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)
“You don’t have a boyfriend,” she repeats. I’m not sure if it’s supposed to be an insult but it sure feels like one.
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re always with us.”
That’s true. “I could have a boyfriend.” That I’d meet during my hour or two of free time in the evenings. Lord knows I’ve actually not had a Sunday off yet. I’m supposed to but as Amelie had hinted at, something always comes up.
“But you don’t. Why is that? No boyfriend. No husband.”
“Jeez, Clara,” I tell her, frowning as I munch on my pickle. “Haven’t you ever heard of an independent woman before?”
“No I have not,” she says earnestly. “But the nanny before you, she had a boyfriend. We saw him once. He had candy in his pockets but he was old.”
“Well, I have mustard in my purse, so there. And I’m sure everyone is old compared to you.”
“I’m not old,” Freja says.
“Everyone else, Freja,” I say.
“Did you ever have a boyfriend?” Clara is really pushing the subject. If my mother were still around, I’d say she sounded like her.
“Yeah, did you kiss him?” Freja asks in a low voice, as if she’s daring me to say yes.
“I had a boyfriend in France,” I tell them. “And yes, I kissed him.” Freja looks disgusted. “I kissed him a lot,” I add, for effect. She nearly turns green.
“What was his name?” Clara asks. “Was he nice?”
“His name was Luc and he was very nice,” I tell her. Very French, too. He wasn’t my only boyfriend, either. I’ve had a few but none of them were anything special, just guys to have fun with. When you’re living in certain places for only a year or two, you don’t form any kind of commitments with people. And that’s the way I like it.
“What about in Australia?”
I swallow, staring down at the remains of my sandwich. I decide lying would be easier. “No. No boyfriends. I waited until I was old enough for boys, I waited until I moved to Europe.”
Clara thinks that over, has a bite of her sandwich, then says, “Maybe you’ll get married. One day. To a prince.”
“Or a king,” Freja says excitedly. “Oh, maybe you’ll get married to Papa!”
I’m in the middle of drinking sparkling apple juice when she says this and I completely spit it out in a spray across the table, narrowly missing the girls.
“Wow, that was cool,” Clara says, wiping away some of my juice spit from the table. “You’re like a statue in a juice fountain.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, frantically grabbing a napkin and wiping my mouth and hand and the table. I’m still trying not to laugh at what Freja proposed.
“Believe me,” I say when I’ve composed myself, “I am not marrying your papa. I’m not marrying anyone. I’m very happy just being me, with you girls.”
“But if you married him, you wouldn’t have to move and you could be with us always.”
“Freja,” Clara says sharply, glaring at her. “Papa isn’t going to marry anyone. Ever. Okay? Mama is our mother, no one else is and no one else will be.”
Oh boy. Now, I have no idea what Aksel’s personal life is and I’m going to assume that if he was wildly in love with his wife, he won’t be moving on from her anytime soon. But if the day does come that he starts to date someone and eventually marry her, well, let’s just hope Clara has some time to come to terms with it.
I wonder what kind of woman Aksel would date. Even though he’s so grumpy and cold and exacting, there might be a side of him I never get to see. Well, there is a side of him that I do see, when he’s with his girls. That’s when the ice melts and he becomes something else.
“I’m done,” Freja says, pushing back her plate. “Can I go look at the pigs?”
I sigh, not ready to get up. “Sure.”
“I’ll go with her. You stay here,” Clara says quickly as she gets out of her seat.
I glance over at the section with the pigs and animals, just beyond the kissing couple. “Okay, but hold her hand and come right back and stay where I can see you.”
“Yes, Miss Aurora,” they chime in unison.
I watch as they go over to the pigpen, but as soon as the kissing couple starts distracting me with their tonsil hockey, I avert my eyes, lest it looks like I’m being a perv, just glancing every now and then as the girls are now chatting up a farmer.
My thoughts go back to Aksel.
What kind of woman would Aksel even be interested in? Obviously, she would have to have royal blood. I believe Helena did in some way or another. She would have to be as beautiful as she was, too. In her pictures she looks a bit like a modern Grace Kelly. Sleek blonde hair, sparkling eyes, elegant swan-like neck, slim limbs that looked good in any clothing. In the news clips I’ve seen, she moved like a dancer and was always so charming and witty.