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)
“I’ve made hot chocolate,” she calls out to us, rubbing her hands over her arms for warmth. “My god, it won’t stop,” she says staring up at the white sky as the flakes fall down.
Bjorn tears up the steps in his snowsuit, running past his mother and into the house. Tor lets go of my hand when he sees Ella and tries to make a run for her as well, a big smile on his chubby cheeks, but immediately face-plants. I scoop him up and bring him over to her, plunking him in her arms as her sweater gets covered in snow.
“Goodness, Tor, I can’t tell if you built the snowman or if the snowman built you,” she says, brushing the snow off his hat.
He giggles in response, and once inside, Ella puts him back down and closes the door. “You’re going to need some help,” she says, because I always appreciate a little help when it comes to taking off the kids’ snowsuits.
She goes hastily down the hall to wrangle Bjorn and then brings him back over to me like a lost puppy dragged by his collar, and we quickly get the boys out of the suits, their clothes dry underneath, thankfully.
“Hot chocolate!” Bjorn yells, escaping his mother’s grip and running down the hall to the kitchen, Tor toddling after him.
“Hmmm,” she says, blowing a strand of hair off her forehead. “I should have left it a surprise. I thought I would need to bribe them to come in.”
“Whatever works,” I tell her, unwrapping my scarf and taking off my own coat.
“I hope Magnus doesn’t run into any troubles,” she says, a faint line between her brows.
“With what?” I ask, hanging up my stuff.
“Well, he went to Oslo with James, Ottar, and Einar. He had lunch with his father, but he should have been back by now.”
“Have you tried texting him?”
“I texted, I called,” she says, then gives me an apologetic shrug. “Knowing him, though, his phone is probably dead because he forgot to charge it last night and he hasn’t even noticed. Out of sight, out of mind. Anyway, what can I say, I’m a worrywart.”
We walk off to the kitchen to make sure the boys aren’t burning it down while I briefly wonder if I should text James. Then I remember I deleted his number in a fit of rage. He probably has a different number now anyway.
It’s been a few days since he graced Skaugum Estate with his smarmy presence, and while I’ve gotten pretty good at avoiding him since he does spend a lot of time with Magnus (even though he’s not technically his bodyguard, Magnus likes making friends), there are times when he’s unavoidable. It’s common for everyone to gather in the library after dinner to have a nightcap or two before bed, and while I got away with ducking out the first night, it’s going to start looking really weird if I never show up, especially since I was there like clockwork before. A nice highball of Scotch has been a lifesaver at the end of the day. Besides, Lady Jane was already getting suspicious of me missing that first night.
So I’ve had to sit there by the roaring fire, sipping Scotch and pretending that I’m listening to the conversation, when really all I can think about is James sitting near me. I don’t even have to look at him, I just feel him. That sexual energy he carried with him before is just as strong as ever, and it seriously messes up my train of thought. And by messes up, I mean totally derails it into a fiery explosion.
And besides the nights by the fire (thanking the lord that so far we haven’t been left alone, because his energy plus cozy fireplace vibes definitely screams sex), I’ve had to see him at dinner twice, and I’m always bumping into him in the halls. Not to mention the fact that every single night I can hear him going to bed. I have my noise-canceling headphones on with a brown-noise app blasting out my eardrums, and I swear I still hear every little sigh. Honestly, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to just carry on and work, I’m really not.
I step into the kitchen to see Sigrid handing the boys hot chocolate. I’m not sure sugar is a good idea, especially when they’re so hyped up (so much for the snow and cold tuckering them out), and when they’re done, Ella knows she’s made a mistake.
“Oh dear,” she says, as Bjorn starts doing laps around the kitchen table. “Sorry about that,” she adds to me, wincing.
“Would you believe me if I said I was used to it?” I tell her.
Ella laughs. “You’re so good with them,” she says warmly. She nods at the window, which is now covered in a layer of icy snow. “I was watching you earlier. You really play with them in a way that I can’t seem to. Sometimes I think I’m just too boring and rigid to really access that part of my brain, but with you it seems to come so easily.”