He sniffed her back. She giggled and wiggled in his hands.
Yes, time for a diaper change.
Dieter said, “We’ll deal with that, and then make us a nice pasta,ja?”
Next Flight
Flicka von Hannover
At T-3 days,
disaster.
Almost two months later, Flicka picked up her ringing phone. She crammed the phone between her ear and shoulder as she worked in her suite high in the Montreux hotel where Wulf and Rae’s wedding was to be held in three days.
Three days.
The thought made her hands and legs quiver.
“Hello?” Flicka said, scooting her laptop aside to take notes on a notepad. She was old-fashioned that way.
The large white-enameled desk, all so very tasteful, held her computer and several tablets, all powered on, plus scrap paper, scratch paper, and crumpled notepads. Papers—some of them probably important—fluttered around her feet.
A mug of steaming coffee started to go over the edge, but she caught it and sucked down a gulp that warmed her mouth with sugary sweetness. Flicka had discovered caramel macchiatos when she was in the US, staying with Wulf and Rae.
Several of her admins sat at their own, smaller desks and were following up with the various caterers, suppliers, and guests who had not RSVP’d yet.
Flicka’s tablets were showing pictures of various weddings previously held in the ballroom downstairs.
Her computer screen had twenty-seven tabs open, all to various flower arrangements and chair wraps.
She had sent instructions to the concierges to make sure that they had at least twenty staff members on hand who could origami the thousands of unbleached, raw silk napkins she had ordered into perfect little swans.
She had sent instructional videos.
She had sent napkin specifications.
She had sent starch brands and concentrations in which the napkins must be laundered prior to the origami session.
Yet the hotel staff was dithering about the damned swans.
Damn it, Wulf would have thousands of those napkins folded into goddamn perfect swans for his wedding even if she had to personally stand over those staff members while they did it.
Threegoddamndays before the wedding, and the damned staff wasditheringabout the goddamnswans.
Her phone rang again, jangling near her ear and vibrating against her jaw.
She dropped it into her hand and glared at it. Her swipe on the screen hadn’t managed to quite answer the call.
And herbrotherwas calling heron the phone.He should be on a goddamned plane, flying to Switzerland for his weddingin three days.
She swiped open the phone, catching the dot this time.“What?”
His voice was icily calm, as always. “Reagan is in hospital. The wedding will have to be postponed.”
Flicka sank back in her chair, her hand covering her mouth. “Is she all right?”
“We don’t know.” He paused, a pause that made Flicka’s heart clench. “At the moment, she is fine.”
