Page 59 of The Christmas Mittens
“I’m…better. I think I may have overreacted.” He looked my way. “Did I?”
I shoved my mittened hands deeper into my coat pockets. Watching Della larking about in the cold sea with no booties made me even colder. Yet she hated walking in the snow. Go figure.
“I think you were justifiably shocked and hurt.”
“Yes, I agree, but Harold also made a point in that when he comes out, it is not for me to decide.”
“Yeah, that’s correct.”
Anders blew out a breath that fogged lightly in front of him. “Why is this family of mine so damn difficult?”
“I’m pretty sure all families are difficult at times.”
He smiled feebly. “Probably so, yes, but mine seem to like being pricks. Some go above and beyond to be assholes.”
I chuckled. “If it helps you to digest what Harold tossed out over breakfast like a dead herring, I think both of you are right in your own ways. Having him at your side as you faced down your father would have been really nice. But you’ve come out of that stronger and more secure in yourself and your gayness. Harold has reasons why he’s still in the closet but watching you become such a strong and vocal fighter for the LGBTQ community here in Östermon has to have influenced him.”
“Mm, perhaps. He’s a shit. I love him and all my brothers, but sometimes I would like to kick them into the sea for the dragons to eat.”
“They’d not fill a dragon’s tummy.”
“True, and they would irritate the poor dragon on the way out.” We both snickered. “I am so very glad you are here.”
“I’m glad too.” He slipped an arm around my back, pulling me into his side, to rest his head on mine. We stood there for a longtime, enjoying the laughter of my child, the happy yips of a tiny dog, and the steady rolling song of the sea.
We lingered there on the edge of the sea in silence for a few moments before a cold dog and an even colder teenager bounded up to join us. Della whined and danced so Anders picked her up and slipped her into her pink quilted tote. She wiggled in with a sigh, only her eyes and nose peeking out.
“Dad, I found more rocks and some sea glass! There were blue, green, and super cool pink that—”
Her breathless explanation was cut off by the whining sound of two engines—four strokes by the sound—racing at us. The snowmobiles skidded up to the three of us, one in the lead, the other a few feet behind. Nice machines. Both Polaris newer models with turbocharge and improved suspension systems. Not racers since those would be lighter but still capable of chewing up the miles. Snow flew at us. Gilda ducked behind me. Anders and I got the snow shower right in our kissers. Della hid in her tote.
“So, you are still alive,” Harold shouted as he wrestled to remove his bright yellow helmet. Dark curls lay flat on his head. I wiped at my face while Anders muttered. “We were sent out by a frantic Rani to find your bodies, which were, he was sure, floating in the surf.”
“He tends to overreact,” Anders sputtered, flinging melting snow from his face.
“Turn your damn phone on.” Harold sighed as the second rider merely sat on his now quiet machine. Security, I assumed. I’d not met Harold’s bodyguards, but surely this was one or from the manse itself. Whoever it was, they did not interact nor remove their helmet.
“It’s on ‘Do Not Disturb’ for a reason, idiot.” Anders was not in the mood, it seemed, for any more of his brother’s picking.
Harold sighed theatrically. “Fine, be a temperamental ass, excuse my bad words, Lady Gilda.”
“I’m not a lady,” my daughter fired back as she stepped out to stand at my side.
“Duchess?” Harold asked. Gilda shook her head, her hair damp with sea spray. “Oh, then a baroness! I shall address you as Baroness Gilda of the Seashore from here on out.” He bowed as deeply as one can seated on a snowmobile. Gilda giggled. “So I am here to inform you, despite your sour greetings, that our father has asked to join us for breakfast tomorrow. He’s leaving for a ski trip to Sweden in the afternoon. I suspect getting some distance from his irate wife.”
“Asked or demanded?” Anders enquired, flicking a droplet of melted snow from his chin at his brother. It fell far short.
“According to Rani, it was a request,” Harold replied. Anders gaped. “Yes, my thoughts exactly. Kelbie asked if we would be free tomorrow at eight sharp.”
“Father’s private secretary set this up?” Anders asked and got a shrug from Harold. “Hmm, this reeks of Mother.”
“Oh yes, Mother has surely chewed him a new one as has Ivar and Frode, according to what I’m hearing from Alva. She and I chit-chat, you know.” Anders grunted. “Anyway, the choice is yours, of course. If you don’t wish to see him for the duration of your stay, everyone would fully understand.”
I glanced at Anders. He was chewing on the inside of his cheek. A tic I noticed a few times when he was concentrating.
“No, let him come out with this caveat.” Anders squared his shoulders. “He is the monarch and so can come to this estate whenever he wishes. That being said, if he brings his bigotry and rhetoric with him, I will refuse to speak to him. I cannot bar him from royal lands, but I can spend the night in my quarters with my boyfriend and his daughter watching old TV mystery shows.”
Harold smiled. “Well played. I’ll relay that to Rani when I return. You look cold, Baroness of the Seashore. Would you like a ride back to the cottage?”
