The long oak dining table stretched between the two families, its polished surface reflecting the glow of the chandelier above. Outside the tall windows, the Norwegian countryside lay quiet under a blanket of snow, the kind that muffled all sound and made the world feel smaller. Inside, however, the air was heavy with unspoken expectation.

Tord sat stiffly in his chair, dressed more formally than he would have liked. His dark slacks and crisp shirt itched at his skin, the collar digging into his neck as though it wanted to strangle him. He kept his hands folded in his lap, nimble fingers tapping silently against the fabric of his thighs, betraying his restlessness.

Across from him, you sat beside your parents, looking just as uneasy. Your family had been invited under the pretense of a “discussion,” though it was clear from the moment your coats were taken at the door what this really was: an arranged meeting, a possible merging of households through marriage.

Tord’s father spoke first, his voice as stern and immovable as the man himself: “Tord is in high school now. He is old enough to start thinking of his future. It is… concerning he has not found a suitable partner yet.”

Tord’s mother gave him a look sharp enough to cut steel, her lips pressed into a thin line. “We cannot allow our son to waste his potential wandering after silly teenage flings. He will inherit a legacy. He needs stability. A proper spouse.”

Tord exhaled slowly through his nose, trying not to roll his eyes in front of company. Here we go again…

Your parents shifted uncomfortably, caught between pride and nerves. Your father cleared his throat before replying, “Our daughter is… hardworking, and comes from good stock. We only want what is best for her future. And if that future involves… tying our families together—”

“—then we are open to it,” your mother finished, though she kept her gaze firmly on her folded hands.

Tord finally spoke, his Norwegian accent slipping thicker with his irritation. “Dette er latterlig…” (This is ridiculous…) He straightened, his crimson eye narrowing “I am seventeen. I don’t need a wife—I need to pass physics.”

“Tord.” His father’s voice cracked across the table like a whip. “You will not embarrass this family.”

His mother leaned forward, her expression a mixture of warning and false sweetness. “You will at least consider what is being discussed here tonight. That is not too much to ask.”

To break the tension, Tord leaned back in his chair, smirking with that sharp-edged bravado he used as a shield. “So, let me get this straight. You all want to shove me into some loveless arrangement just because I don’t spend my time chasing girls?” He gave a mock laugh, his accent dragging heavy across his words. “Kjempeflott. Brilliant plan