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)
“You know it’s not what I mean,” she says, whispering as she leans forward, a gleam in her eyes. “But I won’t pry further. Just know that I know.”
“Hate to break it to you, Lady Jane, but you don’t know anything,” I tell her before having a sip of the coffee. This is my third cup this morning. Not sure if this is going to help or hinder my day.
“By the way, when are we supposed to go to the cabin?” I ask her, changing the subject.
She laughs. “If Magnus is telling you to pack your bags now, it means you’re leaving now. As in today.”
Perhaps this third cup is needed after all.
When I’m done drinking it I head to my room, about to pass by Laila, who is stepping out of hers.
Damn it. I wish I could just give her a nod and move on, but I can’t. With her hair pulled back, her striking face, a few freckles showing on her perfect nose, and her long teal sweater and leggings, she manages to be someone worth losing your breath over.
Someone I can’t ignore.
“Hey,” I say to her, blocking her path. “Did you hear the news?”
She sighs and glances up at me, looking tired. “About the kikut?”
“Yes. What does that word mean, anyway?”
“It’s just the name of the cabin.”
“It doesn’t mean anything in Norwegian, like murder death trap or something?”
I actually make her smile.
“If it did, I wouldn’t warn you,” she says.
“Have you been there?”
She nods, pressing her lips together. “Yes. Just once, in the summer. It’s nice. But it’s going to be crowded. Pack warm and bring your earplugs.”
“If I can handle your snoring, then I can handle anything.” The truth is, I can’t wear earplugs. I need to be alert to the smallest sounds. It’s a wonder that I’ve trained myself to sleep deep enough and yet wake up at a moment’s notice.
She barks out a laugh, and I grin in response, my chest getting this effervescent champagne feeling at the sound and sight of her. “Oh, you haven’t heard Einar yet. You have no idea.”
Then she composes herself, as if remembering she’s not supposed to laugh or smile around me. “I need to go back to the boys,” she says, her face blank, and makes her way past me.
So that’s all I get. Just that one moment. Guess it will have to tide me over until the next one.
I go in my room and pack, taking heed of Laila’s warning and Lady Jane’s talk about snow tunnels. This time, suits won’t cut it. I cram sweaters, long johns, socks, thermals, gloves, hats, and scarves all in a duffel bag with the Norwegian Royalty Protection Unit crest on it. When I finally step back into the hall, chaos has taken over.
Bjorn is tearing down the hall and back, dressed in black snow boots and snow pants but no shirt, holding up a toy airplane. He stops when he sees me and aims the plane at me, and I’m afraid he’s going to chuck it at my face.
Instead he makes shooting sounds and then yells, “Du er død!” which I take to mean that I’m dead or something.
“Bjorn!” Laila yells from the upper floor. She goes down the stairs and runs down the hall in her socks, almost slipping on the floor, looking slightly more mussed up than before. She’s holding out a long-sleeved shirt for him, a sweater tucked under her arm.
Bjorn laughs, like the bloody devil, and starts to run away, but I’m quick.
I reach out and grab him by both shoulders, my touch light but firm enough to keep him in place.
He looks up at me over his shoulder and he hisses. Like a snake.
Bloody hell.
“Bjorn,” Laila admonishes him again, out of breath. She gives me a sheepish smile, brushing her hair out of her face. “Thanks, James.”
Bjorn lets out a bloodcurdling scream, and then there’s another scream from the other end of the house. Tor. It’s like two caterwauling creatures of the night.
“Need me to hold him?” I ask her, still not letting go, even with Bjorn squirming and screaming. My eardrums feel shot out, and I wonder how Laila hasn’t lost her hearing yet.
“Please,” she says, and I crouch down to grab Bjorn by the waist while she pulls his shirt and sweater over him. I don’t know how she does it—the way he’s squirming in my grasp, it’s like trying to hit a moving target—but eventually she gets him dressed.
She gives me a look to say I can let go, and I release him.
He runs off, screaming down the hall.
“I don’t envy you,” I tell her in a low voice, watching as he disappears into their playroom. “I think I’d rather take a bullet.”
She snorts. “You wouldn’t last a day.” Then her eyes go soft. “But really, thank you for that.” She pauses. “Being a nanny, you sometimes forget that this should be a two-person operation.”