Chapter Fourteen
Fourteen
LAILA
“Listen, I just think playing Scrabble in Norwegian is highly unfair,” James says across from me.
“Don’t be a wimp,” Lady Jane says from beside him.
He looks at her aghast. “You don’t speak any more Norwegian than I do.”
“I know the swear words,” she says with a gleam in her eyes.
“Everyone knows the bloody swear words,” James points out. “Our boss is Magnus, after all.”
“Look, we’ll play in English,” I tell him. “The board is in English anyway. I guess I’ll just have the disadvantage.”
“Oh, come on,” James says at the same time that Lady Jane goes, “Phfffft.”
“Your English is better than mine,” he adds.
“We could always play Twister,” Lady Jane says, gesturing to the stack of board games hopefully.
“ No ,” James and I say in unison.
It’s the weekend after New Year’s, and things are quiet at the estate. With all the festive activities finally over, the three of us decided to stay in, play board games in the parlor, and drink all the bottles of champagne that didn’t get used. Ottar suggested putting them in the cellar, but sometimes that man doesn’t know fun unless it bites him in the ass. Then again, it could be a product of having to babysit Magnus every day. When you never know if your day will start (or end) with you jumping off a literal cliff, I suppose you’re allowed to be the fun police in the rest of your life.
“Laila, you need some more champagne,” James says to me as he reaches for the bottle and pours more into my glass.
Lady Jane watches the exchange, her eyes a little too eager. “Trying to get her drunk, James?”
He grins at her. “I don’t need to try. I’m just making it easier for her.”
Her mouth twists into a knowing smile, but she doesn’t say anything to that, for which I’m grateful. That woman is a live wire.
I avoid both their eyes and stare at the bubbles rising in the glass. I don’t want either of them to get the wrong idea, even though I don’t mind the idea of James getting me drunk—so long as we go our separate ways at the end of the night and retire to our separate rooms.
But as Lady Jane noisily starts rattling the Scrabble tiles in the pouch, my eyes meet James’s over the rim of my glass and I nearly choke. To say they’re smoldering is an understatement. Where did he learn to look at me like that? It should be illegal.
The corner of his beautiful mouth curves like he knows what I’m thinking. Somewhere in the house a phone rings, but everything seems to zero in on this moment.
Easy, tiger , I think, but I’m warning myself more than him.
“Okay, how do we decide who goes first?” Lady Jane asks. “Rock, paper, scissors?”
James tears his eyes away from mine. “There are official rules, you know,” he chides her.
“Laila,” Magnus’s voice comes from behind us. The tone is so off, so unlike him, that my heart freezes in my chest.
I twist in my place to see him standing in the doorway to the parlor room, his face grim.
“What?” I ask, my voice barely audible. My heart is beating so hard in my head it’s hard to hear anything.
“There’s a phone call for you,” he says. “It’s about your grandmother.”
My heart seems to fall straight out of me.
NO.
My glass is shaking so hard that James plucks it from my hand, and I find myself getting up, walking toward Magnus as if shuffling through mud.
Up close I can see the concern in Magnus’s eyes. “They tried your mobile, but you weren’t answering.”
“It’s being charged in my room,” I say absently as Magnus puts his hand at my lower back and guides me toward his study, where the phone is. I focus on the receiver, how old it looks, and I’m reminded of the one at my grandmother’s, and for a split second everything is fine because the old phone is reminding me of my grandma and that’s it. There’s no other reason to be thinking about her.
But I know. I knew from the moment Magnus said my name that the worst thing in the entire world just happened. That my world shattered while I was about to lose at Scrabble.
I pick up the receiver with shaking hands.
“This is Laila?” I manage to say, everything moving in slow motion.
“Laila?” Lisbeth says, and from the sound of her voice, all my fears are cemented. “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but Helge passed away this evening.”
She’s dead.
My grandmother is dead.
The only person who ever really took care of me, who ever really loved me, who ever really saw me for who I was—she’s gone. And maybe she was gone long before this, but there’s a difference—there’s such a fucking difference—between having someone be alive and having someone be dead.
Lisbeth goes on to tell me more things, how she was fine yesterday and how she died in her sleep and it was peaceful, but I can’t take them in. They hit me and dissolve because I’ve already been shattered from the inside out.
I put the phone down. I’m not sure what I said to her, if anything, not even sure if I’ve hung up the phone, but I turn around, about to collapse from the sheer weight of infinity, of gone forever , and feel myself in Magnus’s arms.
He holds me for a moment, a strong and powerful grip, and tells me that they’ve got me. Not him but they , and then I find myself being passed on and I’m in James’s arms now. I let out a choked sob and wrap my arms around him, holding on tight, so tight, as it feels like my heart is being ripped out of my throat.
“Laila love,” James whispers as he cradles me against him, kissing the top of my head. “I’m so sorry.”
I cry, sob, bawl.
And he holds me. He doesn’t tell me it will be okay, because he knows it won’t be.
But he holds me just the same.
···
My grandmother’s funeral is being held in Todalen. Other than Lisbeth and me, she knew no one in Oslo, with all her friends, old neighbors, and her nephew Peter up in the village.
So Magnus gave me the week off of work to try to make the funeral arrangements. I don’t even know how I did it. I’ve been so overcome with grief that my brain’s operating power has turned to a crawl. One moment I can push through like normal, and in the next I’m hit, going down, like a sledgehammer to the heart.
Somehow, though, with help from Lady Jane and Ottar, I managed to get her casket up there, the funeral being held tomorrow at the local cemetery.
Magnus and Ella wanted to attend the funeral with me. They said I’m like their family, and that my family is part of their family. But I didn’t want that. It would attract too much fuss. My grandmother was a simple woman, and she hated attention. She wasn’t particularly fond of the Norwegian royalty either, calling it all pomp and circumstance. So as much as I really appreciate that they wanted to come pay their respects, I know a media circus in that small village is the last thing anyone would want. Pretty sure Helge would haunt me if I did that.
So it’s just me. Luckily I’m going up by private jet, so I don’t have to deal with driving and the train (it’s about an eight-hour train ride from Oslo to Trondheim, then a few hours’ drive to the village from there). Perks of working for royalty.
I have my bag all packed, ready to go, Olaf waiting outside for me.
I say goodbye to Magnus and Ottar in the foyer (Ella, Lady Jane, and the boys are at the palace in Oslo with the king and queen), a somber affair.
And then James appears.
A duffel bag over his shoulder.
I blink at him, confused. I was hoping he’d see me off since he’s been such a support this last week, but I wasn’t sure where he was. Now he’s here, with a packed bag.
“What are you doing?” I ask him.
“I’m going with you,” he says to me.
I stare at him, mouth agape. Then I close it and look at Magnus, raising my brows. “Did you know about this?”
He nods. “I did. James asked. Said you probably needed protection, as well as the support of a friend.”
I look at James at the mention of friend , wondering if that’s what he truly is to me. But all I can feel is gratitude. I know I should tell James not to come, that I can handle it, that I’ll be fine.
But the truth is, I feel relief. Relief that I don’t have to go through this alone.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Okay,” I say softly.
James gives me a quick smile. “Come on, love. Let’s get going.”
He takes my bag from me and strides toward the doors.
I look back to Magnus and Ottar as if to say, You sure this is okay?
“He’ll take good care of you, I promise,” Magnus says. He sounds serious and looks grave, but with him I can never tell if there’s some not-so-hidden meaning behind his words.
I take it at face value, thank him profusely, then head off after James.
It’s another cloudy day here, with even the snow having lost some of its sheen, yet this is the brightest I’ve felt in a long time. I know I need to keep my wits about me, that going to Todalen with James might not be the best idea in hindsight, but at the moment I really don’t care. I’ll take anything that will distract me from the loss I feel inside, that missing piece of me that I don’t think will ever be whole again.
I get in the back seat of the VW, surprised to see James sitting beside Olaf. Putting distance between us.
“Thank you,” I tell him as the car pulls away and starts down the driveway.
James turns to look at me, an affectionate gleam in his eyes that makes my heart skip a few beats. God, the effect he has on me sometimes makes everything seem extra unfair. “You really thought I’d let you go to your grandmother’s funeral alone?”
I shrug, looking out the window. “Yes. I mean, you have your job here.”
“I do. But my job is to protect everyone, you included. There might be a nanny snatcher on the loose, and what would happen if I weren’t there to protect you?”
I laugh softly at nanny snatcher . “That’s true.”
“Magnus thought it was a good idea too,” he goes on. “Not just for protection, but because I’m your friend and you need a friend right now.”
I look to him, feeling grateful all over again. “Then I’m glad you’re my friend.” If I can’t have anything more from him, his friendship is still a pretty special thing to have.
The tiny private airfield isn’t too far from the estate, and soon we’re piling inside the royals’ private jet. It’s small, but it’s swanky, and even though I’ve been in it a few times, it feels completely different when it’s just me, James, the flight attendant, and the pilots. Like we’re some rich, jet-setting couple off on a luxurious vacation, not a lowly nanny and a bodyguard off to a funeral.
I sit in a window seat, expecting James to sit next to me. But of course we have the whole plane, and he sits on the other side of the aisle.
I don’t like this distance between us. I never have. I’ve fought for it, I’ve done what I could to enforce this distance, to keep us in our roles, but deep down, I hate it. I hate that there’s that wall separating our rooms.
“James,” I say quietly as the plane starts up its engines.
He looks at me. “Yes?”
Suddenly I feel so shy, so vulnerable, like I’m seconds away from crumbling. “Do you…” I look down at the empty seat next to me, afraid to ask for what I want.
He nods, recognition flashing in his dark eyes. “Of course.”
He undoes his belt and comes over, sitting down next to me and buckling up again. Then he takes my hand in his, his skin so warm against mine, and raises it to his mouth. He places a light kiss on my knuckles as his eyes bore into mine. “I’m right here,” he says.
I nearly burst into tears. It wouldn’t be unwarranted, but somehow I manage to keep them at bay, blinking fast, looking out the window.
James doesn’t let go of my hand the entire flight.