Daughters (Nordic Fairies, #4)

by Berg, Saga

  Jayden studied her.

  “Well, did you beg to come along or not?” Sarah asked.

  Svala sighed, and met Emma’s gaze at the end of the corridor. The girl offered a nasty smirk before she turned to disappear around the corner. It hurt to see her grandchild dislike her so.

  “Are you deaf? She doesn’t want to talk about it,” Jen snapped.

  “Hey,” Sarah said. “I think it’s interesting to know if she did. She keeps pretending she isn’t even interested in him. A good friend would be honest. Unless she has an agenda of her own.”

  Svala sighed and turned to open her locker. People could talk all they wanted. Rumors annoyed her but seldom upset her. What bothered her was her grandchild's odd behavior. Something wasn’t right. As half Liosálfar, Emma shouldn’t be acting this way. If only she could get to Viggo and find out what he knew.

  ***

  Trym sat in his study when Svala came home from school that day. She planned to walk past his door with every intention to continue their ongoing charade where both pretended nothing was wrong. As she passed, catching a glimpse of Trym sitting by his desk, she changed her mind, and went back.

  Engrossed in something on his laptop screen, Trym didn’t look up when she came into view. She crossed her arms over her chest, leaned against the doorframe, and waited a few seconds before she spoke. “We need to talk.”

  Trym lifted a finger, his gaze still trained on the screen. “Give me a minute, I’ll be right with you.”

  Svala sighed, audible. Trym looked up and frowned, then returned to the screen, clicked a few times on his mouse and lingered for a few seconds on the screen before he looked up. “So, what’s going on?” he smiled.

  Her brows drew together and a snort escaped her. “Seriously, we’re doing this?”

  Trym leaned back in his large chair, confusion on his face. “Doing what?”

  “This thing where you pretend everything is normal. Well, it’s not and I won’t do this anymore. I want you to give me my phone. I have to call Viggo.”

  Trym’s expression wavered between a frown and a smile. “Excuse me?”

  She extended her hand. “Give me the damn phone, Trym. I’m sick of this game. I have to call him and find out what’s going on.”

  The black leather chair squeaked as Trym got up. He circled the desk. Svala waited, her hand still outstretched, but her eyes betrayed her insecurity. He leaned against the massive oak surface and rubbed his chin. “You expect me to give you the phone when you admit you’ll use it to call him?”

  “Yes.”

  Trym studied her for a few seconds. “What is this about, Svala?”

  She lowered her hand. “I have to know what is going on. You won’t tell me anything about what you know, or what you and Viggo talked about in the garden that night. I can’t stand not knowing anything. I’m going crazy.”

  “Sweetie, I’m only trying to protect you.”

  She snorted, and as Trym shifted his feet in silence she turned, ready to storm out of there and up to her room and slam her door shut. An appropriate reaction to his treatment of her. She was almost out the door when he broke the silence.

  “I told him to stop.”

  She paused, then turned. She hadn’t expected him to answer.

  “I told him he is gambling with the most valuable thing he’s got, and that nothing could possibly be worth it.”

  She met his gaze.

  “I told him to stop. Whatever it is he’s doing, before he loses you.”

  Trym extended his arm and Svala walked up to him. She accepted his gesture and fell into his embrace. Trym rested his chin on the top of her head, one arm around her small frame. “I told him he can’t begin to imagine how much it will hurt to lose you, and that if he misses you now because of three years apart, it’s nothing compared to how much he’ll miss you when he can never get you back.”

  Svala’s throat tightened. Trym never talked about losing Alrik, and it killed her to think about what she knew about him. Trym eased away and offered a meek smile. “Then I told him I’d hurt him if he ever forced you to go through what I’ve been through.”

  “Trym... I’m so sorry. I’ve been so insensitive.”

  Trym put both arms around her and pulled her in again. It was ridiculous he should have to comfort her under the circumstances.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  He kissed her temple. “Don’t be sorry, be smart.”

  She leaned back with a confused frown. He smiled. “You’re the strong one, and you know it. You can’t give in to temptation. I know you miss him. Believe me, I know, but you have to fight it.”

  Her face twisted into a grimace. He was wrong. She wasn’t strong, not like him.

  “I would never do anything to hurt you,” Trym said. “I know it’s difficult to understand sometimes, but I’m only trying to do what’s best for you.”

  She closed her eyes and thought of everything she hadn’t told him. About Viggo’s suspicion, the envelope, visiting Freja in New York. Meeting Alrik. “Trym, I need to ask you something.”

  Their eyes met. Trym nodded, urging her to continue.

  “Did you visit Freja when we were in New York for the premiere?”

  He held her gaze for a few seconds, then nodded.

  “Why?” she asked.

  He paused again. “I wanted to make sure she was okay. I’ve checked up on her over the years. Made sure she was taken care of, financially. I’m sorry I never told you, it’s just...I knew I could look her up without anyone suspecting anything. I knew I was the only one who could.”

  “Did you send her the painting?”

  A subtle smile surfaced on his face. “Yeah. I found it on a flea market in the eighties. I couldn’t believe it. I went down to the Hamptons one weekend, and there it stood, leaned up against a wall. I kept it in a safe for years before I sent it to her. I never dreamed...”

  Svala reached up and caressed his cheek. “Thank you.”

  He met her gaze. “For what?”

  “For looking out for her.”

  He shrugged. “I’m afraid I might have done more harm than good over the years.”

  She thought of the envelope, then the car accident and shook her head. “No. You did everything right.”

  His gaze grew distant. “I don’t know. Most of the time I felt so helpless. She never remembered me, and the small glimpses into her life triggered more questions than answers. I could make sure she had enough money to get by, but I couldn’t interfere in her life, or her decisions.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I read too much into the things I saw over the years. That incident after the prom was always in the back of my head. I always feared it would influence her relationship with men. I don’t think my impressions were too accurate. Sometimes when you look too hard you end up seeing things that aren’t really there.”

  The color drained from Svala’s face. “What things?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. Forget I said anything. It’s probably nothing to worry about.”

  “Tell me, Trym.”

  He lingered again. “Well, there was this one time, during the mid-nineties. She lived in a collective in Brooklyn. This was before she had Emma.” He paused. “I answered to an advertisement for a couch, and she invited me up to look at it. Someone asked for her assistance in the kitchen, and she left me alone in the living room. One of the bedroom doors stood ajar and there was a guy in there. He was in bed reading, but the way he flipped the pages of his magazine it looked like he was passing time, waiting for someone to return. I don’t think he saw me, but when the sun came in through the window, I noticed his eyes. He was a Döckálfar.”

  Svala gasped and covered her mouth with a hand. Her stomach dropped. “Was he there for her?”

  “I don’t know. There were at least ten people living there, running all over the place. Naturally, my mind went there too, but he could have been there for someone else.
I don’t think she would fall for one of them. She was always too honest and pure for that.”

  Svala grabbed Trym’s arm as vertigo grabbed her.

  “Sweetie, what’s wrong?”

  Her heartbeat resonated in her ears. Trym clasped her cheek with one hand, forcing her to focus. “Svala?”

  Svala’s lips trembled, and the color drained from her face. “Trym, would it be possible for a Liosálfar and Döckálfar to have a child together?”

  Chapter 7

  1982

  New York

  Svala and Viggo left the prom early. As the front door closed behind them, Viggo swept Svala into his arms and she wrapped her arms around his neck. Her red dress draped along the side of his black tuxedo, and her heels dangled in the air. She chuckled at his dramatic gesture and kissed his cheek.

  Inside her room, Viggo placed her on the bed then swiftly removed his suit jacket and shoes before joining her. She urged him closer. Through the following kiss, Viggo roamed his hands over her body and the soft fabric of her dress. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered.

  She smiled and pushed against him. “I can feel that.”

  Viggo groaned and kissed her again. He found the zipper at the side of her dress and seconds after, the silky, red material swirled to the floor next to the bed. He leaned back to look at her, his warm hands resting on her smooth skin. She shivered. With a firm grip of her waist Viggo leaned in to kiss her stomach, right above her navel. She entangled her hands into his hair, pushed her head back against the pillow and closed her eyes. He inhaled swiftly and pressed his lips against her soft skin. His hot breath triggered memories from their past to resurface and a warmth spread through her body. Svala opened her eyes and nudged him gently. “Honey, do you mind skipping the foreplay for later?”

  He looked up, his smooth chin resting against her stomach, and he clamped his lips together in a restrained smile. “Well, technically, that would be called after-play.”

  Svala tried to mask her smile as well. “Oh, shut up. Just take off your clothes and make love to me already.”

  ***

  When they walked into the kitchen the next morning, Viggo snaked one arm around Svala’s waist from behind, and pulled her against him. Trym sat by the kitchen table, reading The New York Times. He glanced up and shook his head through a smile. “Sleep well?” he asked, and returned to his paper.

  Svala and Viggo shared a smile. She turned around to face him, and Viggo slid his hands in between her red silk negligee and a matching knee length robe in the same material, pulling her in for a kiss.

  “Thanks for the sweatpants and T-shirt, Trym,” Viggo said, his eyes never leaving Svala’s.

  Trym flipped a page, glanced up and smiled again. “Don’t mention it. There’s fresh blueberries and everything else you might need on the counter.” He nodded to the wooden surface next to them.

  With one arm still around her, Viggo leaned over to study the items lined up in on the counter in a meticulous line. “Perfect.” He clasped Svala’s face between both hands and planted one last kiss before he released her and turned to the counter. “I have improved my recipe this time. Prepare to be dazzled.”

  Svala walked over to the fridge. “You always say that.”

  “And I’m always right, am I not?”

  She grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge and glanced at Trym. He arched his brows to indicate Viggo had a point, and the joy in his eyes warmed her heart. It was such a long time since she’d seen him happy. She only wished Alrik could have shared the moment with them. Their pancake tradition had included him for so long, it wasn’t the same without him.

  Viggo reached for the stainless steel bowl on the counter and nodded toward each item lined up in front of him, as if making sure everything was provided. “You really did consider everything this time, Trym.”

  Trym flipped to another page in his paper. “Oh, don’t worry, Vig. I’m sure I forgot something.”

  Svala and Trym shared a restrained smile as Viggo reached for the measuring cup next to the bowl. He measured the flour, completely focused on his task. “I guarantee you these will be the best blueberry pancakes you’ve ever eaten.”

  Svala placed her hand on the small of his back and he moved his left arm around her waist, pulling her close. She wrapped both arms around him and leaned her head against his chest, watching him work. He whisked milk into the batter, then cracked one egg open against the edge of the bowl with only one hand. She closed her eyes, sighed content, and listened to his steady heartbeat as he continued whisking.

  While Viggo continued whisking, the door bell rang through the apartment. Trym offered to open, leaving them alone in the kitchen. The second he’d disappeared out the door, Viggo turned to Svala with a wicked smile. He pushed the bowl to the side, and she chuckled when he grabbed her waist, lifted her onto the sink and positioned himself between her legs. She smiled into the kiss. “Trym will be back any second.”

  “I know.” The flour on his hands rubbed off on her face and powdered down on her negligee. He pulled her closer and deepened the kiss, cupping her breast outside the silk fabric with another wicked smile. She grinned and answered the kiss with a slow seductive movement.

  Trym called for them in the hallway.

  “Ignore him.” Viggo pulled her closer and moved his hands into her hair.

  She followed the slow movement of his lips and even though something registered in the back of her head, Viggo’s lips held her complete attention. She slid a hand under the hem of his T-shirt, and up over his chest.

  “Oh my God!”

  They broke the kiss, turned to the door and froze at the sight of Freja, their bodies rigid as statues. With one hand clasped over her mouth, Freja backed up, tears welling her big blue eyes. Trym appeared behind her, shoulder’s slouching, a resigned look on his face. He gestured with his hands toward them and pressed his lips together, as if to indicate he’d tried warning them.

  The first tear rolled down their daughter’s cheek, and her voice came out just above a whisper. “You lied to me.”

  “No.” Svala slid down from the sink and approached her.

  “How could you? I trusted you.” Her face twisted into a grimace.

  “Freja, it’s not what it looks like.” Svala reached for her but Freja took another step back and raised a hand in the air. “Don’t!”

  Viggo walked up behind Svala. “Freja, please let us explain.”

  Freja’s lower lip quivered when she met his gaze. “Am I that repellent to you that you have to lie about being gay? Do I really repulse you that much?”

  “No.” Viggo walked pass Svala and tried to reach for her as well, but she moved away and bumped into Trym as she did. Trym placed a hand on her shoulder, and Freja flinched, as if she’d been burned, then quickly stepped to the side, her eyes stirring.

  “It’s nothing like that. Far from it. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met,” Viggo said.

  Freja grimaced again, and the tears streamed down her face. Judging from her swollen eyes, she’d been crying already before she came over. Svala and Viggo exchanged a worried gaze.

  “Freja, did something happen?” Viggo asked.

  She covered her face in her hands and her silent tears escalated into panicked gasps. Viggo reached out again and placed his hand on her arm. “Freja, you have to tell us?”

  She struggled against him at first, then glanced at him through a crack between her fingers and accepted his open arms. She clung to him and sobbed against his shoulder, her body shaking uncontrollably. Viggo met Svala’s gaze over Freja’s shoulder with a helpless expression. “Hey, calm down,” he whispered and stroked her hair. “It’s okay.”

  Svala approached them and reached out for her daughter. “Freja, tell us what happened?”

  Freja’s shoulder’s tensed and her grip around Viggo tightened. Svala retrieved her hand, a painful lump in her throat.

  “Freja?” Viggo’s voice broke.

 
Her strained breathing prevented her from speaking. Viggo gently pried her out of his embrace and clasped her face in both hands, forcing her to look at him. “Did someone hurt you?”

  She nodded, and closed her eyes tight along with a pained grimace. Svala’s stomach dropped, and the color drained from Viggo’s face. He took a deep strained breath, as if to gather the strength to ask. “Was it Brian?”

  She nodded again, eyes still closed.

  Nausea washed over Svala at the implication. She covered her mouth with one hand but couldn’t prevent the tears from surfacing. The muscles in Viggo’s face twitched. He pulled Freja into his arms again, his gaze hard and distant.

  Trym leaned against the door frame with a blank expression. He lifted his hands to rub his face as Freja’s sobbing echoed in the silent kitchen.

  “We have to go to the police. You have to report him,” Viggo said.

  She shook her head and her sobs subsided into short strained breaths.

  “You can’t let him get away with this.”

  She shook her head again, determined. “No, it was my own fault.”

  “What?” Viggo eased back. “What are you saying?”

  “It was. I told him I wanted to and then, when we were in the backseat of the limo, I changed my mind. I didn’t want to do it there and...” She closed her eyes, and the tears streamed again. “He said I’d already agreed and that I couldn’t back out. He said it wasn’t honest of me to lead him on like that and then take it back, so I went along with it. I didn’t struggle. I can’t report him if I didn’t struggle.”

  Viggo’s blue eyes darkened in anger and when Freja opened hers, she flinched. Svala placed a hand on his arm, in an attempt to calm him, and Freja’s turned to her, her swollen eyes narrowed in disgust. “It’s your fault,” she said.

  Svala’s throat tightened.

  “You knew he liked me. I’ve seen the looks you’ve given him when he’s been nice to me. You lied and told me he was gay, because you didn’t want the competition,” she continued.