Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 117920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 590(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 590(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
“Sorry,” I apologize, not about to throw the girls and their hairdo requests under the bus. “I lost track of time. Wow, this salad looks amazing.” And it does—crisp romaine, tomatoes, bacon, the whole lot.
“I should probably print out the schedule for you, so that you can refer to it,” Maja says as I take my seat beside her, the girls on the opposite side of the table. “Dinner is always at six. It’s good for the girls to have routine, you know.”
“And is Aksel joining us?” I ask. The girls look at Maja hopefully.
“Probably not but Karla always sets a place for him and puts food aside, just in case,” she says as she dishes salad onto the girl’s plates.
The girls look absolutely crestfallen. I wish there was something I could do or say.
“Eat your salad,” Maja tells them. Talk about tough love.
Clara folds her arms in defiance, shaking her head. “No.”
“Clara,” Maja says. “Must we do this?”
Clara lets out rapid-fire Danish which makes Maja sigh.
“What did she say?” I whisper to her.
“She won’t eat bacon,” she says. “She has an obsession with pigs at the moment.”
Actually, that’s kind of admirable. I don’t mean to undermine Maja but I tell Clara, “Pigs are very smart, very loyal animals. Almost like dogs. You don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to. You don’t have to eat any animal if you don’t want to.”
I can feel Maja’s eyes boring into my head. Whoops. Totally stepping on everyone’s toes here.
“Really?” Clara says brightly. “Because Papa said that I need to eat meat or else I’m going to stay this size for the rest of my life.”
I cock my brow. “Did he now?”
“I don’t want to eat bacon either,” Freja says in solidarity, pushing her plate away. “I don’t care if I’m small forever.”
Now I know for sure that Maja is giving me the stink eye.
“How about you pick around the bacon and just eat the rest of the salad,” I say quickly. “A compromise, okay? That way you’ll still grow.”
The girls exchange a look with each other and then shrug in unison. “Okay.”
While they pick out the bacon and start munching on the greens, Maja says to me under her breath. “I hope you know what you’re doing. We eat meat at every meal and if this gets back to Aksel…”
Ah shit. I give her a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry. I was trying to help. I’ll be sure to explain to him.”
Maja gives me a loaded look that says I can explain all I want but it’s not going to help me.
I also hope that Clara will forget what I said but the moment the main course comes out—some kind of lamb casserole—Clara full-on refuses. Karla has to go back into the kitchen and whip up macaroni and cheese instead. Thankfully Karla doesn’t seem to mind as much as Maja does.
I’m in the middle of helping Karla clean up the table—much to Maja’s protest—and running empty plates between the kitchen and the dining room when I hear the deep, low voice of Aksel speaking Danish. “Godaften.”
I poke my head into the dining room and see him come in from the hallway. The girls immediately squeal “Papa!” and clamor out of their chairs, running over to him.
He smiles—the first time I’ve ever seen him fully smile—and scoops them both up into his arms. “Hvordan har mine små engle det?”
The girls both start talking excitedly all at once, and while they have his rapt attention, I linger back in the doorframe to the kitchen, watching him.
Even though he’s still an imposing figure with his large, tall frame in a sharp grey suit with a white dress shirt underneath (no tie), and his hair perfectly arranged, there’s something about him that seems more real. His features seem less sharp and when his eyes are focused on his daughters, all the ice and chill seems to drain from them, becoming something warm and bright. I didn’t think it was possible for him to get more handsome, but there you have it.
And seeing him doting on his girls might be setting my ovaries on fire.
Then Clara says my name, and his gaze goes across the table over to me in the doorway and the fire is quickly put out. His eyes freeze over in total disapproval. Perhaps for a moment there he forgot I existed and now I’m just harsh reality.
“Good evening, sir,” I say to him, offering a quick curtsey, which I know is totally not necessary at this point. “How was your day?”
He frowns as if I shouldn’t be speaking at all. Maybe I shouldn’t be. Too late.
“Just fine,” he says, clearing his throat, and then his gaze drops from my face down to my legs, with a brief, confused in-between stop at my boyfriend cardigan. I’m not sure he likes what he sees or … no … no wait, that’s definitely a look of disdain for my short skirt.