Page 61 of Royally Drawn

“You’re her dead ringer,” Keir noted. “She was beautiful.”

I smiled, taking the phone for a minute. “We do look alike. I wish more people talked about her. It’s difficult to know anything when no one talks about my parents. Or, in Dad’s case, they only talk about his mental illness. It’s like he wasn’t even a person...”

Keir rubbed my back, pulled me close, and kissed my forehead lovingly. His tender gesture surprised and comforted me. His touch was genuine.

“I get it,” Keir said. “All too well. You’re like Win and Ollie. They never knew Dad, but at least they had some pictures.”

“I have one,” I murmured, choked up. “It’s Mamma holding me the day I was born. She bled out and died only minutes later. She was beaming. But that is all I have.”

I sniffled. Duncan handed me a tissue, showing unexpected kindness.

“I’m sorry to bring the mood down.”

Keir rubbed circles on my back. “You’re not. Win used to ask Mamma about his birth story—how he and Ollie came to be. It would drain her batteries, but he was insistent that he knew how much Dad loved him. He wanted to know everything about how he came to be because those were the photos she kept on display. He fell while she was getting an epidural—passed out—and had to get a CT scan. Nosooner had they brought the twins home than Dad was told he had terminal cancer. His decline was steep. So, she doesn’t display the photos of him with the twins as toddlers. He’s thin and looks nothing like the man we all want to remember him as.”

I curled closer to Keir and thought about the dozens of times I would climb into Alexandra’s lap like a baby and demand she tell me about the day I was born and how much Mamma and Papa loved me. It was as if I needed it to feel less guilt for taking my mother away from us all. I didn’t say it. Perhaps I didn’t need to? I gathered Keir understood.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “That’s awful.”

“It was better to have known Dad,” Keir said. “I feel guilty they didn’t know him. Nate and I got to feel his love and attention in a way they never did. We were his pride and joy—all of us. He only ever wanted to be a dad, you know? And… Mamma says sometimes it’s hard to believe he ever left. She still expects him to walk into the house when she visits us here in the UK.”

“That’s rough. I don’t know what I would do. Four boys and widowed in my thirties? I couldn’t cope.”

Papa hadn’t. And we’d lost him all the same.

“Mamma is tough and had a lot of support—from her mother, my aunts and uncles, and Peder. Peder became my dad’s best friend over the years, and… he was there to lend a hand with us. I won’t say I didn’t feel anger towards them getting together. I’ll never be totally over it, but he is a good man, and he did right by us. Dad wanted that for our mother. He didn’t want her to live in misery and, unlike your dad, Mamma had time to prepare for the inevitable.”

“Heavy shit,” Duncan said. “But I must say that even though I never knew Uncle Paul, he was very beloved. Anything I hear about Keir’s dad is positive. He was a little unhinged, very flighty, and loved hard. He was very close to Cici’s mother. Mummy was always protective of him—and still is of Aunt Sanne.”

“Mamma and Auntie Nat remain close,” Keir agreed. “Our mother is the biggest mama bear and had no luck with the British press. They hated her, but she trusted Aunt Natalie and Uncle Ed to care for us and agreed to send us to Eton. We stayed with them as a compromisefor the first few years. She struggled to send us abroad while she moved north with the twins Lars and Peder. In the end, Nate and I were fine, and Duncan got annoying older brothers he never asked for.”

“Could have been worse,” Duncan laughed. “He’s a real wanker this one, but he’s generally right—at least about how to behave in public.”

“If only you took my advice, Duncan,” Keir said.

“I could say the same about things Alexandra tells me,” I said. “But we’re the youngest children—or, in your case, the only, Duncan—and we will have to find it out on our own. I understand that.”

“The family shit-stirrers,” Duncan snickered. “Can you capture that essence in a drawing?”

“Afraid not,” I admitted. “It’s only a rough sketch.”

Being Honest

KEIR

Ienjoyed my weekend with Ingrid well beyond expectations. What started rocky ended in us playing house and palling around with Duncan. Duncan and I struggled to get on sometimes. Ingrid held us accountable and acted as a calming force to her absolute credit. She fit in well when it was just a small crowd. I adored how quiet and introspective she could be one moment and—in significant contrast—how outspoken and assertive she could be in another. Her dry wit only improved things.

I longed for her already in ways I didn’t anticipate. Was it a fling? Unlikely. Was it more? I wasn’t sure what that meant. I would be off again at the end of the summer, but if I played my cards correctly, I’d have more time to spend with Ingrid. I’d do what I could to make that possible.

“I wanted to clear the air,” Ingrid said on our return.

“Yes?” I was nervous about what she might say. Her face was pulled tight. She was nervous.

“I… I enjoy this… what we do,” Ingrid said. “And I have so much fun with you.”

But…

“But I don’t want you to think… after Duncan’s comment…”

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