Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
The coffee table was the only problem piece. It was a gorgeous slab of wood…with razor-sharp corners. A child hazard for sure. But it was one of the few things I’d kept from my previous life, and until there was an actual baby living in the house, it stayed. What can I say? My superstitious tendencies manifested in weird ways.
Buzz buzz
I backtracked to locate my cell in the hallway off the mudroom, wincing as I glanced at the caller ID. To answer or not to answer…that was the question.
I was feeling brave.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Please, hold. Ms. Sandringham will be on the line shortly.”
I shook my head and snorted. Of course.
The Muzak on the line was reminiscent of elevators…or the offices of high-powered executives, and it played for a solid minute.
“Dexter?”
“Yep. I’m here. How are you, Mom?”
“I’m well. How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” I said, instantly irritated.
My mom had been with me through multiple concussions and seizures, and while I appreciated her ongoing concern, I resented the unspoken implication that I was…broken. Christ, so many years had gone by.
“I’m glad to hear that. I don’t have much time, but it seems a phone call is necessary, and frankly, I’m irked about it.” My mother’s tone was clipped, laced with just enough ice to impress the seriousness of her displeasure. No doubt it worked wonders amongst her minions. “According to my secretary, you RSVP’d no to Gilbert’s seventy-fifth birthday party. Why is that?”
“Unfortunately, I don’t have the time to travel to the UP over a holiday weekend. I hate to miss it,” I lied. “I’ll be sure to send my regards.”
Silence. The icy kind that felt like cold fingers snaking down your spine.
“How very kind of you, but your presence isn’t optional. It’s required.”
“That’s a bit dramatic, Mom. I’d love to come, but—”
“No buts. Put it in your schedule and hire extra helpers to run your donut enterprise that weekend. Feel free to bring a suitable date. Male, female…I don’t care. If you choose to attend solo, that’s fine. Not ideal for the sake of numbers, but…fine. And let me add that if this fit of pique has anything to do with Jennifer’s presence at the soiree, I’ll be miffed. It’s past time to move on, and I’m not certain she’ll be attending anyway. Your presence is nonnegotiable. Now I have to run. Good-bye, dear.”
I held my phone from my ear, clenching my jaw till it ached. It didn’t matter how old I was, how far away I lived, or what I had going on in my life, I couldn’t escape my fucking family…or my past.
For someone who allegedly had a lot going for him, I was constantly reassuring myself that everything was going to be all right.
Maybe someday I’d believe it.
CHAPTER 6
VIGGO
“Are you angry with me?”
I perched on the armchair closest to the sofa and leaned forward, studying Freya for signs of distress. Other than a paler than normal complexion, she seemed fine. In fact, she looked like a fairy-tale princess in repose with her golden hair cascading from the sofa cushion and her legs wrapped in the fabric of a long flowy skirt.
Freya was an undeniably beautiful woman. No doubt she’d embody the earth mother vibes she’d always admired as her pregnancy progressed.
I answered in Swedish. “No. How do you feel?”
She smiled wanly. “Fine. It comes and goes. I’m better now.”
“Good.”
My gaze wandered to the table in the adjoining dining room cluttered with ceramics, the stack of art books in the corner near framed Matisse, Picasso, and Hopper posters, and the collection of tiny frogs she’d shaped from clay lined up like soldiers on the low bookshelf she’d painted bright blue. The apartment color palette of white and blues was an ode to her Swedish heritage, but the chaotic detritus of art supplies, knickknacks, paperbacks, and used coffee cups was all Freya.
“You didn’t have to come all the way out here,” she said, wrapping her long fingers around my wrist.
“I wanted to be sure you’re okay.” I stared at her hand for a moment, adding, “And I have questions.”
Freya sighed theatrically as she sat up. “I know you do. But before you ask…can I just tell you, this isn’t a cry for help. This is me taking control, helping someone in need, and—”
“And capitalizing on it.”
She furrowed her brow indignantly. “Don’t you dare judge me.”
I held my hands up and inclined my head. “I’m sorry. That was…I’m sorry.”
“Oh, Viggo. I don’t want you to take care of me forever. I can’t always be tied to you, or you to me.”
“Why him?”
“Dexter? Why not him? He’s a nice man with a good background, and he wants to be a parent.” Freya’s eyes welled as she sucked in a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about Anni all the time, and I think she’d—”
“Stop. Let’s not do this.” I shook my head and switched to English. “Are you hungry? I’ll get you something to eat.”