Endre (Elsker Saga Book 2) Page 6

  “Right.” I sighed. “And I get a bodyguard.”

  “That’s what’s bugging you? Not being hunted into perpetuity by every enemy of Asgard?”

  Well, now that she mentioned it…

  “I know you don’t want a guard, but you’re ridiculously valuable. Odin will make sure you’re taken care of.”

  “Sure. Some stranger’s going to follow me around twenty-four-seven, know everything I do and report back to management. Fantastic.”

  “It’s a lot of change, isn’t it?” Inga squeezed my hand, her soft voice somehow carrying over the thrum of the engines below.

  “It’s fine.” I stared at the cars. “So who’s it going to be?”

  Inga watched the cars with me. “It was going to be Skadi.”

  “What?” I exploded. “Skadi, the girl Thor wanted Ull to marry—that Skadi? Shadowing everything I do?” My feathers were in a full-on fluff.

  “Don’t be so dramatic.” Inga rolled her eyes. “I told him that wasn’t going to work. I wouldn’t let my best friend get stuck with a dark troll.”

  “You know Skadi?” I asked.

  “Of course. I’m her trainer.”

  “Like at the gym?”

  “No, silly. You know how we all have assignments back in Asgard?” Inga shifted to get a better look at the track.

  “Yes.”

  “Gunnar’s an assassin, Ull’s God of Winter, and I’m a tactical advisor to the warriors. I orchestrate their fight sequences and train the warriors to execute them.”

  “Seriously?” Inga was a tough cookie, but I’d had no idea.

  “Yes. I’d rather be a fighter, but it makes Dad too nervous. So he asked Odin to put me in a non-combat position with the warriors.”

  “Do you work with Skadi?” I asked.

  “Ugh. Skadi’s in my training group, and she is a piece of work.” Inga didn’t take her eyes off the track. One of the cars shifted to pass another and nearly hit the wall as it went by. Jeez.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, besides being ridiculously impressed with herself, she’s madder than a fire giant in Jotunheim.”

  “Why?”

  “Who knows?” Inga shrugged. “She’s always been crazy. And she’s always had a weird thing for Ull. Don’t worry,” she added when I bristled. “He’s never been into her. Like, ever.”

  “Good.” It was hard not to be insecure about the warrior goddess Thor wanted to marry his son.

  “But because she’s so uppity and crazy, and because she somehow thinks she’s entitled to Ull, I told Dad she wasn’t a good candidate for your bodyguard position. He thought she’d be perfect, that she could pretend to be a co-ed and go to class with you. Yeah, right. There’s nothing collegiate about that mountain goat.”

  I giggled. “So she didn’t get the job?”

  “Nope. I heard she was really mad about it, too. She probably thought if she were that close to Ull, she’d win him over or something.” Inga leaned over and slapped my hand away from my face. “Kristia! Don’t bite your nails this close to your wedding!”

  “Sorry.” I twirled with the straw in my drink instead. “So who’s going to be my jailer now?”

  “Bodyguard. And I don’t know. I wish it could be me.”

  “Why can’t it be?” That was a great idea. Inga and I already spent loads of time together. If I had to have someone following me around, it may as well have been someone I enjoyed hanging out with.

  “Too dangerous.” Her hair shook around her shoulders. “Dad’s convinced that every dark elf in the cosmos is going to come after you the minute your identity comes out. And he doesn’t want me standing in their way. Kristia! Nails! Nobody’s going to get you. Ull won’t let them.”

  “Right.” I gripped my cup to keep my hands busy. “So you’re sure there was never anything between Skadi and Ull?”

  “I’m sure. Honestly, Kristia, he never looked twice at anybody before he met you.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Seriously. After his dad died, he couldn’t handle the thought of losing anyone else.”

  “Well, he’s never getting rid of me.”

  “I know.” Inga leaned forward in her seat as two cars spun out. A man on the track waved a yellow flag and the racers slowed down. “And you’re never getting rid of me. It’s been an eternity of exhaustion taking care of the boys by myself. Did I tell you what Gunnar did to my new paring knife?”

  She started the latest in a series of tales of Gunnar destroying her beloved kitchenware. I let my mind focus on Inga’s domestic difficulties while the cars moved slowly around the wreck. I could think about my worries another day.

  Chapter Five

  WHEN I GOT BACK to my flat, my roommates were lying in wait.

  “Where have you been?” Victoria sat in the armchair in our small living area, staring at the door like an annoyed parent. Her chic chestnut hair was fixed into a sleek bob, and she twirled her stiletto-clad foot at the ankle. Even relaxing at home, my fashion-major flatmate managed to look like she just stepped off the runway.

  With a glance at the clock in the entryway, I closed the front door behind me. “It’s five-thirty. We aren’t supposed to leave for dinner until six. You know I’d never miss Curry Thursday.”

  That was a lie. I’d have given my eyeteeth to have Chow Mein Thursday, but Cardiff was disappointingly devoid of good Chinese restaurants. It was an outright sin.

  “Yes, well, I’ve got some wedding designs to go over with you. And Emma has been waiting all afternoon to try her Hair Helper.”

  “Hair Helper?”

  “Yes. Finally! Jeez, took you long enough. Come on, we only have thirty minutes until we have to leave.” Emma flew down the hallway, her crimson hair streaming behind her. I caught a glimpse of the strange contraption in her hand as she dragged me into her bedroom. She shoved me down onto her bed and climbed up after me, pulling the elastic out of my ponytail.

  “What are you doing?” I tried to crane my neck but she held my head in place with a surprisingly strong grip.

  “We need to practice your wedding hair,” Emma declared.

  “My wedding hair?” I turned to the other side and stared at the domed object in Emma’s hands. “What is that thing?”

  “The Hair Helper. It’s guaranteed to give you real ‘oomph’ at the crown. I ordered it off the late-night telly.”

  “Oh, Emma. You haven’t been shopping off that again, have you?” Emma was a math major, and one of the brightest analytical minds I’d met at Cardiff, but she had some seriously questionable hobbies. The last time she’d ordered something from the shopping network, we enjoyed savory purees for our stews… . until the Dream Dome exploded, leaving tiny bits of carrots and onions all over our kitchen.

  “She has, and now you get to reap the rewards.” Victoria strolled into the bedroom, sketchpad in hand.

  I jumped to my feet. “I really don’t think—”

  “Sit back down. This is happening.” Emma pushed me back into position and shoved the weird thing at my head. It looked about as useful as a screen door on a submarine, but Emma was determined. She started smoothing strands of hair over the Velcro-covered peak, sticking out her tongue as she concentrated.

  “And you thought living with a fashion major was irritating.” Victoria made herself comfortable against the headboard, then smoothed her hair.

  “At least that has perks,” I conceded. “No good can come of this.”

  “Please,” Emma huffed. “You’ll have me to thank when you knock Ull’s socks off walking down the aisle.”

  “I hope that’s not the only article of clothing she knocks off of Ull.” Victoria uncapped her pen and started to draw. “Where are you going on your honeymoon?”

  “I don’t know. Ull won’t tell me.”

  “Ooh, so romantic!” Emma squealed. She clapped her hands and pushed me to the mirror. “Well, with hair this fabulous, you won’t need to pack much.”

  Victoria
looked up from her sketchpad. “Just a baseball cap.”

  “Don’t you like it?” Emma’s face fell.

  I glanced in the mirror and tried not to cringe. My hair was stuck in a weird cone-shape on top of my head, with strands sticking at odd angles away from my face. Instinct told me this was supposed to be some sort of an elegant bouffant, but in reality I looked like I’d just stuck my finger in an electrical socket. I wracked my brain for something nice to say, but came up with diddly squat. There was just nothing good about this particular look.

  Thankfully the chimes in my pocket did the talking for me.

  “Pachelbel’s Canon. Must be the lucky fiancé.” Victoria snickered as I pulled out my phone.

  “Seriously, Kristia? Still with the flip phone?” Emma shook her head. “I told you I’d take you to the Apple store on Saturday to—”

  “Hold on a sec, Ull. I just have to do something real quick.” I put my phone down and began tugging at the top of my head. When I’d emancipated my mane, I tossed the contraption to Emma. “On second thought, I think I’m going to wear my hair down for the wedding.” I shrugged apologetically and patted her hand. “But thanks for thinking of me.”

  “But—”

  “What’s up, Ull?” I stepped into the hallway.

  “I just wanted to make sure you got home from the racetrack safely.” His deep voice sent a shiver down my spine.

  “Just barely. Inga drives like a maniac.”

  “I know. You have not had any more visions since the one at Ýdalir?”

  “Nope.” I glanced at my roommates to see if they were listening, but they were staring at the Hair Helper.

  “You will tell me immediately if you do.” It was a command.

  “I promised I would.”

  “You know how important this is. If you see anything suspicious, if you have any odd feelings, or a dream that you think might be—”

  “Ull, I get it,” I whispered. “I’ll come straight to you if anything weird happens. But I have to go. It’s curry night.”

  “You hate curries.”

  “I do not,” I protested. “I just… uh…”

  “Kristia, can’t we just try one more hairstyle before we leave?” Emma pleaded. “I think I know what I did wrong.”

  “I have to go, Ull. Girl’s night.”

  “Call when you get home to let me know you are safe,” he ordered.

  “I will.”

  “And Kristia? Jeg elsker deg.”

  “I love you, too,” I murmured as I closed my phone.

  “So one more style? Then dinner?” Emma asked hopefully.

  I shook my head.

  “Let it go, Emma. She’s just not ready for the Hair Helper.” Victoria patted Emma’s arm.

  “That was just my first go at it. I still have three months to practice on her before the wedding.”

  Three months…

  “That’s barely enough time for me to design your going-away gown.” Victoria patted the bed.

  “You’re going to design a dress for me?” My eyes felt moist. “That is so incredibly kind.”

  “Of course I am. It’s not every day one’s roommate makes an honest man of the sexiest bloke on campus. What do you think of my sketches?” Victoria held up her notebook. I sat down and took the pad from her hands. When I opened the cover, I bit back a smile.

  “This is gorgeous, Victoria.” It was. A Grecian-style sheath with wide straps, an empire waist, and an exaggerated fitted bodice that tapered all the way to the ankle. “But I’m afraid it’s more you than me. I’d never be able to walk in it. And I’m not entirely sure my tush would fit in… there.” I gestured.

  “Your bum would look amazing in it. What about this one? Emma inspired it.” Victoria flipped the page and I giggled.

  “That is definitely you, Em.”

  “It is, isn’t it? Sweetheart neck, fit-and-flare waist, a double petticoated miniskirt. The oversized flower appliqués would be either organza or chiffon. I want it to have an ethereal feel—like wearing a cloud.” Victoria pointed with her pencil.

  “It’s spectacular,” I agreed.

  “You could wear it with one of those tiaras we saw last week! Or a feathered fascinator—ooh, a feathered fascinator.” Emma’s eyes glazed over as she went to a fashion-inspired happy place.

  “And then there’s this one.” Victoria turned the page again. “I think this would suit you best.”

  I tore my eyes away from the now-bouncing Emma and stared at the page. My hand flew to my neck—Victoria’s design took my breath away. The sleeveless dress had a fitted bodice that would accentuate my chest. The skirt skimmed the hips tightly enough to showcase my… assets… before flaring in a delicate bell shape. It ended a few inches above the knee. It was just modest enough that Mormor would have approved, but still sexy enough to wow a Norse god. The dress had an intricate lace design that looked like a series of paisley swirls and delicate flowers, and it appeared to have some kind of beading sewn throughout—Victoria had drawn little lines designating sparkles.

  “Wow.” I exhaled.

  “You haven’t seen the best part.” Victoria turned the page again, revealing another sketch. “Check out that back.”

  “Holy mother.” Emma sidled up next to us. “It drops almost to your bum. That backline is sexy as sin. Ull won’t be able to keep his hands off you.”

  “That was the plan.” Victoria confirmed.

  “Um…” My fingers covered my eyes. The idea of wearing a near-backless dress had me flustered. But the idea of Ull and his hands… “Yes. Please. Make that one.” Make it right now.

  “You like it?” Victoria shot me a sly glance.

  “I love it,” I confirmed.

  “But more importantly, Ull is going to flip.” Emma tossed her hair. “Has he ever seen you in anything that sexy?”

  “Emma,” Victoria said. “Please.”

  “My clothes are sexy,” I defended myself.

  “Sure. If you call the occasionally exposed collarbone or, gasp, a bare wrist sexy,” Emma heckled.

  Victoria narrowed her eyes. “She does have a point.” She buried her head in her sketchpad, scribbling furiously.

  “It’s not like we had any reason to wear backless gowns in Nehalem,” I pointed out. “It was cold, like, three hundred days a year.”

  “How do you explain the other sixty-five days?” Emma nudged me with her shoulder.

  “Okay, ladies. What if we did something like this for a honeymoon dress?” Victoria held up the paper. “In teal, or maybe white.”

  “Oh my God, V. It’s perfect! Can you make me one in green?” Emma clapped her hands.

  “You just came up with that?” I touched the paper with one finger.

  “The strapless bit might be a little uncomfortable for you, but we’ll tuck it here and here,” Victoria pointed with her pencil, “and I’ll build in padded cups so you don’t have to worry about fidgeting with a bra. The ruching will accentuate your tiny waist, and the A-line will give Ull easy access in the event he decides to—”

  “It’s gorgeous,” I interrupted, blushing fiercely. “Love the ribbon at the hips.”

  “That is a nice touch, don’t you think?” Victoria admired her work. “We could even add some pockets. Fun it up.”

  “You’re really going to make me two dresses?” I touched the notebook with one hand.

  “I’m planning to make you an entire honeymoon wardrobe. No offense, Kristia, but I don’t trust you to shop for yourself for that particular occasion.”

  Now that she mentioned it, some guidance would be nice.

  “Yay!” Emma clapped her hands. “What about something like this for one of the dresses?” She grabbed the pencil out of Victoria’s hands and started drawing. When she finished, Victoria eyed the paper critically.

  “Again with the eyelets? Emma, we discussed this. Leave the design to me. You just worry about Kristia’s wedding hair.” Victoria smiled angelically as Emma grabbed the Hair
Helper off the nightstand.

  “Oh, goody. Because I think I know what happened before, and it’s an easy fix. All we have to do is tease the crown and maybe add some of that glittery hairspray…”

  Heaven help us all.

  “Olaug! To what do I owe the honor?” I opened the door of my flat with a wide smile. Olaug stood on the other side, an overflowing grocery bag in her arms.

  “I was just passing through, and I thought I’d pop in on my soon-to-be-granddaughter. And her roommates—are they home?”

  “No. They’ve got classes this afternoon.” Holding the door open with my hip, I reached for her bag. “Let me take that for you, it looks heavy. Come in. I’m so happy you’re here.”

  Olaug patted my arm as she walked into our tiny entry. While I carried the bag to the kitchen, she took off her coat and appraised our living space. Couch facing the open kitchen, tartan throw artfully arranged across the reading chair, and thanks to a bout of pre-honeymoon jitters, a freshly swept and mopped floor. Everything was spic and span.

  “What a lovely home, Kristia,” Olaug praised.

  “Thank you.” Heat crept across my cheeks as I made my way back to the foyer. “Let me take your coat.”

  With the coat tucked away in the closet, I followed Olaug toward the kitchen. “Can I get you anything? Tea, or a sandwich, or maybe some cookies?”

  “Actually my dear, I brought you something. Oh good, you do have a stand mixer. Makes it so much easier.” Olaug made herself at home in my kitchen, unpacking the grocery bag and rooting through drawers until she pulled out our mixing bowls. “This will do nicely.”

  “What are we making?” My smile was genuine. It had been so long since I’d cooked with Mormor. Continuing the tradition with Olaug was an unexpected perk of becoming a Myhr.

  “There’s no way I can allow you to marry my grandson without teaching you to make his favorite waffles.” Olaug rooted around my kitchen until she found the aprons. She handed one to me and tied the other around her waist. “Suit up, Kristia. We have much to cover.”

  “You’re teaching me to make your waffles? Your Norsk Waffles? The recipe Inga’s been trying to get out of you forever?”