Page 39 of The Christmas Mittens
Chloe wiggled up to me about fifteen minutes later as a small group of rowdies—mostly the Woolverines—were dancing to an oldie but goodie. Every generation liked Little Richard songs.Pastor Pete was at my side as I moved along the tables, stirring the food in the crockpots and readying things for the rush in a few minutes. Anders was leading Franny around the floor in a lovely, slow waltz, which did not jibe with “Tutti Frutti,’ but since she couldn’t hear and jitterbugging was not on her dance card, a waltz was perfect. Anders was quite the fine ballroom dancer. I watched him moving around with grace while Chloe was informing me that she had found candles for the cake.
“Oh great,” I said as Gilda and Kimmie were flailing about on the dance floor while giggling madly. She was having fun. That made me so happy. “We’ll do the cake and ice cream after the meal and then open her presents.”
I liked keeping things running smoothly when possible. It eased anxiety and made for a—
Suddenly, both front doors of the fire hall opened at once. Standing in the doorway were a squad of beefy men in dark pink tees and a portly Asian man with thinning hair and a look of utter disdain. Everyone stopped dancing, and Arne quieted the wild piano-playing rocker to stare at the small army in pink. Then, as if that wasn’t attention-gathering enough, five young Asian men strutted in, snowflakes on their slim shoulders as a squeal from Kimmie rent the air. She swooned into Bert’s arms as Gilda, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, stared at the boys, who looked just like BSX2. The one dressed as Hoon even had eight earrings in his left ear, sky-blue hair, and a dimple. I glanced at Anders, impressed as hell he had managed to find a K-pop tribute band. I thought those were only for rockers who had retired or passed away.
Then he spoke, in soft, broken English. “This is the Gilda party, yes?”
Everyone nodded in unison. His smile was pure white perfection. Bert was fanning Kimmie. “Wonderful! And who is the Gilda birthday girl?”
“Me,” my daughter squeaked. The portly man with red hair wove his way to the meatballs, his expression pinched, his sight moving from the food to his gold watch.
All five of the boys clapped gently before the Hoon lookalike offered Gilda his hand. “Happy Birthday. A good friend of ours has asked us to perform a song for the special girl.”
I threw a look at Anders, who was still holding Franny in a proper waltzing form. He gave me a nod as if to say this was his gift. As if I couldn’t figure that one out. Who else could afford to hire a BSX2 lookalike group for a party in the hills?
“Okay,” Gilda choked out as Hoon took her hand and kissed it. Her cheeks went fire-engine red as she was escorted to a folding chair that one of the behemoths in pink—now wearing BSX2 tees, I noticed—had rushed out and placed in the middle of the floor. “I love your hair,” Gilda added. Hoon gave her a wink just as Kimmie revived. Gilda motioned for her friend to join her, so Kimmie raced to the chair and knelt beside it, grasping Gilda’s hand as the five boys broke into an a cappella rendition of “Gumball Birthday Smile” that made my jaw drop. Surely this couldn’t be…
No, no way. Was this the real band? How? Where? When? Who? Well, I knew who…
Gilda giggled steadily while Kimmie wept. The five boys then busted out to perform one of BSX2’s biggest hits. The man enjoying the meatballs had made his way to Arne. As an instrumental cut of “Dance Kissy Girl” started to thump from the speakers, the young men began to dance and sing. Kimmie swooned again. Gilda shook steadily, hands over her mouth, as the singers moved in such perfect syncopation that even my exhausted brain started to figure out this was no fan show or tribute band or whatever the term might be. This was BSX2. Performing for my daughter right here in Grouse Falls. And the men in pink were bodyguards. The dude eating meatballs wasperhaps their manager. I blinked a few times as the girls were serenaded by the biggest names in K-pop at the moment. Then, the song ended. Gilda and Kimmie cried. The band bowed to Gilda and made a beeline for Anders, who had sidled up to the man eating meatballs about a foot from me. I stood there, stirring spoon in hand, to watch Hoon stop in front of Anders, bow deeply, and then straighten.
“It is a pleasure to see you again, Prince Anders. How is your father, King Magnus?” Hoon asked while Anders stiffened visibly, dark eyes darting to me. Prince? Did he say prince? No, no, that must be a term of respect in South Korea, surely.
“He’s fine. Thank you for making the journey from Buffalo earlier than requested,” Anders replied after gracing the band with a gentle bow of his own.
“It is a pleasure,” the blue-haired star replied. “Your country was very gracious to us when we visited. The queen was most kind and appreciative of our music as were your brothers.”
My mouth hung open as they chit-chatted like old friends. Anders knew BSX2. Anders was a prince. Prince Anders. It was just…no, surely not. Pete, to my left, seemed to shake the cobwebs sooner than I was able.
“That’swhere I knew that name,” he confided as the girls stared at the band with awe and tear-streaked cheeks. I looked from Gilda to Anders to Pete. “I took a course at the seminary about Christianity in Modern Europe, and Östermon was mentioned several times. Anders using his mother’s maiden name and growing out his hair threw me off. Imagine having royalty in our midst!”
Out of the blue, the pudgy meatball man hurried to Anders, bowed, and then herded his band outside with the pack of big men in pink on their tails. Everyone ran to the door to watch the stretch limo pull away, followed by two more black sedans packed with muscle. Then, as one, the partygoers turned to lookat Anders as if they were gobsmacked. Join the club, my friends. I was just as shocked as they were, only more so, as I had asked him about himself, and he had lied to me. To my face. And that hurt.
Anders, who seemed to be quick to recover, gave everyone a smile as he waved a hand in the air. Gilda and Kimmie were still in the middle of the floor, giggling madly, crying, and hugging each other.
“I hope that was a grand surprise,” he announced nervously. Everyone from Franny to Pastor Pete bowed as one does when presented to a goddamn prince. I was the lone person in that fire hall not to, well, other than Gilda, who was lost in Lalaland. I was too damn mad to do much of anything but hand my spoon off to the pastor before heading to the men’s room to sort out what the hell was going on in my head. The door had no sooner closed behind me when the music picked back up, and Anders pushed into the room.
“I can explain,” he opened with as he reached back to lock the door.
“You’re a prince?” I asked and got a nod.
“Yes, but it’s not as dried and cut as—”
“Do I genuflect or what?” I asked with some vinegar. He winced as if I’d slapped him. “Sorry, that was cruel, I know, but what thehell, Anders? You’re royalty?”
He exhaled deeply, dragged a hand through his curls, and rested his back against the door. “Yes, I am royalty. I am the fourth son of King Magnus and Queen Linnea of Östermon. My official name is Prince Anders Erik Gustaf Valdemar. I will never sit on the throne as I am the youngest of four boys. Frode, my eldest brother, is the crown prince and has already produced three children with the fourth on the way as we speak.”
“Holy shit.” I let my ass rest on the cold porcelain sink as it all began to seep in. “I asked you about yourself and you lied.”
“No,” he hurried to say with a shake of his head which sent those damn curls bouncing. “I never lied to you, Mitchell. I omitted some facts.”
“A lie of omission is still a lie,” I snapped back, gripping the edge of the sink tightly. His lips flattened. “I asked you to be honest, but you hid some pretty important things from me.”
“Not just from you but from everyone.”
“They’re not sleeping with you, Anders, I am!” I snarled, mindful, even though I was angry and in pain, that there were probably a dozen ears plastered to the other side of the men’s room door. “We’ve been intimate. I thought we were building something special—”
