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When I spotted the news on my phone that the king declared Etienne unfit to rule as king, I knew Sigurd wouldn’t take it well.
“Should we, perhaps, talk to the king?” I suggest at one point.
“If the king is so unreasonable that he will declare Etienne unfit without giving him a chance, then there’s no talking to him. He can sit and stew in his own juice,” Sigurd responds.
I cannot argue about keeping our little love nest a secret. The prince is always making sure I’m comfortable, asking if I’ve had enough to eat, and automatically rubbing my feet the second I sit on the sofa, whether my feet feel tired or not.
He spoiled me before I was pregnant. Now he’s stepped it up about a hundred more notches. He keeps himself busy chopping wood, and he’s looking even more robust, with several months’ growth on his beard.
The prince wants to relocate; he’s worried the palace will figure out our secret and his location the longer I stay here.
On top of that, keeping his sister in the dark about his location is getting to him. He is a good brother, and I can see it bothers him.
One mild sunny day on the lake in May, Sigurd rows us out to a small sandbar where we had a picnic lunch, and I decided to sun myself wearing one of the skimpier hot pink swimsuits, despite him pointing out that it’s really still too cold for that.
We’ve spread blankets and pillows over the bottom of the boat for my comfort, and I’m sitting here cross-legged, my back supported by the bench seat.
I appreciate the view from here, facing a shirtless Sigurd who pumps the oars like a true Viking. This is working for me. And don’t even mention the pregnancy hormones.
The way that he’s staring at me tells me we may not make it back to the cabin before he tackles me. The question is, will this boat capsize? Maybe it’s dangerous, but I want to find out.
His phone rings, turning Sigurd’s intense gaze to annoyance.
“You going to answer that?”
“No,” he grunts.
The phone eventually goes silent, then starts up again.
He curses, then pulls his phone from his pocket and silences it. Then he shoves it back into his pocket. “There, now she won’t bother us anymore.”
She?
“Who won’t bother us anymore?”
“Flora.”
“Oh,” I say.
He smirks. “You seem relieved. Were you about to be jealous?”
“No,” I say defensively, playfully nudging his knee with my toe as he picks up speed on the oars.
“You sure?”
“Can we change the subject?” I ask.
“Yes.”
That’s the other thing I love about him.
Knowing exactly what I’m doing, I stretch my arms wide over my head and yawn. “This suit is way too tight,” I tell him. “I knew it would be after all these months, but I didn’t expect it to be this bad.”
“Looks perfect,” he says, his eyes raking over my rounded middle.
“My boobs are too big for this top, and the strings on the bottoms are cutting into my hips. It’s uncomfortable.” I pout and move to undo the tie at the back of my neck.
“Stasi.”
