I block the second punch. “Okay. That’s enough.”
“Enough?” Freja snaps, standing now, too. “After what Ember heard you say?”
“What did she hear?” Aksel demands.
Margot, serene in a cashmere set, holding a glass of wine, says mildly, “If you two start brawling near my antique Delftware, I will ground you.”
Jean clears his throat and dabs at his mouth with his napkin. “Let’s all sit down before this becomes a full-blown duel at dawn.Mon dieu.”
I caught the Rousseaus right after brunch.
Calypso left early, and thanks to Racquel, who helped her leave, I didn’t have to be there. Calypso did ask for me, but Racquel told her that I was busy.
Since I blocked her number, I don’t know if she’s tried to reach out—and I don’t care if she has. Hurting Ember on purpose was the last straw.
Youhurt her, not Calypso. She just handed you the match, you’re the one who lit it, moron.
I wanted her gone before we did presents. The kids were up early, opening their gifts with wide eyes. Ember didn’t join because she wasn’t well, and since that message came from Freja, no one thought twice about it.
Jean wanted to check on her, but Freja assured him Ember was sleeping.
Every time Ember’s name came up, she glared at me.
Finally, when it was just Jean, Margot, Aksel, and Freja, I decided to spill the beans, knowing fully well that Aksel, as the protective brother, would lose his shit.
He did.
At least nothing is broken, I think, as I tentatively touch my cheekbone to test my hypothesis.
“She was twenty-five then, you son of a bitch.” Aksel is in no mood to calm down. And then realization dawns. “She’s the young woman you broke up with. Isn’t she? The one you were in love with?”
I drop into the nearest chair, cradling my cheekbone, my pride in shreds.
“Well, at least Calypso is gone.” Freja takes the chair next to mine.
Aksel shakes his head. “I’ve been wondering what the fuck has been going on. Ember looks like death warmed over, and…how could you bring Calypso with you when you know how Ember feels?”
I sigh. “You said Ember wouldn’t be here.”
Margot grabs a walnut from a bowl that’s holding a variety of nuts at the center of the dining table, and throws it at me. “That’s your dumb excuse?”
It hits my chest. I catch it.
“I didn’t like her,” Jean admits.
Margot gives a satisfied hum. “Couldn’t stand that woman. Always posing like she’s on a red carpet, handing out unsolicited skincare advice. She once toldme I was usingtoo muchserum—like that’s even possible.”
Jean nods slowly in agreement and then looks at me. “So…you’re not marrying her?”
I groan and rub my face. “Wasnevermarrying her. She?—”
“Is nuts,” Aksel finishes for me.
I glance up at him. His arms are crossed, jaw tight with fury.
“Now, you son of a bitch,” he growls, “you owe us some answers. First of all, why the hell is my baby sister sick on Christmas Day?”
Okay, so there’s a good chance not only Aksel but Jean would also beat the hell out of me, and I’d deserve it when they got all the details.
