert at once.
He shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong, exactly, but we need to inject some drama into the show. I don’t mind following you two around being cutesy, but our viewers are going to need something a little more exciting if we want them to keep watching.”
“Right.” The viewers. I hadn’t really thought of them. I mean, I knew logically that we were going to be on the show, but the practicality of needing to amp up the excitement for people who’d be watching along at home… well, it had gotten by me. “What do you suggest?”
He glanced over to see Matty still chatting away at the camera. “You’ll think of something. I have faith in you.”
Matty wrapped up and came over, cheeks pink. “Everything okay?”
I wasn’t certain I’d be able to figure out just what to do to create some kind of commotion for the day, but I’d do my best. I took Matty’s hand and nodded. “Everything’s great.”
For a while, we just walked, holding hands and chatting about nothing in particular. He took me along what seemed to be the main street of Oslo, stopping at shops along the way before we headed through a small park. Matty pointed to a massive building in the distance. “That’s our first destination, the Royal Palace. I want to walk around the park behind the palace, too. It’s beautiful there.”
As we meandered through the square, passing tourist groups, people busking, and crowds of sightseers, an idea hit me. I slowed us to a stop.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I said. My gaze darted around the square until I spotted exactly what I was looking for. I squeezed Matty’s hand briefly before releasing him. “I’ll be right back.”
I approached a busker, about our age, who held a guitar. When I explained my plan, he nodded enthusiastically, and I handed the musician a hundred kroner bill. I glanced at Matty, and he was frowning, furrowing his brow, as I took the guitar from the man and walked back toward Matty, Steve, and Brock.
“What—”
