“Yeah. And most of this is tied to family. We are royals. A monarchy. It’s all about family and the job, combined. There is deep shame in abdicating.”

“So you would abdicate if you could?”

“Oh, I can,” I tell her, something inside me pinching at the thought. “I’d just rather not.”

“I’m not sure if you answered my question.”

“The thing is…my father wants me to rule. Lord knows why when Irene is more qualified than I am.”

“Irene…she’s your sister. How old is she?”

“She’s a couple of years older than you. Twenty-four. But she’s dead serious about everything in her life and has taken an interest in the monarchy and position more than anyone else has. She would rule with an iron fist. She would be steadfast in her role. I can’t think of anyone better.”

“But she’s twenty-four,” Ella says slowly. “I would think that’s too young.”

“She is too young for it. But sometimes I think her twenty-four is a lot older than my twenty-eight. If you haven’t noticed yet, I’m rather immature.”

“You don’t say,” she deadpans.

“Yes, well, perhaps we’re both too young. But the truth is, we may not have much choice. My father isn’t doing well, and…everyone—including him, maybe especially him—think that at the very least he should step back from his role for health reasons. Which means someone has to step in, and so far the world is expecting it to be me. I am the heir apparent and I have no reason to abdicate.”

“Except that you don’t want the job.”

I let out a long breath. “It’s not that I don’t want the job. It’s just that I am not built for it. As you said, very few people are, and I…well, I shouldn’t even run a McDonalds. I’m absolute shit at anything to do with organization, and after a week the company would be overrun with monkeys and knuckle deep in secret sauce.”

She stares at me for a few moments, seeming to take me in. I have to say, I like it when she looks at me. I like the feeling that I’m finally registering to her. Though it might not be in the most complimentary way. What was I just talking about, secret sauce?

“I know what you’re saying,” she says quietly, her eyes dropping to study her empty glass. “But perhaps you’d be better at it than you think.”

I shrug and get up, grabbing the bottle of scotch. “I doubt it. But I appreciate your faith in me.” I go over to her and try to fill her glass but she places her hand over it.

“I’ve had enough for tonight,” she says. “And if question time is over, I’d like to go to bed.”

I take the bottle back, pretending not to be slighted, and sit back down in my chair, filling my glass to the brim.

“I have one more question,” I tell her as she’s about to rise from her seat.

She sighs and sits back down. “This is going to be a doozy, isn’t it?”

I only grin at her. “You should know what to expect from me by now.” I clear my throat. “Listen, it’s only because of what we were talking about earlier. My first question. I asked if I made you uncomfortable and you said yes, because you don’t have that much experience around men like me…”

I pause and can see her shoulders stiffen, anticipating where this is going.

“So,” I continue, “I was just curious. Are you a virgin?”

Oh man, if looks could kill. She’s trying to incinerate me on the spot and I know she’s going to tell me it’s rude, it’s crude, it’s none of my business, but the fact of the matter is, she has to answer truthfully, and honestly, I have no idea what she’s going to do.

Finally she raises her chin and looks me dead in the eye. “Is this relevant to the marriage?”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, am I supposed to be a virgin?”

“Oh god no.” I laugh and then quickly compose myself. “Not that there’s anything wrong with being a virgin. I mean, hey, that’s always a trip. But this isn’t that kind of marriage. There are no ancient royal Viking laws or anything that say the queen has to be a virgin. Vikings knew how to have fun.”

She slowly raises a brow at that. She’s not impressed with any of this.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” she says slowly, getting to her feet, “but I am not a virgin. And to save you the trouble of bringing this up again in future questions, I can tell you that it happened at boarding school, his name was Malcolm, I was sixteen. We were together until the summer after we graduated when he went to Oxford and I took a year to find myself.”

“And did you? Find yourself, I mean.”

“No. Is that all?”

“So he was the only guy you slept with?”

“Is this another question or are you just curious?”

“Just curious?”

“Then you can keep wondering,” she says, walking past me and plunking her empty glass down on the table. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Wait,” I call after her before she heads down the hall. “You have to ask me another one. It’s the rule.”

She looks utterly dejected as she pauses in the doorway, leaning against it. Then she straightens up and looks at me over her shoulder.

“Do you really think this marriage is ever going to happen?”

Damn. She’s caught me off-guard. I don’t even know if I have an answer for this one.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I guess I haven’t given much thought to what happens when the two weeks are over.” The truth is, sometimes it’s hard for me to concentrate on anything else except the here and now.

And all I see right here, right now, is her.

But she doesn’t object to my answer.

She just nods. “See you in the morning.”

Ten

Ella

I’ve been at Thornfield Hall for five days and I’m starting to lose my mind.

At first I thought it was poetic and romantic. I tried my best to fully immerse myself into the Jane Eyre atmosphere, picking up old books from the bookshelves and trying to read them by the fire until I realized I couldn’t read Norwegian, talking to Jane as if she were Mrs. Fairfax, and wandering the grounds as if they were the moors and I were awaiting Mr. Rochester’s lofty arrival.

Only there is no Mr. Rochester, and if there is he’s a lot more insufferable than the one in the book.

Magnus is everywhere I look, all the time, except when he’s not. He’s either purposely trying to annoy me or he’s gone, and I don’t really have a clue where he goes except he gets into the chauffeured car with Ottar and Einar and they disappear for a few hours. Usually this happens at night, and when Magnus comes back he’s good and drunk.

It pisses me right off. Mainly because I’m the one who is stuck in this place, and with the weather turning cold and spiteful, I feel especially imprisoned. Meanwhile Magnus is able to go out and do what he normally does. Or who he normally does, I would think.

It doesn’t bother me, that part. The fact that when he leaves at night I’m certain he’s going out in Oslo and getting laid. We don’t owe each other anything at all. He’s free to do what he wants, be who he is. Why should I stop any of that? If anything, this might be the last time he has to sow his wild oats, if wedding vows mean anything to him at all.

Except that the longer the days go by, the more I’m bothered by it.

Just a little.

The way he looks at me sometimes…

It does something to my stomach, turns it inside out and in knots.

I know he’s conscious of it. But it doesn’t stop his eyes from burning into mine, even when he doesn’t say anything.

Maybe especially when he doesn’t say anything.

That’s when I feel him the most.

But we do talk, and often it’s that fucking question time.

So far I haven’t instigated any of the sessions—it’s all been him.

And the questions for me have been all over the place.

Question: Have you ever shoplifted?

(No. But my friend did when I was seven and I didn’t stop her.)

Question: Have you ever climbed a tree?

(Yes. Weirdo. I was young, and I can’t remember the age but my brothers were there giving me the leg up.)

Question: What’s your favorite movie?

(The Princess Bride. I always wanted to be Princess Buttercup instead of Princess Isabella.)

Question: Pet peeve?

(People who have false humility.)

Question: Bucket list band or artist?

(Elton John, without a doubt.)

Question: favorite drink?

(Chai tea latte.)

Question: favorite alcoholic drink?

(Red wine—I’m not too picky about the variety.)

Question: Have you ever had a threesome?

(What do you think?)

And in return I had to volley questions back at him. Some I put little thought into because I just wanted things to be over with, others I was genuinely curious about.

I wanted to know what his worst subject in school was (math), which sister was his favorite (he didn’t hesitate, it was Mari, followed by Britt), what his favorite band was (Deftones), what his worst accident was (breaking his collarbone and arm during an ATV race), what his favorite dessert was (crème brûlée ), what his favorite vacation spot was (Azores), what his favorite thing about Norway was (the people, the history, the land…he wouldn’t shut up), who his first girlfriend was.

Interestingly enough, this question stumped him for a second. It’s not that he couldn’t remember her. It’s that I get the feeling she did a number on him. Her name was Lise and he was rather young, only twelve. He didn’t say anything more than that but it intrigued me that she might have gotten under his skin.

I’ll have a follow-up question for him later.

But today, the clouds have cleared and the sun is beaming down full-strength.