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Slick designs, expensive shoes. Their bodies look like temples once they’re in costume for work. Never mind that whenever these men remove their clothes, there’s a whole new show to gawk at.
I admire Måns’s strong body, envisioning what he had to endure to get it. Hard work. Sweat. Showers. Those showers…
Simmer down. It’s not my place to flirt with a palace employee.
One that comes by my house every morning before work when my brother’s not around.
One that scrutinizes me with his eyes, dissecting every movement I make. Every thought that crosses my mind in his presence feels unsafe as if he knows what I’m thinking.
“I brought this for Penelope,” Måns says, gesturing at the sketchbook in his hand. He steps forward, placing it on the kitchen counter. “You can look through it and decide whether you want to hand it over to her. I’d like to know what she thinks of it. I draw when I have time, but as of late… It’s been hectic with Jordan’s absence.”
“You draw those books she likes to read?”
Måns nods, and I take an inhale of shock. It’s not her birthday or any other special day. My heart warms at his thoughtful present for my granddaughter. I say, “I trust you.”
“You shouldn’t,” he replies.
I chuckle the nonsense away, and I grab the notebook. It carries his warmth. Would it be rude to keep this sketchbook hidden in my home?
“My intentions are impure,” he reveals, and for the first time, my ears perk up. It’s the paranoia my deceased husband installed in me. Family above all. If anyone tries to harm our babies, we go feral.
“Get out,” I hiss.
“I can’t get out, Mrs. Cross,” he says, stepping forward. “I’m in too deep.”
“What do you want, Måns?” I ask.
“I wantyou, Mrs. Cross.” He comes closer, and I hover by my food, seeking comfort. Food doesn’t provide comfort. I cook it to distract myself. When I invite people to my home to feed them, it makes me feel like I haven’t been forgotten, like I still matter.
“You can’t have me!” I yelp, breathing hard. Only one step to removing any barriers between us. He wouldn’t. Wouldn’t he? “You… What are you trying to accomplish? Do you want to harm us?”
“I’d never jeopardize my job, Mrs. Cross. Keeping your family safe means everything to me. You insult me,” he says, a glimmer of harshness in his eyes. Another step forward. I can’t leave. But… I can. He doesn’t corner me. He hovers around me, dizzying me with his awe-inspiring presence. “I want to show you that you’ll be happy again.”
“And how do you want to accomplish that?” I ask, rolling my eyes.
“By making you mine.” I choke on air. His absurd statement turns me red from top to bottom. I can’t feel my toes. “You won’t have to worry about a thing. I’ll take care of everything.”
That sounds tempting. My heart melts for him, and my ears go numb. If he’s playing games, I won’t be able to deal. “Everything?”
Måns nods.
“But… You’re a boy. You don’t know. I… I-I can’t….”
“Min lycka.” His hand cups my jaw. His thumb swipes across my cheek like he can sense the dried tears. “I know enough. Are you in?”
“What… How?” Baffled, I seek for words that’ll drag me out of this predicament. I don’t want to leave. Måns’s promises are alluring enough for me to forget the absurdity of it all. He’s younger than my daughter, half my age. He’s my brother’s favorite and most effective employee.
I don’t even know him. I can’tdatehim.
That’s ludicrous.
“Show me your bed of pain, min lycka. It’ll be the last time you ever see it.”
* * *
Måns is upstairs.
My family is having dinner, and he’s upstairs in my bedroom, doing whatever people like him do. I left him there, and he didn’t follow me downstairs. He isn’t hiding. There was something sinister in his eyes as he took in my bedroom, and I departed from the scene before he could derail my plans further.
