Page 59 of Royally Drawn

Isat my sketchpad down, sipping tea placed beside me. The cuppa was a nice gesture, but the taste wasnot. I slightly puckered and tried to hold back from looking so out-of-sorts. I did not like tea, even if these Britslovedthe stuff. Neandians were proud of their coffee culture.

“You don’t like tea?” Duncan asked.

“We’re coffee people,” I grimaced. “But I appreciate your kindness. It’s… nice. It looks better than it tastes.”

Keir chuckled. “You sound like Peder.”

“Scandinavians are coffee people. Apologies to the British part of you, but I agree with your stepdad here,” I said.

“Mamma is a coffee drinker, too. In the summer, she’s perpetually toting around a tumbler of iced coffee,” Keir said.

“She had four boys. I can understand why.”

I said it but didn’t look up. Instead, I was focused on drawing and tracing his nose’s outline with shading.

“If I came, would you not offer me tea?” Duncan asked, looking offended.

I shrugged, still sketching. “No. We would be as accommodating asever and talk to your people to get what you like to drink. When Parker visits, we have his preferred tea shipped in.”

“Oh.” Duncan quietly backed off.

“You look for anything to get offended by, Duncan. We’ve never shorted my brother-in-law, and we wouldn’t short you.”

Keir snickered.

I ignored them both, trying to sort between which features defined which parts of them in my mind. We’d been sitting here this morning with nice light—the last morning here. Soon, Keir would fly me north, and I’d not see him again until we were in Norway together, celebrating Cici and Isak. Right now, I sketched the two of them as they were.

Keir read a service manual for an aeroplane. I wondered why anyone would do this, but I recently discovered that “plane people” were as mad as horse people. He slowly paged through it, occasionally furrowing his brow and making a note here or there. I adored his grumpy or concerned looks most. I was trying to capture that strong brow and the cleft in his chin as I continued to shade in the outline I’d drawn earlier.

Duncan was sitting with his legs over the arm of a chair—sideways—and watching a stupid reality TV show. I’d picked it last night, he’d gotten invested, and now I was pretty sure we were continuing to watch it because one of the girls had a nice arse. Men weresosimple. I try to make his expression look more dignified than vacant. It wasn’t that Duncan was a dunce. Instead, everyone looked unattractive when staring mindlessly at a TV.

Keir stood up and stared down at what I’d drawn. “You make me look better than I do.”

“I was thinking I wasn’t doing you justice,” I laughed.

He bent down to kiss me and said, “I’m going to get more biscuits. You didn’t bring enough, Duncan.”

“Your girlfriend ate them all!” Duncan pointed at me.

“I did not!” I laughed. “You had a roll of them yourself.”

Neither Keir nor I denied the girlfriend characterisation, but it turned my stomach. It wasn’t that I wouldn’t have been happy to have a boyfriend like Keir or that he didn’t bring me joy. He brought me joy and oh so much else. It was just the wild lives we lived. He had histhings, and I had mine. I wasn’t about to think of him as more than someone I enjoyed. And I didn’t want to put more pressure on him than that.

“I will get more,” Keir said.

He padded off to the kitchen.

“What are you drawing then?” Duncan asked.

“Just life. I sketch what I see.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. It helps me take things in, notice things.”

“What do you notice about this?”

“Uh, the fireplace stone is gorgeous,” I laughed. “It frames the room. I sketched it with the clock alone up top. I really like it.”

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