Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“It isn’t about the stutter.” I sigh.
“Then what?” Concern colors her eyes.
For a second, I consider what it would feel like to confess the truth I’ve been carrying for all these years. The truth I should have gone to her with in the first place. But even as a grown man, there is still that question. Would she believe me?
Regardless, it would be selfish to confess such darkness to her now. It could only ever make her feel helpless in an already helpless situation. What I really want to say to her is that she’s given me the courage to do what I’ve always wanted. When she’s gone, I can go too.
“It’s nothing,” I assure her. “I just don’t like people to know about the therapy.”
“You have nothing to be ashamed of.” She shakes her head. “But I won’t bring it up again. In fact, I’ll make a note of it, so I don’t forget. Now, could you do me a favor?”
“What?”
“Go enjoy your night with Lavinia.”
I choke down all the reasons I can’t and nod. “I will.”
21
Ella
After waking up alone in Thorsen’s bed this morning, I wandered the house under the guise of exploring. But really, I wanted to see where he was and what he was doing. I only made it to the second level before Lisbet spotted me and firmly turned me around. She ushered me away from the closed door behind her, and it occurred to me that Thorsen must have been inside.
Had he told her to send me away, or was she just trying to look out for me? She seems so skittish, and I get the sense that she’s nervous around Thorsen. But now that I think about it, who isn’t? He comes off as cold and calloused, and I truly think that’s what he wants people to believe. But I know otherwise. I’ve seen glimpses of the man beneath. The man who ravaged me so passionately last night, the images will be forever burned into my mind.
There is a fire in Thorsen Lykken. He just wants everyone to believe it’s burned out.
As afternoon fades to evening, and Lisbet seems to disappear, I use the opportunity to resume my exploration. My goal is to find a computer or a phone, so I can contact Charlotte and do a google search for the name on Thorsen’s mysterious blue bottle. But as it turns out, there doesn’t seem to be a landline anywhere that I can see. Or a computer for that matter. At least not on the first level.
When I return to the second level, the house is so quiet it makes me a little nervous. If Thorsen catches me sneaking around like this, he’ll probably be furious. But he’s been gone for hours now, and I have to admit I’m a little curious about where he might be. Is it possible that he has someone else stashed away, and he visits her too?
I dismiss the notion as ridiculous and turn the doorknob that the housekeeper ushered me away from earlier. It isn’t locked, and when I step inside, I’m surprised to find an office. It’s darker, like his bedroom, and there’s a partially built model ship sitting on the wood desk. When I walk around and sit down in his chair, I can imagine him here, carefully examining the pieces as he puts them together. I lean back and take in the space, noting the details of Thor’s world. I have to admit that I’m hungry for this information. This intimate knowledge of a man who seems like such a mystery to so many.
His office has a few bookshelves, but most of the titles are in Norwegian, so I can’t be certain of what he likes to read. On the opposite wall, there are a couple of photos. One of him and his brother, and another of a woman who I know is his mother. She’s a beautiful woman, and I can see a lot of Calder in her. But Thorsen has darker features, which I presume he’s inherited from his father.
Apart from a plant and a filing cabinet, there’s nothing of much importance here. But I get the feeling he spends a lot of time in this room. This feels like his space.
To my disappointment, his desk drawers don’t seem to contain a lot other than the necessities. Pens, pencils, paperclips, staples. But in the middle drawer, I find a leather binder, and when I open it up, I think it’s a tablet, but it’s really just an electronic calendar. After fiddling with the buttons on the screen, I manage to translate the words into English. Suddenly, I find myself enrapt in the details, reading through a day in the life of a prince. Instead of starting with today, I click back a few pages, skimming through the meetings and tea appointments and sporting events he’s required to attend. There are so many, it’s difficult to keep track of, and I can’t even imagine how he goes from one thing to the next. But the thing that surprises me most is all the charitable endeavors he seems to participate in. Every week, there are at least three days dedicated to supporting his chosen charities. It’s so at odds with what the media says about him, and I have to wonder if they know this side, or if they simply choose to ignore it.