Page 52 of Gotta Have Mistletoe
The kitchen glitters, and I gaze at the handsome man teasing me.
Anders’ gaze darts from Erik and me, and his lips curl.
Erik is still smiling as he supervises putting the batter into the molds, then the molds into the oven, and still smiling when it’s time to decorate the kransekake with frosting and Solbergian flags. The kitchen fills with the sweet, nutty scent of toasted almonds and sugar.
My own smile sticks on my face when we decorate the ballroom for tomorrow’s event, and it continues to stick on my face when I sneak into Erik’s bedroom at night.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Glen
There are some things in your life you are fairly confident will never happen. Attending a royal ball in Europe was definitely one of those things for me.
I stand before the mirror of my elaborate room wearing a tuxedo. If wearing a tuxedo means having unbuttoned cuffs and holding a bowtie.
“This is normal. Not strange at all.”
Max enters the room. “You’re supposed to wear that around your neck, Dad.”
“I’m just finding a YouTube tutorial...”
“I know a better way.” Max takes my hand and drags me from the room.
“Wait!”
“Come, Dad.”
The hallway is dotted with carved chairs and sideboards that look like they could belong in any museum. Crystal chandeliers sparkle overhead, even though people rarely wander into this part of the palace.
An antique clock ticks, and my breath quickens.
The day after tomorrow, I have a flight back to Nevada, and everything will end. Then in a few months, Erik will tastefully issue a press release that he and I have separated, that the distance was too much.
Delicate porcelain figurines glisten under the golden glow of the sconces. I step away in case I accidentally shatter them or something.
Max swings his gaze around. “Where do you think King Erik’s bedroom is?”
I ignore the way my body heats at the combination of ‘Erik’ and ‘bedroom’. “We can’t show up at his room.”
Max narrows his eyes and shoots me the sort of disappointed look that would have made my first-grade teacher, Mrs. Pickle, envious when she was trying to convey her feelings about my lack of progression on cursive.
“He likes hanging out with you, Dad,” Max says.
I press my lips together. I know where this is going. It’s too close to where my mind is going. “We’re only here for Christmas, kiddo. We’re flying back the day after tomorrow.”
Max’s shoulders slump, and I hate that I’m responsible.
“I know,” Max says finally. His face brightens. “Guess I better find him.”
Then Max rushes ahead, sliding over the polished floorboards.
“Wait! Max!” I hurry after him, then do a more dignified stride.
Finally, Max and King Erik appear.
Max beams at me. “I found him! Look at my bowtie!”
He drags Erik to me, and Erik laughs.
