Page 40 of The Christmas Mittens
“We are!” I scoffed. He drew in a steadying breath. “Mitchell, I told no one.”
“But why? Why hide it?” I couldn’t make sense of anything.
“I didn’t want people to treat me differently.” I nearly rolled my eyes, but he was painfully sincere, so I didn’t go the teen route. “You saw them.” He jerked his head toward the door. “The moment Hoon mentioned that I was a prince, everyone changed. The way they looked at me changed. They all bowed, Mitchell. That was what I wanted to avoid. I did not want to be treated like a royal, especially by you. I wanted to make friends who liked me for me. I wanted a lover who cared for Anders Becken, a wandering nomad with a yippy dog, not a lover who longed for the riches and glamour that dating a prince would bring him. I want you to love me for me and not the stupid crown!” Wow. That was…understandable. I rubbed my eyes with my cold fingertips. “Mitchell, I had plans to tell you. I knew I would be called back to Östermon soon to welcome my nephew to the family. I was going to tell you before I left.” His voice was closer. I lowered my fingers to find him a few feet from me, dark eyes pleading. “I was going to tell you first, you and Gilda, as she is special to me too.”
I chewed on my lower lip as I worked through the first wave of hurt. “Okay, I understand why you withheld your lineage.” That was true. I did understand. I’d watched a few documentaries about royals, the pressure of being in the limelight, of being hounded by the press or hangers-on. Hell, some royals abdicated their thrones or titles just to be free of the tensions. “I get that, I do, and I also understand you’d keep things like that to yourself when you’re meeting someone and your heart is on the line.”
“Yes, that is so very true. I’ve had several affairs of the heart that soured when the other person turned out to be with me for the title and prestige. You’re something special. I did not want to…” He pulled his lips over his teeth for a moment. “I did not want to have to doubt your reasons for dating me. I know you are with me for me, wholly, and that makes my heart glad.”
I reached out for him with one hand, and he placed his shaky palm over mine. His grip was tight, frightened, and so I gave his hand a squeeze.
“You make my heart happy too. I care foryou, Anders, the generous soul who loves his dog and makes decorated eggs. Who spends time with my daughter and enjoys it. Who helped set up this party. My God, you brought BSX2 to Gilda’s party! You’re kind and sweet and smart. Polite, sexy, and loving. Those are the qualities that made me fall—”
I came up short. He raised a dark brow as he stepped closer. “Go on, say it.”
“I’m not sure this is the time or place,” I confessed since saying you loved a person should not be done with the scent of a urinal cake in your nose. “I care for you deeply. But the next time I ask you about something, do not omit a thing, especially something as important as being a prince.”
“I vow to you that my family tree is the biggest secret I’ve been carrying. And when it is the right place and time, know that I feel the same, so you can say it freely and it will be reciprocated.”
I closed the distance between us to place my lips on his. He cinched me tight with a short, strong jerk that pressed me tightly to him. He returned my kiss with fire and fear, his kiss showing me how much he cared and desired me and also how scared he had been. I clung to him as our tongues tangled, my hands traveling into those thick curls. Then, probably as it should be or we’d be at each other in the stall, someone rapped on the door. We took a second to catch our breaths, brow resting on brow, gazes locked.
“Dad?” Gilda called through the door. “Are you two fighting?”
“No, sugar, we’re having a discussion,” I called out as his eyes held mine. “We’ll be right out.”
“Okay,” she replied.
“Are we good?” Anders asked. I nodded. “Thank God. I was sure you would hate me.”
“No, I don’t hate you. I understand. Now we all know who you are, what happens next?”
“We go out, eat cake and ice cream, and then go home to spend time with Della and Gilda. Tomorrow is a worry that we’ll deal with when the sun rises.”
I liked how he talked. So well-educated yet sometimes tumbling into confusion with our American slang and sayings. We shared one more kiss before leaving the bathroom. We’d no sooner stepped out of the men’s room when Gilda threw herself at him, weeping openly, followed by Kimmie doing the same. Anders, stiff as a new board, held both girls awkwardly as they wept all over him.
“That was the best gift in the whole world!” Gilda exclaimed before kissing his cheek and then tossing herself at me for a hug.
“Oh, I see how it is. I’m second banana now,” I teased and got a teen eye roll as a reply. She’d be just as thrilled with my sweater as she had been with being serenaded by a K-pop band. Not. I found it didn’t bother me all that much. The fascination withHoon and the boys would fade over time, but her love for her father would always be strong. I prayed.
“Okay, who wants cake?” I called out to shake the partygoers from their awestruck staring at Anders. This would take time, I could see. Hopefully, we’d have lots. Time that was.
And ice cream and cake too, of course.
Chapter Seventeen
Thursday, December 24
Christmas Eve morning started with an occurrence that had not occurred since Katie was still with us. I woke up with someone beside me in my bed.
Anders, who had returned to our house to claim his dog plus help tote leftover food from the party into the house—food enough to feed us plus the Grouse Falls middle school football team for a week—had been persuaded to stay over by my daughter. The stinker. When she had suggested he stay as midnight rolled around, he and I both balked.
“Guys, seriously, don’t be all prudish. I’m thirteen—” she had started.
“Not for two days.” I’d looked at the clock. “Okay, not for one day,” I then corrected and got the patent eye roll that I had been expecting.
“Whatever. I’m close enough to count. I know you two are smashing each other.” My eyes had rounded. Anders had suddenly found his empty mug fascinating.
“We’re not smashing. No one is smashing anyone,” I’d lamely countered, feeling my face growing hot.
