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Chapter Two

Liv woke to a muffled clicking sound—someone tapping on computer keys.

Brit. Liv’s sister had opened the ornate Victorian-style secretary at the foot of Liv’s bed and set up her laptop on the desk within. She was typing away, her pale hair anchored in a messy knot at the back of her head, shoulders slightly hunched, strong chin jutting toward the screen in fierce concentration. Next to the keyboard sat an open bag of peanut M&M’s. Brit loved her M&M’s.

Liv watched her for a while. The sight was soothing, somehow: her baby sister working on her novel—which novel, Liv hadn’t a clue. Brit had started writing novels before she even reached her teens—and started was the operative word. Brit had begun ten or fifteen of them, at least. When she got bored with one, she’d drag out another and type away at it for a while. To Liv’s knowledge, Brit had yet to actually finish any one of them.

With a sigh, Liv turned to the travel clock she’d set on the marble-topped nightstand. Past two in the afternoon. My how time did fly when you were passed out drunk.

Brit must have heard the sigh. She turned in her chair. ‘‘Sleeping Beauty awakes.’’

Liv dragged herself to a sitting position. ‘‘Ugh.’’

‘‘Coffee? Toast?’’

Liv pushed her tangled hair out of her eyes. ‘‘I suppose I’d better.’’

The skinny, sneaky chambermaid was summoned and returned a short while later with a tray.

Brit played nurse, plumping Liv’s pillows, getting Liv’s tray arranged just so. Then she dropped into the claw-footed velvet wing chair next to the bed. ‘‘Want to talk about it?’’

Liv shot Brit a look over the rim of her eggshell-thin china cup. In spite of their differences, the sisters loved each other and trusted each other implicitly. There was no one, outside of their third sister, Elli, in whom Liv would rather confide.

And she needed to confide, after what she’d done. The more levelheaded Elli, leaving that day on her wedding trip, wasn’t available to lend an ear.

So Liv told Brit. Everything. Brit, who was wearing a pair of short-short cutoffs and a tight semi-tube knit top that tied on one shoulder, dragged her long bare legs up, rested her chin on her knees and listened patiently to the whole story.

‘‘Oh, I am so disappointed in myself,’’ Liv cried once she had told it all.

Brit swiped at a swatch of hair that had fallen into her eyes. ‘‘Oh, come on. I think it’s great.’’

Liv sat up straighter, deeply offended. ‘‘Great?’’

‘‘That’s what I said. G-r-e-a-t.’’

‘‘What, may I ask, is great about what I did?’’

‘‘Well, just that you busted out a little, Livvy.’’ Brit shifted in the chair, letting go of her legs, stretching them out and studying the polish on her toes. ‘‘That you had yourself a wild, hot, monkey-sex night.’’

‘‘Monkey sex?’’

‘‘Is there an echo in here?’’

‘‘Is that really what it’s called?’’

Brit dropped her feet to the floor and lifted a shoulder—the bare one—in an elaborate, oh-so-cool shrug. ‘‘Monkey sex. Jungle sex. Crawl-all-over-each-other sex. Am I making myself clear?’’

‘‘Unfortunately, yes.’’

‘‘Admit it. You loved it.’’

‘‘Oh, puh-leese. You’re practically salivating. I don’t need this.’’

‘‘Slurp, slurp. And, IMO, you do need it. Why beat yourself up? Why not just accept that you did it and admit it was great?’’

Liv slumped back to the pillows. ‘‘I can’t. I hate myself for it. And I have to say it would be more appropriate if you could just…well, sympathy is all right. But don’t tell me it’s great. It’s not great. It’s awful.’’

Brit shook her head. ‘‘Livvy, give it up. I know you want to run the world, but you’ll never run me. I get to have my own opinions and I also get to express them.’’

Liv made a growling sound and picked up her nearly empty cup. She gestured with it, frustrated. ‘‘And what about poor Simon?’’ She sipped, swallowed, set the cup down. ‘‘He’ll be crushed when he hears about this.’’

‘‘Don’t tell him. Simon doesn’t own you.’’

‘‘Well, of course he doesn’t. But still, it’s only right that I tell him.’’

‘‘You have some agreement with him that you won’t see other people?’’

‘‘No. But we are very…close.’’

Brit lifted one eyebrow but kept her mouth shut.

Liv glared at her. She knew what Brit thought of Simon—and if she hadn’t known, she could have figured it out just by looking at her face right then. ‘‘You never liked Simon,’’ she muttered accusingly.

‘‘That’s so not true. I think Simon’s a fine man. He’s just…not the man for you.’’

‘‘And why not?’’

‘‘Oh, Liv. Because he doesn’t thrill you, that’s why.’’

‘‘Thrills aren’t everything.’’

Brit looked thoroughly put-upon. ‘‘Haven’t we been through this before?’’

‘‘Simon,’’ Liv couldn’t stop herself from insisting, ‘‘is a good man.’’

‘‘He certainly is.’’ Brit sat up straighter and offered with nerve-flaying cheerfulness, ‘‘More coffee?’’

Liv huffed out a breath and wrinkled her nose. She felt out of sorts to the max, disgusted with being in her own skin. She knew she was a fight looking for a place to happen. And Brit really did seem to be trying to keep from getting into it with her. She felt a wave of warmth and gratitude toward her baby sister.

‘‘Sorry.’’ Liv held out her cup.

‘‘Forgiven. You know that.’’ Brit took the small silver pot to the suite’s kitchen and returned with it. She poured more for Liv and a cup for herself.

Liv nibbled her toast. She really was feeling better. The toast—lightly buttered with a dab of marmalade—tasted good. ‘‘At least this is it. We’re out of here tomorrow. If I’m lucky, I won’t have to see Finn Danelaw’s face again.’’

Brit was significantly silent.

Liv let out a groan. ‘‘Oh, just say it, why don’t you?’’

So Brit did. ‘‘Don’t blame poor Finn for giving you what you wanted. And face it. You had a fabulous time.’’

Liv opened her mouth to do some more denying.

Brit put up a hand. ‘‘I’ll bet you’ve never before in your life got so carried away the night before that you couldn’t find your panties the morning after.’’

Liv looked at her sideways and accused in a mumble, ‘‘You noticed. About my panties.’’

Brit wiggled both eyebrows. ‘‘Slurp, slurp.’’

‘‘Don’t make fun, please. I’m really upset at myself. You know I’m thinking of going into politics eventually. Who’s going to vote for a woman who can’t keep track of her own underwear? It’s not…confidence-inspiring.’’

Brit raised both hands then, palms out. ‘‘Okay, okay. Have it your way. What you did is horrible and disgusting and if you hide out here in your room like a big, fat coward, you might not have to see Finn again. And while we’re on the subject of leaving…’’

Liv knew that something she didn’t want to hear was coming. ‘‘What about it?’’

‘‘I’m not.’’

‘‘Not…?’’

‘‘Leaving.’’

Liv stared. ‘‘You can’t be serious.’’

‘‘I am.’’

‘‘I do not believe this.’’

‘‘Whatever.’’ Brit was sounding infuriatingly offhand. ‘‘I’m staying for a while.’’

Their mother would burst a blood vessel when she heard. Ingrid hated their father and all things Gullandrian.

And what was to stay for, anyway? More tours of fisheries and offshore oil derricks, of rolling, charming farmland, more tall pines and spruces and distant views of fat-tailed karavik?

More chances, a salacious voice in the back of her mind whispered, you might run in to Finn…

‘‘This is nuts.’’ Liv scowled. ‘‘We came for Elli’s sake, remember? We swore to Mom we’d fly right home after the wedding. Father agreed to that.’’

‘‘So?’’

‘‘So it’s after the wedding. Time for you and me to keep our word to our mother and go home.’’ Liv picked up her cup—and set it down without drinking from it. ‘‘Anyway, I’ve got to be at work on Monday—and I thought you said you did, too.’’

‘‘Yes,’’ said Brit, her tone only slightly bitter. ‘‘You’ve got your plum summer internship with the State Attorney General’s Office that you can’t wait to get back to. And me? Well, I’ll return to dealing ’em off the arm at the Pizza Pitstop in East Hollywood, listening to my boss yell at me, looking forward to going home to my charmingly seedy courtyard apartment.’’

Liv resisted the urge to nobly remind her sister that if she didn’t like her life, she should go back to college or at least learn to live on her trust allowance.

Brit said, ‘‘Dad has invited me to stay for a while, and I’ve said I will.’’

‘‘Dad? You’re calling him Dad now?’’ This was the man who, until very recently, had given new meaning to the words absentee parent. Their mother, Ingrid, had left Osrik—and Gullandria—when Liv, Elli and Brit were ten months old. Osrik had kept their two sons, Valbrand and Kylan, then five and three, to raise as kings. Now both sons were dead. And suddenly, Osrik had decided it was time to play Dad to his long-lost girls. It had started with Elli. And now, obviously, he was after Brit. ‘‘I don’t like it,’’ Liv said flatly.

‘‘I’m sorry. I’m staying. I want to see more of Gullandria—maybe nose around a little, too—see if I can find out any more details about what really happened to the brothers we’re never going to get a chance to know.’’

There was a moment. The two sisters looked at each other, both of them wondering what their brothers had been like, both of them wishing for what was never going to be: their broken family whole again, their dead brothers alive…

Finally Liv spoke. ‘‘I thought Elli had settled that.’’ Elli had questioned their father. She’d received Osrik’s assurance that there was nothing suspicious in the way either of their brothers had died. Elli had believed him. So did Liv. She wasn’t crazy about the man who’d suddenly decided to try being a father to his daughters. But her brothers had been everything to him. They were the children he had kept—his chance that his own blood would claim the throne of Gullandria when he could no longer rule. If someone had murdered them, Osrik would have tracked the killers down and seen to it they paid for their crimes in a big way.

Brit said, ‘‘I want to look into the situation a little for myself.’’

‘‘You still think there’s something…not right?’’

‘‘I don’t know. I just want to check around some more.’’

Liv wasn’t so sure she liked the idea of Brit snooping around a strange country on her own. ‘‘What do you mean, ‘check around’?’’

‘‘Just what I said. Ask some questions.’’

‘‘Of whom?’’

‘‘Well, I’m not sure yet—but did you know that Kaarin Karlsmon and Valbrand were an item?’’

Liv didn’t. ‘‘Before he disappeared at sea?’’

‘‘You got it.’’

‘‘Who told you that?’’

‘‘I asked around. It’s common knowledge.’’

The lady Kaarin was jarl—of noble birth—a slim, graceful redhead perhaps a year or two older than the princesses. Kaarin was always meticulously turned out in gorgeous designer clothes and she made herself available to Liv and Brit whenever they asked for her. Cheerfully, Kaarin would accompany them anywhere they wanted to go; she’d provide lively chatter and well-bred companionship.

The strap on Brit’s top had slid down her shoulder. She pushed it back in place. ‘‘You have to admit, it’s odd she never even mentioned that she and Valbrand had a thing going on.’’

‘‘Oh, Brit. Come on. I can think of several reasons why she wouldn’t want to talk about it. Especially if she really cared for him. It’s probably painful for her, to go into it—and I don’t see how her relationship with him could have had anything to do with his death.’’

‘‘I’m only saying, there’s a lot we don’t know—a lot I want to find out.’’

‘‘I don’t like it.’’

‘‘Well, I can’t help that.’’

Liv got the message. Brit had made her decision and no matter what Liv said, Brit would not change her mind.

‘‘Fine.’’ Liv pointed at the phone on the nightstand. ‘‘Call Mom yourself. Now.’’

Brit groaned. ‘‘Livvy, it’s barely seven in the morning there.’’

‘‘So you’ll be sure to catch her. I can’t stop you from sticking your nose in where I doubt it belongs. But I’m not getting stuck telling Mom what you’re up to because you just never manage to get around to calling her.’’

‘‘I will tell her.’’

Liv only waited.

Finally Brit muttered a couple of bad words and reached for the phone.

Ingrid didn’t take the news well. She insisted on speaking to Liv. Brit was only too eager to pass Liv the phone.

Liv was treated to her mother’s frantic voice uttering an endless series of pleas and demands that she make her crazy baby sister come home. Powerless to do any such thing, Liv babbled a bunch of meaningless placating noises and waited for Ingrid to wind down.

Liv hung up the phone. ‘‘I’ve got a splitting headache and I’m going back to sleep.’’

Brit took the tray, her laptop and her M&M’s and tiptoed out.

Liv scooted down and pulled the covers over her head. Lord, what a weekend. Elli had married a huge, tattooed Viking berserker, she herself had spent the night in a field having wild sex with a virtual stranger, and Brit had pushed their mother to the verge of a nervous breakdown. What more delights might be in store?

Liv didn’t want to know. She spent the remainder of the day and the evening in her rooms, avoiding any possibility of running into Finn, nursing the queasy end of her hangover, feeling totally fed up with herself and her sisters and the world in general, longing only for the next day when she’d be on the way home.

Liv woke in the middle of the night. Her eyes popped open—wide. She was going to be sick again.

With a miserable cry, she threw back the covers and sprinted for the bathroom.

Brit found her a few minutes later, hugging the toilet—again.

As she had the morning before, Brit stayed close. When it was finally over, she turned on the light and handed Liv a cool wet washcloth.

Liv bathed her face, then chucked the washcloth toward the bathtub, flushed the toilet a final time and pushed herself upright, grabbing the edge of the wide sink basin when she swayed a little on her feet.

‘‘Livvy, maybe you shouldn’t—’’

She gestured for silence. ‘‘Toothpaste,’’ she said. ‘‘Toothbrush…’’

Brit helped her, getting the tube and squirting a line of paste on the brush while Liv clutched the sink rim and wondered why her head wouldn’t stop spinning.

‘‘Here.’’ Brit took Liv’s right hand and wrapped it around the base of the toothbrush.

Liv looked down at the bristles, the neat line of mint-green paste. Doubtful, she thought. Her hand was shaking.

‘‘Oh, Livvy. What’s the matter? What is going on?’’

Liv was wondering the same thing. Her hangover had faded hours ago. So she must really be sick now. Terrific. Just what she needed with a long flight ahead of her: a bad case of some awful stomach bug.

She looked over to tell Brit not to worry. She was okay, just a bug of some kind.

But her mouth stayed shut. Her fingers went nerveless; the toothbrush clattered into the sink at the same time her other hand let go of the rim. Then her knees gave way. She sank to the cool smooth tiles of the floor as, far in the distance, she heard Brit frantically calling her name.