Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
We get back to the estate in just enough time, and Laila is already waiting on the steps with our bags. Magnus and Ottar get out of the car, both of them giving me knowing looks that I hope Laila doesn’t pick up on, and then we’re being taken to the airfield.
“I’d ask you to tell me all about your adventure,” Laila says to me as we wave goodbye to Einar and board the narrow steps onto the plane, “but I think I’d rather wait until the plane has landed.”
“Fair enough,” I tell her.
She looks me up and down. “But I can definitely tell you that you’re buzzing pretty good. You better keep that energy up for later,” she adds with a wink.
Oh, she has no idea.
The plane ride is quick as always, which helps with the guilt. Magnus and his family have been more than generous in providing transportation for us like this when it’s available. We have no illusions of who we are on the social ladder. They’re the royals upstairs; we’re the staff downstairs. But because we’ve been folded in like family, and because the royals go out of their way to help us, we really do live this strange life of being normal commoners with a lot of special perks. I don’t think Laila and I will ever get used to having a private jet at our disposal, and the moment we do, then we need to reevaluate who we are. We’re both very adamant about not losing touch with where we came from, even all the ugly bits.
For Laila, though, as the plane touches down, as we drive through the winding roads toward the long, dark slice of water that is Todalsfjorden, every weekend reminds her where she comes from and why it’s so important to her. Now she has a sense of home in two places—one being here, the physical house where her soul feels most at peace, and the other at Skaugum, not quite within the physical walls, but with the actual people.
I’m starting to feel the same way.
And that’s when it hits me.
I yank the car over onto the tiny pullout on the side of the road, right along the fjord.
“What happened?” Laila asks, looking up from her phone in surprise. “Did we run out of gas?”
I shake my head, my hands trembling as I turn off the ignition. “No,” I say. “There’s something…I need to show you.”
I mean, I can’t propose to her in the car—not when there’s this lovely, deep fjord beside us, the water calm, reflecting the towering, craggy mountains on the other side. Suddenly it all seems so perfect.
I unbuckle my seat belt and get out of the car, walking to the water’s edge. There are two large rocks there, artfully balancing against each other.
“What are you doing?” Laila asks, walking over to me.
I’m not sure. Suddenly I have the notion that maybe I am one of those people who would film a proposal.
“Uh, go stand on that rock over there,” I say to her. “I want to pose for a picture.”
“Okay,” she says warily, but she still walks over. “Which rock?”
“The taller one,” I tell her. I set up my iPhone on the hood of the car, balancing it in the windshield wipers as I hit record.
Then I walk over to her.
“You’re doing a self-timer?” she asks, incredulous. She’s always the one taking a million photos of us. I think I have one photo of us together on my phone, and it was one that she took.
“Why not,” I tell her.
I step up onto the shorter rock. It’s not very steady, and it wobbles back and forth under my boots, but at least I’m a little bit shorter than her this way. Beats having to get down on one knee.
“Are we posing?” she asks me, eyes bright and curious as I take both her hands in mine. “How long did you set that self-timer for?”
But I ignore her. I barely hear her. All I can think about is that ring burning a hole in my pocket and the words I want her to hear but I’m not sure how to say.
Just say it, I tell myself. Be the blunt bastard that you are.
“Laila,” I tell her, trying to smooth out my voice.
I squeeze her hands, staring into her eyes. And all it takes is that because suddenly her whole demeanor changes. She’s not scared, but she’s…waiting, eyes already going wet.
“Laila love,” I tell her, taking in a deep breath. “We’ve known each other quite a while now. We’ve loved each other for quite a while. And I think we’ve found a home in each other too. I’ve always said that the reason we connect so well is because we both know what it’s like to lose family, lose our loved ones, feel alone in the world. Our upbringings were very different from each other’s, but we’re both bound by that searching for family.”