Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
F reya
Returning to Norse Garden, I slip off my heels and flop onto my bed like I’ve just come home from a long night at the club.
Did I say Norse Garden?
Gah!
I mean here at Wee Inverness.
The place must be growing on me.
What’s even more dangerous?
The man is growing on me.
I wonder how long he’ll be okay with our sexcapades being what they are? He’s not a teen boy behind the bleachers. He’s a man. One day, he’s going to want real sex.
I’m not sure I’m there…
In school, I did things to look older and act older, and I wanted nothing more than for people to think I was older than I was.
But inside, I was still just a girl.
There was a teacher. One who was inappropriate with me, to put it delicately.
Now, it angers me.
Then, it just scared me.
He never did more than touch me under my bra, but the psychological damage was done.
I prayed for him to stop, but he didn’t. I graduated, lost my religion, and left the island.
But I never lost my virginity.
I am still determining when I will. I’ve tried. Of course, I’ve tried. Have you seen how gorgeous they grow men in Glasgow? Och! Try as I might, I can’t make myself cross that line.
Once a man is my husband, when I have a lifelong commitment from a man, I’ll have the blessing of the island, and then I hope I’ll be comfortable having intercourse.
That was my plan.
Then along comes Fredrick and his frisky tongue.
I might cross that line sooner than I thought. Last night at the club, if he had given in to me, I would have let him pop my wild Scottish cherry right there. But he knew it wasn’t the right moment .
That’s a man I respect. I mean, it would have been a hell of a way for a nearly thirty-year-old woman to lose it, but hey, how he wielded that riding crop—oh, mon Dieu!
I push the thought away, opting for a long soak in the tub to wash away the club. The dim light, the soft jazz music I’m playing in the background, the warm, sudsy water, the sound of the jet still pouring steaming water into the oversized soaker—it takes me back to that moment in the club, his hands on me, the look of control and dominance in his eyes.
My wrists cuffed to chains…
“Okay, mingey-boo, let’s think of something else!” Instead of reawakening all that arousal, I finish my soak and dry off with a warm, plush towel—whoever invented towel warmers was pure dead brilliant—then slip into my jammies and take out my tablet. I’m not allowed to contact people, but a few untraceable sites have been approved, their connection directly linked to the house’s Wi-Fi.
Tapping away with my long, pointy, silver-glitter fake nails, I pull up Christmas décor ideas. If I can’t have Christmas at Norse Garden this year, I will decorate this wee castle.
I go to sleep, dreaming of two-story-tall Christmas trees filling his grand foyer, miles of fresh greenery lit with white and tied with red velvet, bringing the fragrance of fresh fir into the holiday-scented air.
I wake, ready to pounce on Fredrick, tell him what we’ll collectively be working on today.
Dressed in emerald-green tights, a green-and-gold dress, and gold gift box replica earrings clipped to my lobes, I prance down the stairs in platform knee-high velvet boots, declaring, “It’s Christmas!”
Fredrick is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. He wears a charcoal-gray V-neck sweater and black pants, and one arm rests on the wide, solid wood railing.
His thick dark hair is swept back, and a silver watch is on his wrist. I’m getting MAJOR hot dad vibes from him, and I love it.
He stares up at me, really leaning into the role with a stern daddy look on his handsome face. “It’s December first,” he corrects. “It’s not Christmas yet.”
“It’s Christmas-TIME,” I correct him back. “Just as worthy of being celebrated.”
This brings a grin to his handsome face. He reaches up, cupping my face, his silver watch glinting under the lights. “Ma chérie, anything to see your beautiful smile.”
“We can decorate?” My heart does a little flutter, skipping a beat. He wants to make me happy. I should be careful, or I might be putting on that wedding dress I just relocated to the guest room closet this morning.
He nods. “Go crazy.”
“Careful, you have no idea how Christmas-crazy I can go.”
“I’ve seen your Halloween. I’ll survive.”
I lean down, planting a big ol’ smooch on him. Just as I kiss him, Morven stomps by, mumbling something under her breath about vixens and spells and seductresses.
I call to her to stop her. “Oh, Morven, wait! I have something for you.” I hop down off the last stair, rushing over to her.
She stands in the center of the foyer, wearing her favorite blue apron and thick-framed glasses. Her hands are on her hips, and she gives me a suspicious glance. “Hmm…what would that be, Miss Freya?”
I slip the foiled blister pack from my pocket. “Allergy pills from the best allergist in Glasgow. I had them shipped here for you. They arrived late yesterday afternoon.” I hand her the pill package.
She takes it from me, easing her glasses down her nose to read the back. “What would I need this for?”
“Just in case you ever get a soft spot for Happy Halloween. It’s getting colder outside. I’m sure he would love to come in for the winter.”
“I have a heater in the barn?—”
“Hush, Fredrick.” I can picture Happy now, curled up in a tartan cat bed snug by the Christmas tree, looking dapper in a red collar with a bow tie and a bell, festive against his black fur.
“Harrumph,” Morven says, eyeing me, then eyeing the pills.
“I’ve heard they work wonders. Even with seasonal allergies.”
She returns her hard gaze to me, although there’s a hint of trust in her eyes. “I have been a wee bit worried about him in the cold. I’ll give them a try.” A sliver of victory brightens my smile. “But don’t think for a moment you two will bring a dog into this house. Dogs are drawn to that river, and gah! The mud in the spring! I will not be cleaning up after muddy footprints.” She shuffles off without a goodbye, but she pops a pill out of the foil and slips the rest into the pocket of her apron.
I clap my hands, staring up at Fredrick. “Does this mean we can bring him inside now?”
“Let’s give her a few days to let the medication work.” He leans down, planting a kiss on the top of my head. “The house hasn’t felt right without him. Thank you.”
“A few days—three—tops. That gives me time to get him everything he needs.”
“He has food, a home, and care. What can he possibly need?”
“Collars. Bow ties. Beds for every room. Scratching posts. Fancy bowls with his name on them.” I shrug. “You know. The basics.”
He smiles. “I guess we have some shopping to do.”
Online shopping is excellent, but there’s nothing like seeing the decorations in person, holding the fabric between your fingers, and smelling the scent of the candles.
“Any chance you can get me into town without putting us in danger?” I ask.
A twinkle warms his gaze. “I have a better idea.”
A few hours later, my personal Father Christmas, aka Fredrick, and I are on a private shopping spree at the Harrods in Inverness. Room after room of beautiful things, enchanting scents, and the most gorgeous store decorating I’ve seen. As a wee girl on the island decorating our mantle for Christmas by arranging dried Strawberry grass in vases with scraps of red ribbon and placing them next to plain white candlesticks, Harrods in December is me dying and going to holiday heaven.
And to have it all to our wee selves?
DEAD. Brilliant.
I politely ask Fredrick if they could crank up the Christmas music since it's just us. They do. Staff hit the perfect balance of bringing us cups of hot, spiced tea, bites of Christmas sweets and candies, and giving us privacy to enjoy the displays.
It’s quite romantic. I peek at Fredrick as he examines a display of cashmere sweaters for both men and women. He’s so damn handsome. And he’s here with me, making my Christmas dreams come true.
My uterus throbs, wetness dampening my cotton Christmas tree panties. I toss my hair over my shoulder, demanding my minge to calm. “Whatcha looking at.”
“Sweaters,” he says. But he doesn’t meet my eye. And his voice is low, pained, almost.
I put down the red silk hairband I was examining, giving him my full attention. I place a hand on his shoulder and ask, “Would you like one?”
He clears his throat. “It’s silly.”
“What? Tell me.”
“I always wanted…matching.”
“Matching sweaters?” This is NOT a conversation I ever thought I would have with this man.
He nods. “Like those magazines. With the families. The husband and wife. In the sweaters. ”
My heart almost bursts out of my chest. Fredrick Frisque, devoid of childhood love, wants to wear matching holiday sweaters with me?
“Let’s do it!” I pick up the navy sweater with green-and-gold plaid stripes he’s eyeing. “This one?”
He glances at the hairband I was holding a moment ago. “That won’t match your hairband, though.” He picks up a red, green, and white plaid sweater instead. “Would you like this better?”
“It is more festive.” I pull the red bow tie bell cat collar from my bag. “And we will match with Happy.”
He stares at me a long time before finally saying, “K.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, composing himself. I look away, giving him a moment to himself.
Who’d have thought matching sweaters would bring a man to tears?
“Should we get silly sweaters for the staff as well?” I point to the ugly Christmas sweater section, which features Father Christmas squeezing his way down a chimney, a tackily decorated tree, and a gingerbread man who might be on acid.
“Yes, we should. I’d love to see Enrique don a reindeer sweater.” He picks one of the red cashmeres in each of our sizes, cradling them in his arms. “But not this style. These are only for us.”
I pluck up the red hairband, following him with the excitement of the puppy we’re not allowed to have, to the tacky Christmas sweater table .
After shopping, we’re invited to the Christmas tree-filled solarium, where I’m almost blinded by the bling hanging from their scented branches. We dine on tomato soup with fresh croutons and sandwiches. For dessert, he orders himself sparkling water; I’m spoiled with a spiked frozen hot chocolate.
It arrives with whipped cream. And sprinkles. “This is the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“I disagree.” He reaches over to swipe whipped cream from the tip of my nose. He slides his finger between his lips, tasting. “You had something superior in your mouth last night.”
I choke on a mouthful of cream and sprinkles. “Fredrick! We’re at HARRODS, for goodness’ sake. Even a wild islander like me knows you don’t bring up,” I whisper, “blowjobs.”
We spend the rest of the day touring the small warehouse behind the store where commercial decorators can order. At first, the saleswoman looks at me like, “you need commercial décor?”
Then I pop off with, “I have an ENTIRE castle to decorate. And it is December One. I’m behind.”
Hearing that, she’s suddenly my best friend.
As we peruse the offerings of the warehouse, the saleswoman—“call me Missy”— flutters her lashes, trying to tempt attention from Fredrick, who she’s rudely assumed OWNS Wee Inverness, saying, “And for you, Mr. Frisque? What style of Christmas do you enjoy?”
Luckily for Fredrick, he knows where his whipped cream is whisked, and he redirects his attention to me. “Madame will be choosing everything. Please, have your staff make sure it’s to her liking.”
Och! If he wasn’t growing on me before tonight…
“Thanks, honey,” I joke, slipping my arm around his waist, fluttering my own mascara-kissed lashes at Miss Missy.
Smooth as always, he slides an arm around my shoulders, kissing my cheek. “Of course, ma chérie. Anything to see you smile.” The way he says it makes me feel that any woman fluttering her lashes at him would not get his attention.
My wee heart pitter-patters.
We finish our rounds and place our order. Fredrick pays. We go home. Well, back to his place to wait for the deliveries to begin.
We’re settled in the cozy living room, a fire in the stone fireplace warming us, sharing a thin-crust pizza between us. My parcels from Harrods are stacked on the floor next to the coffee table. I thank him for the hundredth time that day.
I give a happy sigh. “That was the most fantastic day. I still can’t believe you got us Harrods all to ourselves.”
“Anything to bring a smile to your face, princess.”
I blush under his attention. “Let’s try on our sweaters,” I say, pulling them from the tissue paper in their boxes.
He agrees. We laugh as we slip them over what we’re already wearing, testing them out. I feel like I’m hanging out with my hawt best friend.
They’re adorable. “Let’s take a selfie—whoops! I don’t have a phone, do I?”
“I bought you something to help with that. I know you miss your selfies.” He walks over to the rolltop desk in the corner of the room, taking a small, silver-wrapped package out. He hands it to me. It feels heavier than it looks.
“What could this be…” In the package is a sleek digital camera. It looks high-tech, nothing like the cheap one I had as a teen. “Wow! Thank you so much.”
Together, we take it out of the box and figure out how to work it. “Sit right there. You can be my first victim.”
“Model?” he corrects.
“Same difference.” I arrange him in a chair by the fire. The camera loves him. He’s even more photogenic than I assumed he would be.
I glance down at the screen. “You look like the dad from those ads.”
“Let me see.” I walk over to him, showing him the screen. He pulls me down, so I’m sitting in his lap. “Take one of us.”
I hold the camera out, facing the lens toward us. “Smile.” I click the button. Together, we stare at the image of ourselves in matching sweaters; the couple in the photo is perfect, happy, and meant to be.
Staring at the photo makes me wish Callum and Fiona were also here to have me take their pictures. I’ve been so busy that I haven’t processed the fact that I’ve been missing them. I don’t mean to get quiet, but I do.
He surprises me by reading my mind. “Let’s ask security if we could call Callum and Fiona.”
“Can we do that?” I ask .
“Not often, but if we use the landline to call the landline at Norse Garden, we could probably pull one off safely. Let me chat with some people, and I’ll be right back.”
“Okay. I’ll be here.” I pop up from his lap so he can go. “In my sweater.”
“Don’t move,” he says. I strike a silly pose, freezing in place. He chuckles, leaving me with a grin.
Nerves or excitement, I’m not sure which, flutter in my belly. It’s been so long since we’ve spoken. Will the conversation be awkward? I nibble on the corner of a slice of pizza. A few minutes later, he returns with one of those large cordless battery-operated phones in his hand.
“A landline phone and a digital camera. I feel like I popped out of a time machine.”
“All good. It’ll work.” He raises his brows. “Ready?”
My excitement turns to nerves. “I…think?”
He pulls me over to the sofa, sinking beside me. I watch as he presses the buttons on the phone, dialing a number I’ve never used, having no need to call the Norse Garden landline in the past.
“Am I doing this right?” he asks.
I peer over his shoulder. “I think you have to hit the button with the wee green phone on it after you dial.”
“That should do it. Declan said Callum and Fiona will be waiting for our call.” He pushes the speakerphone button. My heart is pounding by the second ring.
Fiona’s bright, singsong-y voice comes over the phone, greeting me in Gaelic. “Halò! "
I mean, greeting us. I never felt like a third wheel with Callum and Fiona, but it’s nice being a part of a couple. We’re on a double date with two of my favorite people. “Heya, you two! How are you?” I look at Fredrick; he smiles at me, saying hello to them as well.
“Missing you like crazy!” Fiona giggles at her outburst. “It’s so boring here without my wild Freya.”
“God, yes,” Callum says. “I’m missing yer bad renditions of 70s songs. It’s so quiet here.”
“Aww!” Relief floods me, nerves dissipating at the sound of their words. “We miss you, too. Fiona, you’ll never believe what we did today. There is a Harrods. In Inverness! Och, and he has a CAT.”
From there, the conversation turns to me and Fiona gabbing at breakneck speed. The blokes throw in a chuckle or murmur of agreement where appropriate. I want to ask Callum a million questions about Glasgow, the law firm, the islanders, and the Kings, but it’s been so long since we’ve spoken that I choose to keep things light instead.
The topic turns to Christmas Day. Callum interjects. “Fredrick and I have spoken, Freya. We can make safe plans to join you in Inverness for Christmas. Would you like that?”
I stare at Fredrick in shock. I didn’t even think a visit would be possible. I’ve been decorating this place, thinking it would just be him and me. And Happy. “Are ye joking? That would be dead brilliant.”
“Can you handle feeding us with your staff off for the holiday, Freya?” Fiona teases.
“We’ll manage,” Fredrick says.
“Somehow,” I add. “Fiona, am I allowed to use the microwave?”
“Lord, no!” she laughs. “Cheffie still complains about the burnt popcorn smell.”
Fredrick gets brave, saying, “We’ll cook.”
“I’ll research a good number for a local pizza place in Inverness that is open for Christmas.” Callum laughs. “Under caution.”
“Please! Have ye so little faith? We’ve got this, don’t we, Fredrick?”
“Absolutely.” He lifts a fist for a bump. I tap it. We all talk for another hour, joking, laughing, and keeping things light. When I see them in person, I figure that’ll be the appropriate time to ask for updates.
I will also be able to ask Callum when his plans for my arranged marriage first began.
As they leave the call, my heart shatters in my chest. Of course, it will be lovely to have them visit. But everything will always be different between us now, won’t it?
We’re no longer the three musketeers. Now, it’s Callum and Fiona. And me and Fredrick. But for how long will it be Fredrick and me? How long will he let me stay here without giving in to his marriage demands?
The decisions we make, knowingly or unknowingly, shape our futures.
I ignored Callum’s fears, worries, and warnings. While partying isn’t wrong, I could have appeased him, encapsulating myself better in the Kings’ protection, so I wasn’t an easy target for the Hoax. And to reassure my brother, who only had my well-being at heart, I could have taken the car when he asked, kept my phone on me, and stayed on the grid.
If I’d been more careful, maybe I wouldn’t have made the mistake that changed everything.
I crossed that line.
And there’s no going back.