It’s just like Mom to hug me before Jarvis helps me into my suit jacket, so she won’t rumple it.
Dad watches with his hands in his pockets. “Your mother and I are proud of you, Eikko,” he says in Finnish.
“Not as proud as I am of you.”
My parents had been blindsided by my sudden ascent from Henri’s translator to future prince-consort of Illéa.
Mom initially handled it best: before her new maids had her things unpacked at the palace, she was sitting at the piano in the Women’s Room, having a passionate discussion of music with Eadlyn’s mother, conducted mostly in gestures and arpeggios. When Eadlyn’s grandmother Singer arrived, Mom made a new best friend, though even I couldn’t understand their mix of Finnish, English, Spanish—how did Mom even know Spanish?—and something that might have been Yiddish.
Dad’s meeting with Eadlyn’s father reportedly contained more silences than words, but his ice broke when Princess Gunilla of Swendway arrived with the foreign entourages. Gunilla de Monpezat turns out to be the professor behind a theory absolutely opposite to Dad’s views on WWIII, so she swept Dad up in a vast sequined embrace and hauled him into the nearest library.( Read more... )