Page 43 of The Christmas Mittens
“Dad, come on, Al can wait a few weeks for his dumb rototiller. He’s not going to be tilling his garden in January!” Gilda excitedly said, looking at Anders for agreement. He nodded, a tempting curl falling over his eye. “Just call him and explain. Al’s cool.”
“You’ll miss some school,” I weakly stated, knowing I was losing the fight to stay home and just continue being boring old Mitch the lawnmower dude.
“But think of how much I’ll learn!” she countered.
“That is true. We have a wealth of art and music for her to enjoy. We can attend the opera or go to the New Year’s show at the Östermon Opera House where our philharmonic will be performing their annual New Year’s concert or tour the summer palace of the first king of Östermon along the southern coast. It’s rumored that the old king was partial to cherry tarts and tarts of other varieties, if you get my meanings,” he winked, “and was shot in the ass by his queen for his infidelities. Queen Ilga was an exceptional archer, according to legend.”
“Summer homes of kings that were shot in the ass by their queens, Dad!” Gilda exclaimed as she rose from her seat like a balloon loose from its string. “That issoeducational!”
“Nothing says learning like seeing where a king was shot in the backside with an arrow.” I chuckled, knowing there was no way I could fight the two of them. And why was I? Fear. I was scared of the feelings I had for Anders, scared of this new royal tangle, and scared of having to meet people so far above me socially that they’d never have noticed me if not for the fact that their estranged son had brought me to their lands. The gurgling of anxiety in my belly flared up once more.
“We don’t have fancy enough clothing for operas, concerts, or baptisms,” I tossed out as a last hope to stay here where I could be sad and lonely forever. Change was terrifying.
“I’m sure we can find something. I have an exceptional tailor,” Anders slapped back that weak volley like Roger Federer.
I blew out a breath. Three sets of eyes were locked on me. Anders and Gilda were tense with worry, and Della thought I had some muffins for her.
“Okay,” I said. The cheers from Gilda and Anders were so loud, Della zoomed under the table to bark at whatever had made the humans hoot. Gilda bounced over to me, hugged and kissed me a dozen times, and then did the same to Anders before running off to dig out her suitcase. I looked at Anders, who seemed a bit smug. As if he knew he would wear down my excuses to wallow here in Grouse Falls. “I hope your family isn’t freaked out by us arriving with you.”
“They won’t be,” he proclaimed as he plucked a muffin from the cooling rack. “I already told Frode to inform the king and queen that I was bringing the man I am currently madly infatuated with and his charming daughter to meet the family.” I burped seven times. “Also, we have three hours to get to the little airport in New York to meet the jet that is landing soon, but if we’re not ready, they will simply wait so don’t let your stomach acid get worse.”
“No, no, I don’t want to make a plane filled with staff wait for us. It’ll be fine. Three hours. Plenty of time.”
“You’re so resilient! So you should pack within the hour while I gather my things from the camper and drain the water from the tanks and add some antifreeze.”
I nodded dully. He smooched me on the cheek and headed off with his bodyguards to tend to his camper. Three hours. Holy shit. I needed some antacids—STAT.
Chapter Eighteen
Thursday, December 24 - Christmas Day, Friday, December 25
“Dad, did you know that Östermon was once part of Norway, but they sought for and were rewarded their freedom in 1410 by the common monarchs of both Denmark and Sweden, who were governing Noregr, which was Old Norse for Norway.” Gilda glanced up from her phone as we neared the tiny airport where we would start this impromptu flight across the ocean and got a nod from Anders before returning to her Wiki page. “Even though the island nation is a sovereign entity, it still retains many of its Norwegian, Swedish, and Danish roots in terms of food, religion, and language.”
I looked from the runways—all two of them—as we passed by on our way to the main building to my daughter. She smiled at me and then returned to regale us with facts of Östermon.
Her thirteenth birthday was starting off with a bang, to say the least. Nowhere on my—or her—bingo card had there been a “visit a foreign land with a handsome prince on your birthday” square, but somehow the fates had stamped it just the same.She’d been given a slim silver bracelet from said handsome prince with a small charm of the drama masks while I’d given her the blue fish sweater amidst the madness of packing. She was wearing both.
Anders nodded from time to time, his attention on the scenery as well. I had to imagine that he was rife with mixed emotions. Lord knows I sure was. My sight moved back to the highway as we rolled along two hours behind schedule. Getting the camper ready for cold weather seemed to take longer than Anders had thought. As had packing, finding passports, and touching base with my clients. Most had been fine with me taking time off. I rarely did. Rarely meaning never.
Snow drifted downward, erratic little flakes, as if the sky wasn’t sure if it wanted to bother making snow or not. The sky was blue behind a fat gray cloud lazily moving past. Shiftless darn clouds. That was one word that was hopefully never applied to me. I’d gone out of my way to contact all my clients in the mad rush of digging out, packing, and handing suitcases to Arne and Alfred to load into the dark blue executive SUV they’d seemingly pulled out of thin air. All three of us fit comfortably in the back while the two big men sat up front. I assumed they were trying to afford us some privacy.
“Oh wow, is that our plane?” Gilda asked after we had driven into the airport parking lot to creep toward the main gate.
“Yes, that’s ours,” Anders answered, sitting up a bit straighter as his eyes touched on the sleek white jet with what I had to guess was the seal of Östermon on the side. “It’s a Dassault Falcon 7-X in case anyone was wondering, and my brothers and I share use of it. Father and Mother have a larger aircraft as befitting their stations. This one is quite comfortable, though. It seats fourteen and will have food, drink, and entertainment. The flight is a long one, roughly eight hours or so, but should be enjoyable.”
“Can Della ride with us?” Gilda asked about the tiny dog in matching pink sweater and booties—mittens Gilda had made that had somehow managed to survive so far. “I don’t think she would like to be in the hold.”
“No, no, she flies with me, usually on a blanket in one of the seats,” he replied, petting the sleepy hound on his lap.
“Good, and what if she has to pee?” I enquired as Arne pulled up to the departures door. Arrivals and departures used the same door, so it was an easy drop off or pick up.
“There are piddle pads in the back that she has been trained to use. The flight attendant will take care of her needs,” he said just as the car slowed and came to a stop. “We will be required to go through passport checks and security but will use the expedited lines. After we have all cleared, we will be escorted to the jet.”
I threw Gilda a look of nervous enjoyment. She had ever flown before, so this was all new to her. It took literally five minutes to have our identities checked, get our bags scanned, and be cleared to board our plane. A line of other passengers gave us sour looks as we were hustled through. Once we were on the other side of things, a slim man with dark skin and coal black hair stood waiting for us. He was incredibly handsome. A dead ringer for Tan France fromQueer Eye, although his hair was ebony and not that alluring silver. He smiled widely, teeth white and straight, brown eyes filled with joy. I’d guess he was perhaps thirty, no older than thirty-five.
“Your Highness, it is so good to see you again,” he said with the same accent that Anders had, only lighter. “Merry Christmas.”
“Rani, it’s good to see you. Merry Christmas.” Anders grinned, clasping the hand of the well-dressed man and shaking it soundly. “You look just as chic as the last time I saw you.”
