Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
“Absolutely I will,” Lady Jane says.
I walk out toward the kitchen, and she comes out and gives me a sympathetic look. “Oh, Laila. Sigrid filled me in. I would be happy to watch the boys.”
“I’m supposed to make Christmas cookies too,” I protest feebly. “Proper ones.”
She looks aghast, with her hand on her chest. “You think I don’t know how to make proper Christmas cookies? Goodness.”
James gives me a look like, See? Easy.
I open my mouth to tell him that Ella and Magnus are the ones we need to be asking because they’ll have to arrange for substitute security with James gone, but he’s already going up the stairs two at a time, no doubt to request time off for me.
“He really is a good egg, isn’t he?” Lady Jane says, and from her tone I know she’s watching me intently.
I finally meet her eyes and try to smile. “He can be,” I admit.
Her smile turns coy before it goes sympathetic again, and she puts her hand on my shoulder. “Go and see your grandmother. It’s Christmas. I am more than happy to watch the boys.” She leans in close and lowers her voice. “Gives me something to do, you see. Not much use for a lady-in-waiting when Ella insists on doing everything herself.”
“Grab your things,” James says as he runs down the stairs. “I’m going to drive us. Ottar has the night off.”
“You?” I say. “Can you even drive on this side of the road?”
“And in snow?” Lady Jane adds.
“Har har,” James says, grabbing his coat from the hall and throwing it on.
I walk over to him, feeling nervous for some reason. “Did they really okay it?”
He gives me a funny look. “Of course. Did you really think they wouldn’t?”
Actually I know that both Ella and Magnus would have been more than happy to let me see my grandmother before Christmas, but I just didn’t want to bring it up. I wanted to be the perfect nanny for them, the one who is always reliable, never pushing things.
I swallow and manage a smile. “Okay.”
I go and grab my purse from my room but come to a pause. I walk over to my wardrobe and open the doors. On the top shelf is my plush polar bear, Knut. I grab him and head out the door.
“What’s that?” James asks as we head outside.
“It’s Knut,” I say. “A bear I’ve had since I was young. My grandmother gave it to me. I think this Christmas, I want to give it back to her.”
James doesn’t say anything else to that. Probably thinks I’m a little nuts for hanging on to a stuffed animal, but I don’t really care at this point. My grandmother may or may not remember me, but there might be a chance the bear will help. Maybe having something soft to cuddle and hold will give her a sense of love and peace.
Fuck. I’m starting to cry again. This is not how I want to spend my time with her.
We get in the car, and James drives off, the headlights of the SUV bouncing off the snow. Luckily the driveway is shoveled and so is the main road, and for now the sky is clear, little pinpricks of stars appearing above the tops of the trees. We don’t talk much on the drive, and I spend most of it with my head against the window, watching the darkened world go past, wringing my hands. I’m nervous, and I don’t know why. I guess I’m always a little nervous when I see her, but I’m especially so this time.
Fortunately the department store is open later than normal thanks to last-minute shoppers, so once we get into Oslo we park and brave the crowds. I want to get my grandmother a cloudberry cake, but if there’s something Christmassy, like a small version of a kransekake (a towering cake made up of circles stacked on top of each other to resemble a Christmas tree), then I’ll get that for her.
The minute we step into the department store it’s chaos; people absolutely everywhere in full panic, fretting over their forgotten lists, voices loud. I feel myself taking a step back inside myself and disassociating, but James slides right into bodyguard mode. He steps in front of me, twisted slightly, one hand back to make sure I’m right behind him. His protective instincts are in full swing.
We get to the cake counter, and with all the Christmas stuff gone, I’m lucky to get the last slice of cloudberry cake. I ask for the box to be wrapped with festive ribbons, and then James leans forward and says to the cashier, “Can I have a few extra ribbons?”
She looks surprised but hands them to us along with the cake.
“What is that for?” I ask him as we leave the store.