Page 15 of Royally Drawn

“Why’s that?”

“Because his father got mom pregnant when I was twelve,” I groaned. “And then we were all stuck together.”

“They were engaged when it happened, Keir. C’mon,” Lars said in Norsk.

Technically, it was true, but I wouldn't say I liked it. I hated feeling that a man I’d considered to be an excellent friend of the family moved in on my mother, Sanne, after Dad died. I still missed my father every day. While Lars’s father, Peder, was a good man and always stood by us, I’d never quite gotten over how the whole thing went down.

“Betty is a doll, and I’m not casting stones about unplanned pregnancies.”

Ingrid understood that much. The word for engaged in Norwegian and Lundhansk was the same. The more I learned of her, the more drawn I became to this clever woman.

“She is,” I agreed. “And Peder continued to teach me to sail after Dad passed away. He got Nate and me out of a massive slump. We owe him lots of gratitude.”

“Pappa loves them, too,” Lars said. “But no one loves everyone as much as Sanne.”

“Not even your mother?” Ingrid laughed.

“Nei,” we chuckled in unison.

“My mother is a fucking nightmare,” Lars said. “Sanne is a patient angel in comparison. And her mother took me as a grandson. Sanne is the best stepmother I could ask for.”

“You have good families. That is nice,” Ingrid said, focusing again on her drawing.

“I forget,” I said. “You don’t have any living parents. I’m sorry if?—”

Ingrid looked over at me, then patted my knee. “It’s okay. I appreciate you thinking about it, but I don’t remember ever having parents. It’s much harder for Asti and Alex. I’m grateful for my sisters and Rick. They’re always there for me. Cici’s parents are close to becoming extended family. You all are wonderfully warm.”

“Funny to ever hear anyone say that about Norwegians.” I joked.

“Not really,” Lars said. “You are too kind. Much like my aunt.”

“Kiersten?”

“Yes,” I answered. “Warm, bubbly, clever.”

Ingrid gave me complete eye contact. “Clever? No one has ever called me that.”

I smiled. “Yeah, clever, of course. It’s a shame no one says that. You’re quite witty and smart to pick up on things.”

Ingrid blushed and turned back to her drawing. She said nothing, but her reaction said everything. I was winning her over. Indeed, she already won me over. It wasn’t the big blue eyes. It wasn’t the complete look of her. It was the comebacks, the willingness to make me uncomfortable, and now this—her artistic vulnerability.

Competition

INGRID

“I’ll give you my number in case we can’t link up. I trust you more than the others to be responsible,” Keir said. “If something changes or you need help, text me.”

I thought Keir’s motives were probably more dubious than practical, but I relished the idea of him feeling superior for having his number in my phone—as if it were an exclusive club. I unlocked it and handed it over to him.

“Here. If you think I’m responsible, that’s cute.”

He sniggered. “More responsible.”

Keir passed my phone back, having sent himself a text. I read it.

KEIR

Hey, sexy

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