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)
“She does,” she says quietly. “Sometimes. Other times no. But on her good days, it’s like I have her back, if only for a short while.” She looks away, having another sip of her coffee, silence humming in the room. “But those days are getting few and far between. I wish I could just pop by and see her every day, you know, especially when she’s having a good day. But I can’t. So I just have to hope that on Sundays she’ll happen to remember.”
Laila isn’t the kind of girl you see vulnerable all that often. In fact, in our time working together she’s always put up a tough front, like nothing bothers her. I feel like I’m seeing more of the real her now than I ever did then. We might have been sharing our bodies with each other, but neither of us ever opened up in a personal way, aside from the occasional comment here and there.
I should be honored that she’s confiding in me now, considering how things ended between us, but I can tell she’s realizing her mistake. That softness in her eyes disappears, her shoulders straightening.
“I better get ready for the day,” she says stiffly, her eyes going to the door.
Just as Prince Magnus walks past.
“James!” he exclaims, as if we’re long-lost friends and he hasn’t seen me in years. “Good morning to you! How did you sleep?” He doesn’t come in the room, I guess respecting Laila’s privacy.
I give Laila a parting glance and then step out into the hall.
“Slept great, sir,” I tell him. “I’ve been up for some time.”
“Oh, stop with the sir business. It’s Magnus,” he says, whacking me on the back. He’s in his pajama pants and sheepskin slippers, having thrown on a fleece sweater with a picture of a Christmas tree on it—a sweater that is only meant for ugly Christmas sweater parties and certainly not meant for an heir to the throne. “And we don’t stick to a schedule around here in the mornings. Unless we have to. And then I have a million alarms and wake-up calls. Need a coffee refill?”
He takes my mug out of my hands and saunters down to the kitchen, just as Laila shuts the door on me. I hurry on after him.
“So, James,” he says, sticking my mug under the Keurig. “How would you like to accompany me into the city today?”
I put my hands behind my back. “Of course, sir, anywhere you wish.”
He gives his head a shake, his messy hair jostling, and I can tell he doesn’t like the whole sir thing, but I can’t help it. Especially if we’re going out of the house and I need to be on patrol, I can’t think of him as a friend or anything like that. I know I considered Eddie a friend, but it complicates things a bit when you’re their employee, and this time around I want to keep things as uncomplicated as possible—especially with Laila back in the picture.
“Great. How about we leave in an hour or two? Gives us enough time to eat.”
He hands me my mug, and I thank him.
“Will it just be you?”
He nods. “Yes, me, you, Ottar, and Einar. The boys will stay behind, and I’m sure Ella isn’t interested.”
On the one hand I’m excited to be on duty outside the house. On the other hand I wish Laila was coming with us. I’m not sure why. It’s not like I can bug her or talk to her in a public setting when I’m on duty. I guess there’s this sad little part of me that likes to remind her of what my role is and what I can do. What can I say? My job brings out the alpha male in me.
I don’t dwell on it for long. Sigrid sets up a buffet, as apparently she does every morning, allowing everyone to get their food whenever they want. After a breakfast of cold cuts, smoked salmon, thin slices of dark brown bread, and tons of butter and cream cheese, we’re heading out to the SUV.
I take the front seat beside the stoic Einar at the wheel, who is much older than I am and looks like the product of very angular people, with his sharp jaw and razor cheekbones. He’s also wearing eighties-style ski-goggle sunglasses, despite the day being very dim and gray.
Ottar is in the back seat with Magnus, calling stores to see if they can close them so that the prince can do his clothes shopping in private. Naturally, the stores all comply, because they all want to be the place where the Prince of Norway shops.
Meanwhile, I’m just happy to be heading into the city.
“What kind of a drinker are you, James?” Magnus asks me.
I twist in my seat to look at him. “I beg your pardon?”