Page 57 of The Christmas Mittens
“And there it is now,” Harold commented loudly enough for Rani’s surprised gaze to fly down to where we stood. Well, I stood. On two feet, one bare and growing chillier by the moment. Harold sat. Rani’s eyes widened and then narrowed imperceptibly.
“Your Highness, Mr. Baxter,” Rani softly said, padding down to us in polished loafers that went well with the dark brown pants, off-white cable sweater, and a tartan scarf of gray, brown, and red draped artfully around his long neck. “Is there something either of you requires?”
“No, I was just…” I had no clue what to say.
“Mitchell had a sudden leg cramp, probably due to losing his slipper, and was walking it off when he stumbled across me sitting here sipping my tea. I had a dreadful night.”
“Oh, I am sorry, Your Highness. Did you bring your sleep aids?” Rani asked as I internally thanked the gods Harold was a much better—and faster—fibber than I was or would ever be.
“I did, but they didn’t seem to work well. My best sleep aid was sadly out of reach,” Harold pointedly said. Rani nodded just once, quite stiffly, as the sound of two women talking from the first floor filtered up to us. Rani and Harold stood there staring at each other. The vibes in this hallway were so thick you’d need a chainsaw to hack through them.
“I think my cramped foot is better, so I’m going to go back to my room and shower. See you downstairs for breakfast at eight?” I asked, got two bobs of two heads, and pretend-limped to my room. Once inside, with the door closed, I took a breath and then let it out. Being caught doing the walk of shame by my lover’s older brother. Sonotthe way to start the day.
***
I met Anders outside my door at eight. He gave me a soft kiss.
“I woke up, and you were gone,” he whispered, taking my hand as we made our way down the steps to the first floor.
“My internal alarm went off, so I got up. I didn’t want anyone to find me sneaking from your room,” I confessed. “But your brother was sitting in the hall when I emerged, so I was busted right off. Might better have stayed in your nice, warm bed.”
“Harold is known to have bad nights. As for the staff, they can all go shovel snow for all I care. We are a couple. The world now knows it, my family knows it, and the staff can know it. “
I gave his hand a squeeze. “Thank you. I suppose I should discuss our intimate status with Gilda so she’s not shocked when someone is caught light footing it from one bedroom to the other.”
“I’m sure she won’t be shocked,” he replied with a look that said she probably knew more than us about sex. Which I hoped she did. I’d always been frank with her about where babies camefrom and tried to address any questions she might have as she grew older.
“No, probably not,” I conceded, stepping into the foyer and making a right that took us past a room filled with chairs, sofas, and a massive television set. The smell of coffee, bacon, and toast greeted us as we filed into a small dining room. Dark paneling, pine drapes pulled wide to allow the winter sun to flow in. The scenery outside the double windows was awe inspiring. No gardens or fountains to be seen, just trees and snow and a periwinkle sky. A small group of red deer stepped out of the woods, pausing to paw at the snow before moving back into the forest.
Harold sat at the far end of the smallish cherry dining table, smiling at us, with a neatly opened newspaper resting on his lap.
“Anders, Mitchell,” Harold said just as a maid entered with a fresh urn of what I assumed would be coffee. She curtsied quickly, left the urn, and scurried off through a small door beside a painting of a lake. “They’ve just served.”
“Your Highness,” I said, bowing as required.
“Please don’t. First names are fine here,” Harold kindly said, so I smiled and nodded.
“My God, do they still print those?” Anders asked as he motioned me to the sideboard that held numerous covered serving dishes. I took note that Gilda was still sleeping. Good. She was young and needed rest. We’d all been going pretty fast and furious since we landed. I could still feel the lingering traces of jet lag. Or maybe my sleepiness was due to being up so late making love to Anders…
“Amazingly, they do. I’m sure Father supports the paper. You know how he is about change,” Harold tossed out as he picked up the paper, snapped it, and began to read off what the local press—I was assuming the paper was Östermonian—had to say about the baptism. “He’ll shit a whale when he sees some of theimagery from the church. You and your boyfriend are shown at least twice. Gasp!”
Anders snorted while lifting a silver lid to show me the heaping mound of fried eggs. “Were we speaking to each other in a lewd and gay way?”
“Oh yes, the gay is just flowing out of you. I’m shocked the choir wasn’t washed away in that tsunami of queerness,” Harold tossed out. I spooned two eggs onto my dish, suddenly ravenous. Anders snorted in amusement. “Honestly, it’s so stupid. This county is so backward it’s a wonder we’re not shitting in buckets still. Do try the rye with the pickled herring, Mitchell.”
“Thank you, I will.” And so I filled my plate with herring and salmon, a small dish of porridge, a slice of ham, and of course, my eggs. And coffee. Anders followed me, taking a seat across from Harold and leaving me to sit at the head of the table that held eight. “This all looks amazing.”
“The cook here is quite good,” Harold said, handing the paper over his empty plate to his brother. Anders refused it. “The write-up is timid, with no mentions of anything to get the old man’s goat, but the picture of you and Mitch smiling at each other, obviously deeply in love—how dare you—will crank him up. I say good. I hope he pops a fucking valve or two.”
I chuckled softly while cutting into the fat slice of herring.
“Well, not to be too kind to a bigot, but thisishis first time dealing with a queer son and his unseemly behavior,” Anders said while salting his salmon. I was not super keen on fish for breakfast, but when in Rome…
“No, it is not,” Harold replied and sipped his coffee. Anders’ fork hit his plate with a clatter as my attention flew from my herring to the prince smirking at us over his coffee mug. “Remember that incident with the model after the Dutch Grand Prix?” We both nodded dully, even though I only found out about that scandal recently. Anders’ fork still lay on his plate.“Well, there was a man involved as well. Beautiful Italian racer. Tanned and sleek, you could rest this coffee cup on his cheekbones. He and I shared the bed of the model.”
“Oh well, many straight men share the bed of a woman,” Anders said, looking at me for verification. “You’re half straight. That is not uncommon, is it?”
“Well, I’m not sure being bi is really half straight, but okay,” I replied.
