Talk to Rune. Don't put it off. Lay it out clean. Identify the problem. Address it. Solve it. Like any other issue. Like any other deal.
He ran through it again, as if rehearsing a pitch.Don't get sidetracked. Don't let her wander off. Stay steady. You know how to fix things – this is no different. Step one: knock on the door. Step two: get her to listen. Step three: resolution.
It was not going to be easy, but he could be persistent. She had to see that this was best for his kids... Their kids. Would she be offended if he sounded possessive? He realized he was getting used to the idea of two mini versions of Rune. Calm on the outside... stubborn on the inside.
Of course, childbirth seemed to be risky business. Would Rune consider an Elective Caesarean, he wondered?
He liked the idea of them growing up with Crispin's kid. But of course, his kids were going to be smarter and better-looking.
He made his way to Rune's door, rehearsing words in his head as he crossed the quiet hall. This time, he would not leave anything unsaid. He rapped gently on her door. Once. Then again. The third knock pushed it open on its own, the latch catching weakly. The room was empty. His eyes swept automatically, cataloguing the bed neatly made, curtains open, air faintly cool. The holdall that had sat in the corner yesterday was gone. Her shoes by the radiator were gone. He imagined her scent still lingered, faint as smoke after a fire. She was gone.
For a moment, his brain scrambled to adjust. This wasn't in the plan. He had been ready to argue, to persuade, to negotiate, but notthis. Rune knew him too well. He stood there longer than he meant to, the emptiness pressing in, until anxiety coiled through him. For the first time, he had no next step waiting neatly in his head. No plan B because he was sure plan A would work.
Dorian made his tentative way down the stairs. Voices carried up from the kitchen – loud, overlapping, argumentative. Gramps because he was half-deaf. Nana because she had never needed an excuse. They both looked up when he stepped into the doorway. Immediately, thedogs came sniffing, tails wagging, noses everywhere. Dorian froze, hands at his sides, until one determined muzzle shoved its way far too close to his groin. He grimaced, pushing it away. Why did dogs always go for that?
"She's gone back to her Da's," Nana said, not even glancing up as she poured another cup of coffee.
Gramps rose slowly from his chair, the creak of old bones making Dorian wince in sympathy. He patted Nana's shoulder on the way past. "Go easy on him, love," he said, before winking at Dorian. As he shuffled out, he leaned close enough to murmur, "Watch out for the spoon."
Dorian sat down stiffly at the table, the dogs circling his legs like furry sentinels. The kettle whistled. Nana moved with brisk efficiency, clattering cups, muttering to herself. On the stove, a blackened skillet hissed with strips of bacon, the smell greasy in the air. Dorian had not dared mention that he was not a huge bacon fan and just ate what was put in front of him. On the other burner, she was already ladling out pancake batter into neat little circles that sizzled as she flicked her wrist.
There was silence as Nana slid the bacon and pancakes onto a plate, the smell filling the small kitchen. She set it down in front of him with a clatter. "Eat," she ordered.
Dorian hesitated, sitting rigidly in the chair, lips parting like he wanted to say something.
"Don't talk. Just listen." She shook her head, muttering under her breath, "These young 'uns... no manners at all."
Finally, she turned and fixed him with a look.
"You look like you don't know what to do with yourself," she said finally.
"I know exactly what I'm doing," Dorian replied, voice clipped.
"And I am the future queen of England," she sing-songed " Because from where I'm standing, you look lost."
Granddad had come back with his newspaper. He sat down in his armchair and sipped his tea, unhurried. "She's stubborn, our Runebach. Once she's made up her mind, she is like one of those Pitbulls, she doesn't let go. And once she's done, she doesn't forgive."
Dorian swallowed hard. "I won't quit."
Nana clicked her tongue. "This isn't about quitting or winning, lad. It's about what you feel. What you're willing to give."
He leaned forward, his voice firm with purpose. "I'll take care of her and the children. I'll be faithful. She won't need to lift a finger." The wooden spoon came down sharp across his knuckles.
"Ow-!" He jerked back.
"Idiot," Nana muttered, shaking her head. "That's the stupidest thing I've heard all week. You think she wants to be coddled like a pet poodle? She's a woman, not a porcelain doll. If I'd raised you, I'd have smacked the nonsense out of you long ago."
Granddad hid a smile in his tea.
Nana jabbed the spoon toward Dorian. "Rune knows you better than anyone. If you're not sincere, she'll see it. And she won't forgive. And at the moment, she feels you will not make a suitable father. So, that is going to be your first hurdle. One of many, mind you."
The sting lingered on his skin, sharper than he cared to admit, but he didn't argue. The dogs settled at his feet, as if waiting to seewhat he'd do next. It was comforting in a very strange way.
"First thing, you need to figure out what you want."
"I want Rune," Dorian said with absolute certainty.
Her eyes softened just a fraction, but her voice stayed sharp. "Don't interrupt."
