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)
“Will you?” I ask softly.
He swallows thickly and nods. “It’s always fun until someone gets hurt. If both our jobs weren’t on the line, if it wasn’t a big deal to be together…”
I stare at him through my blurry vision. I know what he’s not saying. That it doesn’t matter that we could never be. Even if I quit, he still wouldn’t want me for anything more than sex. I know it.
The thing is, I’m not asking for anything more.
He opens his mouth to say something but then he closes it again, his features hardening.
“I’m sorry,” he says, turning around and heading for the door.
“Don’t go,” I finally say, voice cracking.
“I have to,” he says, looking back at me. “I have to go. For both our sakes.”
And then he’s gone.
I’m left in bed, heart aching, tears flowing freely from my eyes.
I’m so foolish. I left the door open in my heart, just a crack, and it was enough to lose it all.
Thirteen
LAILA
“Bjorn, don’t touch that,” I warn. “I forbid you to touch that.”
He stares at me for a moment with his bright blue-green eyes, and I think maybe, just maybe, he’s not going to shove his hand into the bowl of freshly mixed cookie dough that I just put on the table.
But then that diabolical grin comes across his face, the one that makes him look like the kid from The Omen, and he plunges his hand right into the bowl, laughing as he goes.
“No!” I cry, trying to snatch the dough away from him, but he’s a quick little demon and he’s already got a handful of it, chocolate chips and all.
“That’s for the cookies,” I tell him, “not for you to eat.”
“But I’m hungry,” Bjorn protests.
“You’re always hungry,” I tell him. “You eat like a horse.”
“I do not,” Bjorn says indignantly. “I eat like a human being.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine, you eat like a human being. But that doesn’t mean you get to eat the dough.”
Bjorn makes a face. “But it’s so good,” he says plaintively.
“No, it’s not,” I tell him. “It’s raw. You’re not supposed to eat raw cookie dough.”
“Why not?” Bjorn asks, shoving more in his mouth. “It’s delicious.”
“The raw eggs can make you sick,” I tell him. “Is that what you want? You want to feel gross and sicky?”
That makes him pause. It’s enough for me to grab him and take him over to the sink, kicking the footstool over to us and rinsing his hands off.
“I was about to ask how the Christmas cookies were coming along,” Ella says warily.
I look at her over my shoulder. She has Tor beside her, who looks bleary-eyed from his nap. Now that we’re back in the palace, I think everyone is still trying to catch up on all the lost sleep from being at the kikut.
“They were coming along great,” I tell her.
“I’m going to be sick!” Bjorn says brightly.
“I told him that the raw eggs could make him sick. Apparently he doesn’t care.”
I dry Bjorn’s hands with a clean dishrag and Ella sighs. “Oh Bjorn. Christmas Eve is tomorrow. Do you really want Santa Claus to skip this house because you’ve been eating cookie dough?”
That gets his attention. He looks crestfallen. “No…”
She crosses her arms and puts on her stern-mother face, which I’ll admit makes me want to straighten up and fly right.
“Then you need to be on your best behavior now, okay?” Under her breath she adds, “And after Christmas too would be nice.”
“Okay,” he says hesitantly, as if he’s entering a binding contract with his words.
With Christmas Eve tomorrow, everyone is scrambling to get everything done. Soon the kitchen is going to be packed with Sigrid and Ella making the meal, so I figured now was a good time to get started on the Christmas cookies, which is always a good activity to keep the boys busy and creative at the same time. The chocolate chip cookies aren’t traditional for the Norwegian Christmas Eve dinner, but the boys like them, so it’s pretty much a batch just for them, and certainly will be now that Bjorn got his hands in it. Later I’ll make some proper ones in a shortbread style, and then the boys can help with decorating a few.
“Do you have any Christmas traditions?” I ask Ella.
“Not really. Just the usual things like decorating the tree, making cookies, and opening presents on Christmas morning. I know you do it on Christmas Eve here in Norway, but in Liechtenstein we do a little of both.”
Sigrid comes in from the other room with a bag of turnips she must have gotten from the cellar. “Growing up we always made a big batch of lefse for Christmas. My favorite, providing it has enough butter,” I tell her.
“I’ve never had lefse,” Ella says. “What is it?”