Page 65 of Royally Drawn

“Theylikeit?” None of this made any sense.

“I dunno. I don’t have a dick. Um… oh, balls.”

“Balls?”

“Bullocks. Whatever you want to refer to them as. You can see what he thinks, but you might be surprised if he’s really sensitive or really into it.”

“Surprised?”

“I love how green you are. He might cum sooner than you anticipate—or even sooner than he can predict. He should probably give you a heads-up when he’s close. Spit or swallow. They don’t get to bechoosy. Or talk dirty to him and have him cum on your tits or something.”

I gaped. My expression was no barrier to her ongoing wisdom.

“It’s fine. You’ll figure it out. He can teach you. Clearly, he likes that. Parker did.”

I stared in disbelief at her cavalier explanation of lurid acts. Astrid was like a sex oracle. I had many more questions but was almost horrified by all the dirty words she’d just used. Who was this girl? And did she and Parker get up to all of this? I looked at the man in jeans, trainers, and a university rugby that was a size too big.Hewas up to all of this with her?

“He’s very patient with me. Sometimes, I worry he’d have much more fun with someone else,” I said.

“Darling, he could have anyone he wanted—and probably has. You aren’t doing him a disservice. If he’s still into you—enough to fly you to Wales on a lark—it’s because he enjoys you. And dare I say, probably for more than your tight little arse, yeah?”

I blushed. “We do have fun. I like him. He says my sense of humour and bravery are a turn-on. He thinks I’m mad for what I get up to.”

Astrid smiled. “That is sickeningly sweet, and I’m happy for you. Oh, look at you! Our baby is growing up!”

She hugged me tightly, squealed, and took my face in her hands. “You’re a fully-fledged woman, but I struggle to imagine it. Give Alex and me some time to grasp it.”

Fisticuffs

KEIR

“Ithink Peder wants everyone to go out on the boat tomorrow,” Mamma said, setting a block of gruyere down on the kitchen island. “He did miss everyone.”

I groaned. “Must weallgo?”

“Keir, youloveto sail. It would mean a lot.”

I didn’t mind sailing with Peder but hoped to see Ingrid tomorrow. I wanted to go out with Cici and Isak and bring her along. She was staying with my aunt and uncle and attached to my girl cousins at the hip with wedding preparations. I was desperate to see her. One week felt like a fucking year.

“I made plans. I was hoping to go out with Cici and Isak.”

“Why not us? What does it matter? Are we not good enough?”

“Nei, Mamma. Just… I was hoping to catch up with them.

I sliced the gruyere, laying it gently on the charcuterie board that covered the kitchen island—enough for everyone coming and many more. Could we have hired a chef for the evening? Yes. Would our mother have allowed it? No. She and Peder liked to keep things “normal.” They lived on the family farm outside of Oslo—a summer home turned escape—and relished hosting everyone low-key on Friday nightslike tonight. We were a week from the main event, and the entire family was blowing off steam before it got too wild.

Peder entered, kissing Mamma on the cheek.

In Norsk, he said, “They have arrived—all two dozen of them.”

“I am working on getting this out fast, I promise,” I responded.

“It’s okay. They areearly.”

“They are British. Most of them. Remember that,” Mamma reminded him kindly.

Norwegians were on time—not early. To arrive early, as Brits and Americans were prone to do, was to inconvenience your hosts. Where I was inclined to bend over backwards to at least bring out an expensive tin of biscuits I kept in case of an emergency, guests were SOL. They only got fed when they were told they would be. Coming to someone’s house did not expressly guarantee food. It was anathema to Brits.

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