streaming, Nicholas
laughs, “English, Albert, English,” and holds an arm out
toward us.
Albert glances over, and then makes a face at Nicholas. He puffs out
his chest and claps Nicholas on the back, “You bring back
women, good boy.” His accent is not-so-slight. He chuckles.
"Let me guess ...” he points to Chauncey, "looks,"
to Linnie, "personality," to me, "and attitude."
Nicholas says, "We haven't been here five minutes and you've
already scared and offended our guests; I think this might be a new
record."
Though I’m far from offended, I huddle near the car with
Chauncey and Linnie. We peer at each other, while the men laugh. I
don’t think any of us knows what to say to the big, hairy guy.
“I am sorry,” Albert says. “I was just joking with
you ladies.” He holds up his hands, and then stretches one out
to Linnie. “I am Albert, one of Nicholas’s older
brothers.”
Linnie gives a tight grin, for once seeming cowed, and shakes
Albert’s huge hand. “Linnet, but everyone calls me
Linnie,” she murmurs.
Albert takes her hand and spins her as if they’re dancing.
Linnie laughs and gives him an exaggerated curtsy. “Your
brother dragged us here, kicking and screaming.”
“Of course,” he says, with an equally exaggerated bow.
Then Albert’s gaze drifts to Chauncey and me, still leaning
against the car. Just for an instant, he glances back at Nicholas
with no trace of smile, but, when he turns back to us, he looks
happy. He holds his hand out to Chauncey and gives her hand one
brusque shake before he turns to me.
Chauncey lets her glasses slip down her nose and whispers in a
babyish voice, “Don’t I get spun?”
Albert doesn’t hear her, or doesn’t acknowledge her.
Strange, since this morning, every other guy nearly wets his pants
when she smiles.
I stretch out my hand and say, “Raven.”
He looks a little unsure, as his mitt-sized hand clasps mine. “Nice
to meet you, Raven.” What a change: so welcoming to Linnie and
so cold with me and Chauncey. Chauncey looks a little less peeved,
seeing I didn’t get spun, either. “I’m glad you’re
here,” Albert adds my way, lessening my unease.
Nicholas coughs, then claps Albert on the shoulder.
Albert winces and curses something in Swedish (at least, whatever he
said sounds like a curse).
Nicholas asks, “Are you coming inside?”
“But of course,” Albert replies, elbowing Nicholas in the
ribs, “I wouldn’t miss this.”
One of Nicholas’s hands rubs his side, while the other gestures
us toward the house; when we walk, he and Albert follow. The front
door is propped open and we file in.
I gaze around at the foyer, which is about three times the size of my
living room and adorned with multiple chandeliers. The space is two
stories high and has a couple of staircases leading to a landing
encircling the room. Everything is pine: the paneled walls, ceiling,
stairs, and railings along the walkways, except the carpeted floor,
which is navy with an intricate white and black design.
On the landing, between the rounding
staircases, three men in suits stand talking; two of them turn as we
enter. The youngest of the three looks out of place with his
companions, he isn’t wearing a jacket and, though his back is
to us, I can tell his tie is loose. He stands with the posture I
associate with the guys in high school who think they could have any
girl, and usually could. He pivots. I’m not sure what, from his
profile, but, there’s something weird about his face.
The other two men stand as stiff as the old English Lords in their
portraits. The older man is seventy, or so. The younger, who I assume
is Nicholas’s eldest brother, has his nose tilted so high, I
have a perfect view into his nostrils. Both have the exact same
short-cropped haircut, though the younger has blond (not white) hair,
and matching choke-neck tailored suits.
All three turn as we approach and separate to descend the left fork
of the staircase. The
laughs, “English, Albert, English,” and holds an arm out
toward us.
Albert glances over, and then makes a face at Nicholas. He puffs out
his chest and claps Nicholas on the back, “You bring back
women, good boy.” His accent is not-so-slight. He chuckles.
"Let me guess ...” he points to Chauncey, "looks,"
to Linnie, "personality," to me, "and attitude."
Nicholas says, "We haven't been here five minutes and you've
already scared and offended our guests; I think this might be a new
record."
Though I’m far from offended, I huddle near the car with
Chauncey and Linnie. We peer at each other, while the men laugh. I
don’t think any of us knows what to say to the big, hairy guy.
“I am sorry,” Albert says. “I was just joking with
you ladies.” He holds up his hands, and then stretches one out
to Linnie. “I am Albert, one of Nicholas’s older
brothers.”
Linnie gives a tight grin, for once seeming cowed, and shakes
Albert’s huge hand. “Linnet, but everyone calls me
Linnie,” she murmurs.
Albert takes her hand and spins her as if they’re dancing.
Linnie laughs and gives him an exaggerated curtsy. “Your
brother dragged us here, kicking and screaming.”
“Of course,” he says, with an equally exaggerated bow.
Then Albert’s gaze drifts to Chauncey and me, still leaning
against the car. Just for an instant, he glances back at Nicholas
with no trace of smile, but, when he turns back to us, he looks
happy. He holds his hand out to Chauncey and gives her hand one
brusque shake before he turns to me.
Chauncey lets her glasses slip down her nose and whispers in a
babyish voice, “Don’t I get spun?”
Albert doesn’t hear her, or doesn’t acknowledge her.
Strange, since this morning, every other guy nearly wets his pants
when she smiles.
I stretch out my hand and say, “Raven.”
He looks a little unsure, as his mitt-sized hand clasps mine. “Nice
to meet you, Raven.” What a change: so welcoming to Linnie and
so cold with me and Chauncey. Chauncey looks a little less peeved,
seeing I didn’t get spun, either. “I’m glad you’re
here,” Albert adds my way, lessening my unease.
Nicholas coughs, then claps Albert on the shoulder.
Albert winces and curses something in Swedish (at least, whatever he
said sounds like a curse).
Nicholas asks, “Are you coming inside?”
“But of course,” Albert replies, elbowing Nicholas in the
ribs, “I wouldn’t miss this.”
One of Nicholas’s hands rubs his side, while the other gestures
us toward the house; when we walk, he and Albert follow. The front
door is propped open and we file in.
I gaze around at the foyer, which is about three times the size of my
living room and adorned with multiple chandeliers. The space is two
stories high and has a couple of staircases leading to a landing
encircling the room. Everything is pine: the paneled walls, ceiling,
stairs, and railings along the walkways, except the carpeted floor,
which is navy with an intricate white and black design.
On the landing, between the rounding
staircases, three men in suits stand talking; two of them turn as we
enter. The youngest of the three looks out of place with his
companions, he isn’t wearing a jacket and, though his back is
to us, I can tell his tie is loose. He stands with the posture I
associate with the guys in high school who think they could have any
girl, and usually could. He pivots. I’m not sure what, from his
profile, but, there’s something weird about his face.
The other two men stand as stiff as the old English Lords in their
portraits. The older man is seventy, or so. The younger, who I assume
is Nicholas’s eldest brother, has his nose tilted so high, I
have a perfect view into his nostrils. Both have the exact same
short-cropped haircut, though the younger has blond (not white) hair,
and matching choke-neck tailored suits.
All three turn as we approach and separate to descend the left fork
of the staircase. The
Similar Books
