Page 30 of The Christmas Mittens
I tried to reply, but it was impossible with a soggy dog tongue trying to wriggle into my mouth. Chuckling softly, I twisted my head away from Della’s sloppy greeting and set her down. She hopped about, sat down, ripped off the lone mitten, and darted back to the warmth of the van, leaving the mint green mitten I’d knitted lying in the snow.
I picked it up, shook off the icy crystals, and walked to Anders. He awkwardly took the mitten, which felt wrong on so many levels. I wanted to kiss him madly just like we had been greeting each other all week. I wanted to pull him into his bed, strip him down, and lick every inch of him I could reach. Hell, maybe some parts I couldn’t reach as well. If he had to stand on his head, so be it, I’d tongue whatever was exposed as he did a handstand.
“She’s rough on your lovely mittens,” he apologized on behalf of his dog. “Come inside. I have a nice pot of soup made for our lunch I think you will enjoy. I’ll just need to start warming it back up.”
“Sounds good.” I climbed into the camper, Anders following, and sat down in one of the captain’s chairs instead of on the bed. He said nothing, but the message was delivered. And I felt terrible for being a jerk, but things were not proceeding as they had been until I had some more information. “It smells fishy,” I said just to break the stilted silence when he emptied a blue plastic storage container into a glass bowl. He opened a cupboard to reveal a small microwave.
“It will take a few moments to warm it thoroughly. I don’t want to heat it too fast lest it curdle. It’s the leftover salmon in a white creamy base. I have little oyster crackers and a loaf of cardamom sweet bread that Cook sent me in the post yesterday.” I nodded, sitting stiffly, hands on my thighs, while he poured us two mugs of coffee and then sat beside me, behind the steering wheel, androtated his seat to face me. “I thought we could have some coffee while we talk. It’s a light roast, very tasty, and hard to find here in America, but I stocked up before I left home.”
“Thanks, it smells nice.” Gah. I sounded so formal. This sucked. Mightily. I took a sip, smiling at the subtle notes of caramel. “Very good. It doesn’t even need sugar or cream.”
He bobbed his head in agreement, cocoa eyes on me as he sipped his coffee slowly. “This is not the way I want things to be with us. I much prefer us pouncing on each other as soon as the door closes,” I confessed.
“Yes, I prefer that too, but I understand you have questions. Ask what you wish, and I will try to answer you honestly to the best of my ability.”
Della jumped onto the bed to make a nest on one of Anders’ pillows. “Okay, thank you. I need to know if you’re part of the mob.”
He lowered his mug to let it rest on his thigh. Then he looked me right in the eye. “I am not a member of the mob or any other gang or illegal group.”
I saw nothing but honesty in those dark pools. “I believe you. I just want you to know I’ve not searched for you online in any capacity. I want your story to come from you. I want you to tell me about your past. I don’t need to know every little detail, obviously, but I need to know that my daughter is safe when she’s around you. Those two apes who are always popping up—”
“Are my bodyguards.”
Oh. Oh well, that was…not at all what my brain had cooked up. “You’re very rich, aren’t you?” I asked as steam tinted with sweet caramel curled up to tickle my nose. He gave me a quizzical look. “I’ve been trying to work out things about you without invading your privacy too much but there are signs. You wear a Prada coat, you drop big cash into donation jars, you have a solar-powered Mercedes camper van, which I assume was custom made?” He inclined his head. “So yeah, you’re rich.”
“Myfamilyis rich. I myself am comfortable with the grant bestowed upon my family and me by the government of Östermon.”
That one set me back a bit. He was rather tight-lipped about his wealth and where it came from, but at least his money wasn’t mob or drug related.
“Okay, so your family works for the government.”
“Yes, we work for the people of Östermon.”
I sipped my coffee to give myself a moment to digest all this information. “Do you move in elite circles in Europe?”
“We do.” He stared down into his coffee then brought his attention back to me. A cold wind blew around the van, stirring bits of snow over the solar panels. The sound was just like sleet blowing over a window but softer. “Well, I should say that Idid,but now I am not as I am living in America for the foreseeable future.”
“You’re being kind of cagey if I can be honest here,” I said, not wanting to insult him but wanting to get to the meat and bones of things. His eyes flared slightly. “Are you not telling me everything about your family because of your father being high up in government? I understand high-ranking officials can’t be gossiped about like us peons.”
“That is the hammer on the head.” A quick smile tugged at my mouth. “Oh wait, that’s hitting the nail on the head. Your American sayings get confusing in my head.” He was very cute when he was confused in the head. It was one of the few times—other than when he was in bed with me or curled up in my arms—that he seemed to truly relax. “My father is an important figure, and so are we by virtue of being his family. My being gay has taxed an already strained relationship with my sire, and so I’m over here trying to leave the pressure of that life and myfather’s dislike of my sexuality behind. He was happy to see me go, but he still worries slightly about me being far from home.” His lips twisted into a wry smile. “He hates who I am yet ensures I have money to live as I should and have protection. The two men…they are his doing. I sometimes feel they are not only protecting me but also spying and reporting back to him. Which is why I have forbidden them from hovering about me.”
“That would be really upsetting,” I agreed. “What does he hope to accomplish by having Frick and Frack telling him about your life? He asked you to leave. Why should he care what you do?”
“Ah, that’s the rub of it. He doesn’t wish for me to be queer in his country—or in any other—but he has no say in who I spend my time with. So he keeps an eye on me, and if someone should show up at my side that he would deem unfitting, I’m sure he would discreetly encourage them to fuck off. My words, not his, Father rarely curses. He’s too pious for vulgarities.”
“Huh. Well, the Terrible Twosome have never spoken to me so I must have passed the test?”
“You passed my test. That is the only test I care about,” he whispered and then blew over his coffee. “I’m kidding. There was no test.”
“Yeah, I figured that.” My smile was heartfelt. “I just have one more question.” He motioned for me to continue with a gentle wave of his coffee cup. “When you say your father and your family are high up in the Östermon government, just how high are we talking? Does he have access to your king? I don’t know his name, sorry. I’m not a royalty watcher. I’m lucky to know the name of the King of England.”
“King Magnus Valdemar is the ruler of Östermon.”
“Magnus Valdemar. That’s really regal.”
“Yes, the king is the most austere and pompous man I know.” His expression grew sullen for a moment then quickly lifted when his dog farted in her sleep. “She, on the other hand, isnot regal in the least. It will be quite foul. Perhaps we could go outside? I brought some skates with me. There is a small pond near the children’s playground. Do you skate?”
“I do, but it’s been years. You have ice skates?”
