Chapter 32
Kjell
I enter Sky's father's elegantly furnished kitchen, dressed only in boxers and a T-shirt, and place the note that Sky left for me on the nightstand onto the marble countertop.
I'll be back for lunch. Looking forward to it! The spare key is in, in case you need to go out. Feel free to keep it, reads the note, which had already been causing me stomachaches shortly after waking up this morning, even though I've realized that I'm doing the right thing—as crazy as it sounds to me.
I switch on the espresso machine and make a cheese Smörgås. By the time I'm done, the delightful aroma of coffee fills the room. With a cup in one hand and the sandwich in the other, I walk into the living room where my laptop awaits me.
Although I'm not in the mood to play the gossip columnist, I have to do it today. Jakob needs an article that will boost sales.
We both need it. And the prospect of a few hours where I won't feel guilty about my lie is somewhat enticing. So I sit down and get to work.
I start by scouring online news portals but find nothing interesting. Fortunately, no reports about Sky either. Her hidingseems to be working, but I'm sure it's only a matter of time before she's discovered.
She needs to get ahead of them; I hope she realizes that soon.
Swallowing hard, I check the social media channels of Sweden's pseudo-celebrities and TV network announcements. Reluctance builds up inside me. I lean back in my chair and interlace my fingers behind my neck.
"Come on, Kjell," I admonish myself. "Write the garbage. You're doing it to protect Sky."
I immerse myself once more.
The royal family seems quiet for now. A sensational article about one of them could sell well. Reluctantly, I visit Crown Princess Vitoria's Instagram page and browse through the pictures. I find something on one of them.
There's a part of her dress where you could suspect a bump.
Pregnant again at 45?I type as a first draft for a headline, feeling like a complete jerk.
I'm spreading lies about the royal family because I lied to Jakob to keep the truth from Sky.
What a damn mess!
With a cry, I slam my fist on the table, knocking over my coffee cup in the process. The dark brown liquid quickly spreads across the natural wood table. It won't be long before it soaks into the untreated wood, leaving stains that can't be removed.
Quickly, I jump up and rush to the sideboard. Sky had taken tissues out of there yesterday, hadn't she?
I frantically open one drawer after another, finding candles, coasters, glossy magazines, and various technical odds and ends, but nothing to soak up the spilled coffee.
"Dammit," I exclaim in frustration and yank on the next drawer.
It won't open. I pull harder. It suddenly gives, and I end up on my rear end with the drawer, its contents scattering around me.
A thin folder lands beside me on the parquet floor, wobbling and partially opening, causing a few sheets to fall out.
They're fashion designs. I don't have time to look at them, but something about them makes me pause.
It can't be...?
I pick up one of the sheets to examine it more closely.
Indeed, I wasn't mistaken. The model in the suit looks just like me.
The messy hair, the high forehead, the square jaw. And there's the mole on the neck—that's mine.
Wait a minute. This guy doesn't just look like me—this is me!
Strange.
