The Royals Upstairs

Chapter Eleven

Eleven

JAMES

“Pack your bag, James, we’re going on a trip!” Magnus announces, hands held high in the air as he appears in the kitchen doorway.

I put my coffee down, my mind immediately racing to all the possibilities. Paris? London? Somewhere hot, like the Maldives? I’m usually briefed on Magnus’s schedule ahead of time, and being so close to Christmas, I hadn’t seen anything other than a few public events this week.

“Where to, sir?” I ask, thrilled to be getting out of the house. Today marks three weeks since I got here, and even though I’ve been to Oslo on duty a few times (and of course that fateful last Sunday with Laila), I’ve been getting a bit of cabin fever.

“The kikut!” he exclaims, and then walks away.

From beside me, Lady Jane sighs.

I eye her, watching her dejectedly spread butter on her kn?ckebr?d. “What? Where’s kikut? Or what’s kikut?”

“Kikut is a cabin,” she says tiredly. “Up the side of a mountain. That will no doubt be covered in a load of bloody snow. Magnus loves to drag us all up there around the holidays. Last year he had a New Year’s Eve party for all his royal friends up there—King Aksel of Denmark, Prince Viktor of Sweden, and the likes of them. Thankfully that meant I didn’t have to go.”

“A cabin…in Norway?” I’m already disappointed.

“Yes,” she says, munching on her bread, trying to keep the crumbs in. “And cabin is a stretch. It’s a hut. Thank god they built another addition, but still. There’s no indoor plumbing. You know what that means? That means having to dig a tunnel through the bloody snow to the outhouse in order to take a whiz.”

“And we’re all going?” I ask, finishing the dregs of my coffee.

She nods. “Yep. Just for a couple of days. Me, you, Einar, Ottar, the boys, Ella…Laila.”

I don’t appreciate the way she says Laila’s name. Or the rather pointed way she’s looking at me.

“What?” I ask warily.

“Nothing,” she says. “You know I have a theory about you two.”

Oh fuck.

“About who?” I ask, feigning ignorance. The blank mask slips on with ease.

“You know who. Laila,” she says.

I automatically glance at the hallway, expecting either Magnus or Laila to be there. I haven’t seen Laila all that much since I went for dinner with her. Since our little tryst in the wine bar bathroom. I’ve thought about her a lot. Every damn night as I’m falling asleep, I can’t help but try to listen to her. Even when she’s snoring. But I’ve been trying to respect her wishes to keep things professional again.

In some ways it’s been easy. She’s busy with the boys, and even though I’m their PPO, I go with Magnus everywhere. I never see her at breakfast or lunch, only at dinner, and then we’re surrounded by this one big chaotic family. The only time I’m ever alone with her is if one of us is in the library at night having a drink and no one else has shown up yet. But even then, she doesn’t stick around.

In other ways, it’s been hard because, fuck, I like being around her. I’m still finding my footing with this household, still trying to navigate this royal family and the twists and turns of this job. It should be straightforward, but when it comes to Magnus, nothing is straightforward. Laila is the only thing that’s grounding me at the moment, a tie to a time when things felt more solid, and reliable. I crave that sense of stability.

And to be honest, I crave her. That taste of her that I had did nothing to get her out of my system. Instead it acted like a drug, the slow-release kind that keeps you coming back for more. She’s in my system now, whether she wants to be or not. And I know she doesn’t want to be.

“You’re rather paranoid, you know that?” Lady Jane muses, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

“It’s my job to be paranoid,” I tell her.

She squints at me. “Perhaps. But don’t think I haven’t noticed how you look at Ms. Bruset.”

“I don’t look at her any differently than I look at you,” I say, reaching across the table for the French press and pouring myself another cup. I make the gesture to fill up hers, but she briefly puts her hand over her mug, laughing.

“Yes. You do,” she says. “And it’s not how any other young man, or old man for that matter, would look at her. You’re not just seeing her as a beautiful woman, you’re seeing her as someone who means something to you.”

I swallow. “She’s my friend, if that’s what you mean.”

“You know it’s not what I mean,” she says, whispering as she leans forward, a gleam in her eyes. “But I won’t pry further. Just know that I know.”

“Hate to break it to you, Lady Jane, but you don’t know anything,” I tell her before having a sip of the coffee. This is my third cup this morning. Not sure if this is going to help or hinder my day.

“By the way, when are we supposed to go to the cabin?” I ask her, changing the subject.

She laughs. “If Magnus is telling you to pack your bags now, it means you’re leaving now. As in today.”

Perhaps this third cup is needed after all.

When I’m done drinking it I head to my room, about to pass by Laila, who is stepping out of hers.

Damn it. I wish I could just give her a nod and move on, but I can’t. With her hair pulled back, her striking face, a few freckles showing on her perfect nose, and her long teal sweater and leggings, she manages to be someone worth losing your breath over.

Someone I can’t ignore.

“Hey,” I say to her, blocking her path. “Did you hear the news?”

She sighs and glances up at me, looking tired. “About the kikut?”

“Yes. What does that word mean, anyway?”

“It’s just the name of the cabin.”

“It doesn’t mean anything in Norwegian, like murder death trap or something?”

I actually make her smile.

“If it did, I wouldn’t warn you,” she says.

“Have you been there?”

She nods, pressing her lips together. “Yes. Just once, in the summer. It’s nice. But it’s going to be crowded. Pack warm and bring your earplugs.”

“If I can handle your snoring, then I can handle anything.” The truth is, I can’t wear earplugs. I need to be alert to the smallest sounds. It’s a wonder that I’ve trained myself to sleep deep enough and yet wake up at a moment’s notice.

She barks out a laugh, and I grin in response, my chest getting this effervescent champagne feeling at the sound and sight of her. “Oh, you haven’t heard Einar yet. You have no idea.”

Then she composes herself, as if remembering she’s not supposed to laugh or smile around me. “I need to go back to the boys,” she says, her face blank, and makes her way past me.

So that’s all I get. Just that one moment. Guess it will have to tide me over until the next one.

I go in my room and pack, taking heed of Laila’s warning and Lady Jane’s talk about snow tunnels. This time, suits won’t cut it. I cram sweaters, long johns, socks, thermals, gloves, hats, and scarves all in a duffel bag with the Norwegian Royalty Protection Unit crest on it. When I finally step back into the hall, chaos has taken over.

Bjorn is tearing down the hall and back, dressed in black snow boots and snow pants but no shirt, holding up a toy airplane. He stops when he sees me and aims the plane at me, and I’m afraid he’s going to chuck it at my face.

Instead he makes shooting sounds and then yells, “ Du er d?d! ” which I take to mean that I’m dead or something.

“Bjorn!” Laila yells from the upper floor. She goes down the stairs and runs down the hall in her socks, almost slipping on the floor, looking slightly more mussed up than before. She’s holding out a long-sleeved shirt for him, a sweater tucked under her arm.

Bjorn laughs, like the bloody devil, and starts to run away, but I’m quick.

I reach out and grab him by both shoulders, my touch light but firm enough to keep him in place.

He looks up at me over his shoulder and he hisses. Like a snake.

Bloody hell.

“Bjorn,” Laila admonishes him again, out of breath. She gives me a sheepish smile, brushing her hair out of her face. “Thanks, James.”

Bjorn lets out a bloodcurdling scream, and then there’s another scream from the other end of the house. Tor. It’s like two caterwauling creatures of the night.

“Need me to hold him?” I ask her, still not letting go, even with Bjorn squirming and screaming. My eardrums feel shot out, and I wonder how Laila hasn’t lost her hearing yet.

“Please,” she says, and I crouch down to grab Bjorn by the waist while she pulls his shirt and sweater over him. I don’t know how she does it—the way he’s squirming in my grasp, it’s like trying to hit a moving target—but eventually she gets him dressed.

She gives me a look to say I can let go, and I release him.

He runs off, screaming down the hall.

“I don’t envy you,” I tell her in a low voice, watching as he disappears into their playroom. “I think I’d rather take a bullet.”

She snorts. “You wouldn’t last a day.” Then her eyes go soft. “But really, thank you for that.” She pauses. “Being a nanny, you sometimes forget that this should be a two-person operation.”

I glance over her shoulder. There’s no one else near. “I’m sure Magnus and Ella do a lot.”

“They do,” she says quickly, eyes wide. “Don’t get me wrong. They’re tucking them in every night, they’re with them as much as they can be. If they lived in Oslo, closer to the king and queen, and were more involved with the public and the limelight, I’m sure we’d see them far less. Remember, I’m officially their first nanny. One of Magnus’s sisters was helping them before I came along, and I don’t even think she was paid for it.”

“Then it’s no wonder they hired you,” I tell her. “I can tell you think you’re not doing a good job, but you are. You’re doing a really good job. It’s not easy.”

She purses her lips thoughtfully. “How did you know that?”

I shrug. “I just know you, that’s all. I know how you think.” I’m not about to tell her how closely I observe her when I think she’s not looking, how even when she tries to pull on a hardened mask, some vulnerability seeps through. I love those glimpses of her, raw and real beneath the surface.

Her brow raises. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

The screaming suddenly intensifies.

She exhales noisily, shoulders slumped. “I better go check on them.”

She walks off toward the terrorizing demons just as Magnus, Ella, and Lady Jane come down the stairs with their bags.

“You’re all packed?” Magnus asks. “You know, we’re going to be going up into the mountains on four-wheelers. This isn’t the place for suits, James.”

“I didn’t pack any,” I assure him, and I’m wearing a heavy-knit sweater-and-jeans combo that would rival any that Chris Evans wore in Knives Out .

“You’re learning, then.” Pause. “You smoke cigars, don’t you?”

“Oh, Magnus,” Ella says with a roll of her eyes. “Stop trying to get people to join your nonexistent cigar club.”

“Nonexistent?” he says, mouth agape. “I’m the Prince of Norway.”

“Doesn’t mean you have a club,” she says.

“Ottar smokes cigars with me.”

“Then it’s a club of two, and Ottar turns green.”

He looks at me, shaking his head like she’s lying.

“I do like a good cigar,” I tell him.

“There you go, I knew there was a reason I liked you. Okay. Let’s round up the kids.”

Even with Laila on the job, rounding up Tor and Bjorn takes a team effort, but eventually we’re all piling into the cars and heading off into the Norwegian wilderness.

Ottar is at the wheel in the SUV, Einar in the passenger seat, with the prince, princess, and Lady Jane in the back.

I’m in the passenger seat of the VW, absolutely cramped, with Olaf, who drives excruciatingly slow, and Laila and the boys in the back seat. I watch her in the rearview mirror, sitting between them, trying to stop Bjorn from smacking Tor on the head with his mitts.

It’s a long drive, made even longer by the stilted conversation with Laila and the kids kicking and yelling the whole way. Olaf doesn’t say a word, and I’m starting to think he can’t hear much at all. I’m envious.

Finally, after a few hours and several rest stops along the way, we pull down a long snow-covered road to see the SUV waiting and three rugged ATVs.

“Here we are,” Laila says, unbuckling the boys.

“This?” I ask, peering up at a snow-covered mountain, the top obscured by heavy white clouds. There’s no cabin in sight. The slope looks steep as hell, covered by forest until it turns alpine. I have no idea how we’re going to get up there.

I catch Laila smirking at me in the rearview mirror. “You’re from Scotland. Don’t you have your Highlands?”

“Aye, but I was born in Glasgow,” I tell her. “Let me tell you that at no point did any of my foster families take me on any hiking expeditions up north.”

“First time for everything,” she says.

We approach the ATVs, where Magnus and Ottar are already securing packs. Ottar takes my bag and brings it to the back of one.

“You know how to drive an ATV, don’t you?” he asks me.

I don’t, actually, but I can’t imagine it’s any different from a golf cart. On steroids. “Of course,” I tell him, hoping that doesn’t bite me in the ass.

“Great. You’ll take up Laila, Ella, and the boys. Magnus will ride with Einar up in the front. I’ll take the rear with Lady Jane.”

At that, Lady Jane bursts out into raucous laughter.

“Oh, grow up,” Ottar yells at her, laughing too. He looks at me and shakes his head as if to say, Women .

It’s not long before we’re on our way. The seat is a little small for my frame, but I make it work. Ella sits in the front with Tor on her lap, Laila in the back with Bjorn. I look over my shoulder at her, her arm around Bjorn, trying to hold them both in place.

“Hey, buddy,” I say to Bjorn. “This is a dangerous journey we’re about to take. Better keep your seat belt on and hold on to Laila so that you don’t lose her. I’m counting on you to be the man back there.”

I’m hoping that will trick him into behaving.

Bjorn just glares at me.

I look at Ella, hoping I wasn’t stepping on any toes. She’s staring at me in utter amusement.

“He does know English, right?” I ask her.

She nods, suppressing a smile.

“Yes, I know English!” Bjorn shouts from the back.

Ah, the kid speaks.

I clear my throat, feeling stupid, then start driving.

The first part of the journey is fairly easy, following a trail that was obviously cleared earlier in the day. I have to wonder at how much power Prince Magnus has at his fingertips to just command something like this, clearing half a mountain, on a whim, because that man only operates on a whim.

But then the trail gets narrower, the snow higher, and even though driving the ATV is fairly easy to get the hang of, I’m still finding it challenging. I keep glancing at Ella and Laila every minute, asking if they’re okay. I think at one point Ella actually wants to take over for me.

Finally we get clear of the pine forest and emerge into the open mountainside, the mountain opening up in front of us, rounded peaks stacked on top of each other, the white sky beyond. Up here the snow is fresh powder, but when it seems like the ATV is about to sink, Magnus and Einar come to a stop.

“We’re here,” Ella says.

“Yay!” Bjorn yells, and I look behind me to see Bjorn unbuckling and launching himself into the snow. “ Uff da! ”

Everyone laughs, the kid’s joy infectious.

Then comes the hard part of the unloading and bringing our stuff up to the cabin, which is still a short walk away. It takes us forever, especially with the snow up to our knees, but eventually we get to the infamous kikut.

It’s a quaint little cabin, with a smaller, newer cabin beside it, nestled amid a patch of trees. There’s a path of sorts connecting the cabins and the outhouse as well, and though I shudder at the thought of using it in these temperatures, I have to remind myself that if the Crown Prince of Norway can, and does, use it, then I can use it too.

“Don’t worry,” Magnus says to me, obviously catching my gaze. “We’ve installed a heater in there. Nicest outhouse you’ll ever be in. It used to be over there, hanging off the edge,” he says, pointing past the cabins, where the ridge drops away. “You could just shit right out onto the rabbits. It was magical.”

Ottar brushes past me, carrying a suitcase. “It was not magical,” he whispers to me as he goes.

Magnus, Ella, and the boys end up taking the new addition, so all of the help is in the main cabin.

And when I step inside the cabin, I realize “main” cabin is a bit of a stretch. It’s very quaint and homey, smelling of cedar and woodsmoke, but it’s very small. I have no idea where we’re all going to go.

“Who sleeps where?” I ask, eyeing the lot of us.

“Well,” Lady Jane says, “there will be some sharing. Ottar and Einar are up in the loft.” She points at the narrow wood ladder leading up. “I’m taking the bedroom. Which leaves you and Laila on the sofa bed.”

“Uh,” Laila says, raising her hand. “Not to be intrusive, but why can’t I share a bed with you?” she asks Lady Jane.

Lady Jane just smiles. “Because I don’t like to sleep with someone. I need to sleep alone.”

“Well, I don’t want to sleep with James.”

I manage to hold a million things back. Finally, I say, “You can have the sofa bed, Laila. I’ll take the cushions and sleep on the floor.”

She seems satisfied with that, even though Lady Jane looks a wee bit disappointed.

With the sleeping arrangements all settled, the royals come back over to the kikut and we start making plans. We’re only staying a night, and our plans thus far are just to drink and eat. Einar and I are officially off duty, since there is nary a person in the area for hundreds of miles, so we’re told to partake in the festivities.

Even so, I know Einar is keeping his wits about him.

I do the same, knowing that even though this is technically Magnus’s home too, I should still be on guard.

But that one beer turns into another beer. And then while the boys are upstairs in the loft, playing Go Fish, the adults start playing drinking games. Prosecco is popped. In the kitchen, Ella whips up Christmas cocktails with cranberries, while Lady Jane makes everyone bangers and mash for dinner. Laila puts on Brian Setzer Orchestra Christmas music. At one point Ottar and Magnus start dancing to “Jingle Bell Rock.”

I have to say, it’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time.

It’s also the most drunk I’ve been in a long time. Part of me is still behaving. I’m aware that I’m a protection officer, even if Einar is in charge of the lot of us right now and I’m rightfully inebriated.

I also have to say, it feels good. To shove that part of me that constantly has to be on high alert to the back of my brain. To let things feel free and easy and good for once.

I don’t know Magnus and his family very well at this point. I know as a person in my position, gaining trust takes time. It’s not just about them trusting me, since Magnus does trust me enough with their lives, but about me trusting them. It was years before I felt that Prince Eddie was someone who had my back, and even then I was always hyperaware of our relationship and our roles. Bodyguards are supposed to slip into the background by nature. We’re supposed to remain aloof and mysterious and cold. Devoted to our jobs and our duty. We aren’t supposed to form relationships and attachments to the people we are sworn to protect.

And yet sitting here with Magnus telling some outrageous story to Ottar and Einar about a lost goat, Ella giggling with Lady Jane and Laila, it really does feel like I’ve found something. Not quite family. I’m not sure I’ll ever find that (and honestly, I’m not sure I’d ever let myself find that). But it’s something that makes me feel included. It’s a peculiar, warm feeling that I’ve never felt before.

Or maybe I’m just drunk.

The party continues until Ella starts yawning and Magnus goes up into the loft to discover the boys have passed right out. He carries them down the ladder, one on each arm like he’s in a strongman competition, and then says the family is retiring to bed, leaving the rest of us in the cabin.

Things start to wind down. Einar goes up to the loft to sleep, so it’s now Lady Jane, Ottar, Laila, and me talking around the fire, drinking Scotch that will probably add to my hangover. Then Ottar decides to turn in.

Then Lady Jane.

Leaving Laila and me on the couch.

But I’m not feeling the slightest bit sleepy, and I know if we continue to talk, we’ll keep everyone up.

“Shall we go for a walk?” I whisper to her.

She gives me a look like, Are you serious?

I shrug. “Suit yourself.”

I pile on my coat, scarf, hat, and gloves, and then as I’m pulling on my boots, she’s doing the same, the bottle of Scotch in her hand.

This is either going to be a great idea or a terrible one.

We step outside into the winter wonderland.

It’s freezing cold, our breath white in the air, and yet my blood feels full of fire. The path to the outhouse is worn down by now, and Magnus wasn’t kidding when he said it was the nicest outhouse. Fully insulated, with a heater, a lamp, hand sanitizers, a proper toilet seat, even a magazine rack. But there’s another small path that leads into an outcropping of thin pines.

“Follow me,” Laila says, heading down the path. I follow her. The only sound is our breath and the velvet crunch of our boots on the packed snow.

But as we walk through the pines, the sound of trickling water becomes clearer. The motion lights from the cabin are losing their reach, and before I tell her it’s too dark, that we need to turn back, she pulls out a flashlight.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask her. “Is this the murder death trap part of the visit?”

She lets out a soft laugh, sounding like music in the frozen night.

“We’ll see.”

Well, that’s not promising.

“Down there is a waterfall,” she says to me. With the moon breaking through the clouds I can see it frozen, suspended in air like magic, with only a thin stream of water pouring through underneath. “That’s where the drinking water comes from. In the summer we went swimming and Magnus showed me how they’re able to pump the water up to the cabin.”

“Very impressive. I’m starting to think you Norwegians can do everything.”

“I’m saving the best for last,” she says. “You okay to climb up some rocks?”

“Who do you think you’re talking to here?” I say. “Just point to the rocks and I’ll climb them.”

In the light of the moon I see her bite her lip, and it takes everything in me not to hold her face in my hands and do the same to her.

Take it easy , I have to remind myself. The alcohol has a way of making me want to break all my promises.

“Always with something to prove,” she says to me, shining the flashlight up a slight incline, the rock half-covered by snow.

“I have nothing to prove,” I tell her defensively.

Another coy look from her. She’s definitely drunk too, otherwise we wouldn’t be about to climb up slippery snow-covered rocks past midnight.

“Here, let me at least go first and help you up,” I tell her. I brush past her, hauling myself up before reaching down and pulling her up by her elbows until we’re both on the edge of a small, rounded ledge, tall enough to look over the tops of the trees.

And that’s when I see it.

It takes my breath away.

Above the mountains, across the fjord, are the northern lights.

Abstract splashes of glowing green and white, like a moving watercolor painting on a canvas of stars.

“Holy shit,” I say, my voice coming out in a hush, as if I’m afraid I might scare it away. “This was here the whole time?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she says. “Ella told me we might be able to see it tonight, but not so well from the cabin.”

“Well, fuck,” I say, trying to take in the supernatural magnitude of the display. “This is…this is really something.”

“I figured you’d never seen them before,” she says to me, unscrewing the Scotch bottle with her gloved hand and having a shot straight out of the bottle.

I manage to tear my eyes away from the lights and look at her, and fuck if she isn’t even more beautiful than that. “I think I want to kiss you,” I tell her. The booze talking.

Her forehead creases with a wry look as she hands me the bottle of Scotch. “You shouldn’t.”

Shouldn’t…but not don’t .

I take the bottle from her, my gaze locked on hers, trying to read her, trying not to get any signals mixed up, even though that seems impossible when it comes to us. All we are is a bunch of mixed signals.

“You mean to tell me, Laila Bruset, that you brought me all the way here to this prime make-out spot, under the bloody northern lights, and expected me not to get the wrong idea?”

I take back a swig from the bottle, watching her. The Scotch keeps me warm as it burns down my throat.

“When don’t you get the wrong idea, James?” she says to me. There’s an openness about her expression. An invitation. Something soft like the snow.

I take my chances.

I put my hand on her face, my fingertips resting on her cheekbones, my thumb on her chin. “Forgive me for breaking my promise.”

I lean in and kiss her. Her lips offer no resistance; they’re yielding to mine, my mouth pressed against hers, feeling the kiss in the darkened depths of me. This kiss feels different from every other one I’ve shared with her, and I don’t know if it’s the alcohol, or the thin mountain air, or the beautiful chaotic energy of those lights. But something inside me has switched on, something long left dormant and undisturbed. It’s a terrifying feeling, like each pass of my tongue against hers is pushing me closer to this edge that I don’t dare fall from again.

And so I pull back, breaking the kiss, leaving us both gasping.

I hold her face tighter, resting my forehead against hers, my nose pressed along the side of her nose, and I’m trying to catch my breath and wrangle my muddied thoughts, and step back, way back from that ledge inside me.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, though I don’t know if I’m apologizing to her or to myself.

She pulls back, pressing her hands on each side of my face, staring up at me, eyes searching mine. “What happened?”

I try to shake my head, averting my eyes in case I do something foolish again. “Nothing. I overstepped a line.”

“Not my line.”

I have to look at her. That softness is still there. For once I didn’t chase it away. So why am I so afraid?

“You said…,” I begin, licking my lips. “Look, I don’t want to mess things up between us.”

“That’s not it, James,” she says. “That’s not it at all. You will gladly make things messy between us again. You thrive in it. What is it? What just happened?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, searching her eyes.

She still won’t let go of my face, her gloves warming my skin.

“You told me that what happened before between us can’t happen again. I’m trying to be good.”

“No,” she says, her hands dropping away. “You’re not.” She reaches for the Scotch bottle and turns her back to me, facing the lights as she has another swig. “Will you answer a question?”

I feel so off-balance, and it’s not just where we’re standing. “Sure,” I say, my voice barely audible.

“Why did you get divorced?”

I widen my stance, because I really do feel like I’m about to go over, my heart pounding against my ribs. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because I want to know all there is to know about you. You think we know each other, but we really don’t. And I deserve to know why you behaved the way you did with me.”

“You think it has something to do with my divorce?”

She glances at me over her shoulder. “You know it does. So what happened?”

I sigh and reach my hand out for the Scotch. “I need more alcohol for this.”

She turns to face me and hands it over, watching me with an expectant look.

I take a drink for courage, knowing she deserves honesty from me, even if it hurts my pride.

“My wife, my ex -wife…she cheated on me,” I tell her. “I was never home. I was always working, always on duty. I could only provide for her, I couldn’t give her what she really needed. And some days I think I never could, even if I quit, even if I was there for her all the time. That I just wasn’t enough for her, no matter what I did.” I pause, raising the bottle halfway, my eyes drifting over the lights, trying to ignore the pang in my chest, the embarrassment, the rejection. “I couldn’t blame her either way. I never did. I was used to it. My whole life was just…one big rejection. Every time I got close to a family, I was sent away to another. I learned to not get close, to not open myself up. And then I fell in love. I was stupid and young, and I fell in love, and that was the end of me. I should have known it would amount to nothing.”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment. I dare to glance at her, expecting to see her watching me with pity. But I don’t see pity. I see understanding. How rare it is to find someone who understands you. I’m only realizing that now.

“So that was that,” I tell her, exhaling before having another drink of Scotch. I swallow, wincing. “She left me for another man, asked for a divorce, and I couldn’t…I couldn’t handle it. It was like the wires in my brain just snapped and whatever had been holding me together was threadbare. I was…depressed, to put it mildly. It was hard for me to come to terms with that. Really hard.” I pause, gathering courage. “I’m supposed to be strong all the time, inside and out. But I wasn’t. I tried, but…it was too much. I never realized how much anger I was carrying with me all this time, never knew how close I was to just…going over the edge. But I did. I went over, and I lost all sense of self. Lost everything, really. And that’s really hard for me to admit.”

Laila steps up to me and reaches out for my other hand, holding it in hers, giving it a squeeze. “But you did admit it. And I thank you for that.” She gives me a sad smile. “James, I’m so sorry you had to go through all that. I’m not going to tell you the things that you probably already figured out, that you are strong, the strongest man I know, from your heart to your muscles to your mind. I’m not going to tell you that what you went through is only natural when you’ve had the childhood you did. I just want to let you know how much I appreciate being let in. That you’ve made space for me to hear this.” She swallows, blinking fast. “It means a lot to me.”

I manage a placating smile and offer the bottle to her.

She shakes her head. “I’ve had enough.”

I sigh, closing my eyes for a moment, bringing myself back to where we are, and the wicked hangover I’m going to have tomorrow. Fuck.

“We should head back,” I tell her.

In some ways I want to stay on this rocky ledge, overlooking the dark fjord, the snowy mountains, those dancing lights, and just talk to her the whole night through. Lay everything out, everything I’ve kept buried inside myself, hoping to ignore. Have an exorcism of sorts.

But I know I have a duty here, and so does she.

So we make our way back down the rocks, taking our time, then to the cabin. When we enter, everyone is asleep, snoring, and we find our places. Laila whispers to me that I’m free to share the sofa bed with her, and while I find that exceedingly tempting—just to have her warm body next to mine, something I haven’t had in so fucking long—I know I need to keep my head on straight going forward.

So I lie down on the cushions on the floor, wool blankets pulled up to my chin.

Right before I fall asleep, I whisper good night to her, as I always do.

This time she says it back.