Page 23 of So This Is Christmas

“And I’m basically an Irish one—from Woodlawn Heights.”

“Nice. There’s a great bar up there that I used to go to sometimes before my parents died. I had a hockey-league buddy who lived nearby, and I’d drive him home after practice and we’d have a beer. It was called Saint’s. Do you know it?”

“Know it? I go there with my dad every Sunday I’m in town!”

“What a delightful coincidence!” Marie exclaimed.

Cara had been less than thrilled about being summoned to dinner, but she was tickled to discover common roots with Leo—he had insisted she call him Leo. Marie had also asked Cara to use her first name. So she was dining with Marie, Leo, Leo’s thirteen-year-old sister Gabby, His Majesty, and Mr. Benz. What an odd collection of people and monikers, and what a far cry all this was from anything she’d ever imagined for herself when she was younger.

The dinner itself was formal, with fine china and crystal and servers bringing out plates, but for the most part, the atmosphere was not. Leo, Marie, and Gabby were dressed down, and they chattered and laughed like any other family. The king, who wore slacks and a sports coat, was a touch stiff, though Gabby was able to make him smile by imitating someone Cara gathered was a fictional character in a book both she and the king liked. If anything, Cara was overdressed, compared to everyone except Mr. Benz, who was wearing one of his fancy, old-timey suits. He looked good in it, she had to admit. Today’s tie had a green-and-yellow floral pattern that almost seemed custom-designed to make his gold-flecked green eyes pop. It also seemed uncharacteristically whimsical.

As the dessert was being served, the king turned to Cara. “Today went well.”

She switched on the work part of her brain—so far, the conversation had not touched on Morneau. “I’m glad you thought so. I never know, coming into a company, how open the culture will be to change.”

“Mm. A year ago, I wouldn’t have been.”

“What changed, if you don’t mind me asking?” She had an idea, given their chat at breakfast, but she always liked to hear from people in their own words.

He shot an affectionate look at Marie. “To put it frankly, my daughter made me see that ignoring an existential threat doesn’t make it go away.”

Mr. Benz cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. He looked annoyed.

“Everything all right, Mr. Benz?” the king asked.

“Yes, yes. I just was thinking Ms. Delaney should see Gimmelmatt at some point while she’s here.”

“That’s a fine idea,” the king said.

“Gimmelmatt is a UNESCO world heritage site,” Marie explained. “It’s the quintessential Eldovian village. Very picturesque.”

“I thought Witten was awfully picturesque,” Cara said, because she didn’t have time to play tourist.

“Oh this is much more so,” Mr. Benz said. “Older, too.”

The king nodded decisively, as if some grand decision about her schedule had been made. “Gimmelmatt really is not to be missed. I’m sure you can find the time at some point over the next few weeks. Mr. Benz can take you.”

“I’d be happy to.” Mr. Benz’s smile involved only his lips. His eyes were doing something else.

She knew what he was up to. Well, she knew he was up toone of two things. He was either trying to fill her time with distractions, or he had some notion of showing her the “traditional” Eldovia. The latter would only serve to distract her, so either way, the end result was the same.

“There’s some wonderful skiing that way, too,” the king said.

Cara accidentally dropped her fork, and it clattered against her plate, drawing everyone’s attention. Her heart kicked into overdrive. Ignoring it, she pasted on a smile, reminding herself that she was an adult. No one could make her do something she didn’t want to do.

“Yes,” she said carefully to the king, “I understand that you have some good skiing here. Unfortunately, I never learned.”

“Mr. Benz is quite an accomplished skier.” Of course he was. He probably golfed and played polo and did all the rich-people sports. “He can teach you.”

“I’d be happy to,” Mr. Benz said again.

She was about to demur, to put an end to any and all skiing plans, when the king added, “You can’t work the entire time you’re here.” He looked at Mr. Benz.

“I completely agree,” Mr. Benz said to the king before turning to her. “We probably have time for one or the other—skiing or Gimmelmatt—on the way back from Riems on Friday. And you’ll be heading back over the mountains at least one more time, so we can tack the other on to that trip. Think about which you’d prefer for this week, and we can discuss details later.”

No, they would discuss sooner, like as soon as she could get Mr. Benz alone. She needed to nip this in the bud.

“I’m not sure I can find my way back to my room,” Cara said as they were saying their goodbyes. She aimed a smile at Mr. Benzthat was probably as false-looking as his had been earlier. “Since we took a rather roundabout route to get here and all. Would you be so kind as to walk me back to my room, Mr. Benz?” He couldn’t say no. Not in front of the king.

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