A Nordic King(51)

I glance at her, swallowing my wine. “Got better?”

A knowing smile stretches across her lips, and she nods. “Mm-hmm. He’s so much better now. Ever since you showed up.”

“Me?” I almost laugh. “I don’t think so. I think I’ve probably only made things worse. He treats me like I have the plague.”

She studies me for a moment. “Listen, I know my brother. Maybe it looks that way to you. But you’ve brought light into this house. You make him happy.”

Don’t let it go to your head, it means nothing, it means nothing.

“I’m sure he’s just happy that the girls are doing better.”

“Yes. That’s true.” But still, she has this impish look on her face, like she knows something I don’t.

Naturally I want to take this feeling and run. Create a world of possibilities in my head. I make him happy. Me. But what good would that do me?

Suddenly the girls come barreling into the room yelling about it being present time, followed by Aksel and Maja who are in a conversation about something, glasses of brandy in their hands.

In Denmark the presents are opened on Christmas Eve, and I was told by Maja the other day that it’s quite an event. There is no frantic tearing like the kids do in America. Instead it’s done one by one, slow and thoughtful. Knowing this, I went out of my way to buy everyone something special, or I at least hope they’ll think it’s special.

We all gather in spots around the tree, Stella and I on the velvet couch, Maja and Aksel in the armchairs, the kids on big pillows on the floor. Each girl is in charge of being a Christmas “elf” and handing out the presents, which is great because it means I can just sit back and drink.

Luckily the presents I picked out for everyone are well-received, which isn’t an easy feat when you’re dealing with a royal family, AKA the family that already has everything. So I went for more unusual gifts instead.

I got a couple jars of Vegemite that I ordered from Australia for Maja since she recently discovered she loves it on her rye bread in the mornings. Though I don’t know Stella well, she seemed to like the leather planner I got for her with her initials on it. Anya, I got her a book about horses. Freja is going through a “big girl” phase right now which means an obsession with jewelry, so I got her a silver necklace with her Norse goddess namesake on it. And for Clara with her love of reading and everything Snarf Snarf, I compiled all the photos I’ve taken so far into one of those photobooks you can make online, only this one also has one of the many versions of The Magical Tale of Snarf Snarf that I tell the girls at bedtime.

Clara is so happy about it, she nearly starts crying. She drops the book and comes right over to me, enveloping me in a tight hug that lasts for several seconds.

I glance over her shoulder at Aksel who is watching us closely. Something deep and real dances in his blue eyes. You make them happy, I remind myself, therefore you make him happy.

But before I can give Aksel his present, Anya hands me his present to me.

“It’s from Uncle Aksel,” Anya says, and I can’t help but smile at his name.

It’s in a large box, professionally wrapped in shiny gold paper.

I smile curiously and lift it up to shake it but Aksel leans forward in his chair and says, “It’s fragile. Very fragile.”

Fragile? I’m not exactly the type of person who should receive, like, a crystal duck or something.

I slowly, carefully unwrap it, every now and then looking around the room to pick up on any clues of what it could be. As far as I can tell, they’re all as intrigued and clueless as I am. But Aksel seems … nervous? He’s tapping his fingers against the arm of his chair and there is this glittering intensity in his eyes as he looks from the box to me and then around the room.

The paper covers a plain brown box, and I carefully lift up the top lid to see a bunch of bubble wrap covering something.

“Careful,” Aksel says.

“You don’t say?” I tease him considering how well protected this thing is.

It’s large too, hence the size of the box. I stick both my hands inside and gently pull it out. I still can’t tell what it is.

“Can I play with the bubble stuff after?” Clara asks hopefully as I pull loose the stick of tape and start slowly unraveling the wrap.

“Typical,” Maja says. “You give them all the toys in the world and they still want to play with the packaging it came in.”

Finally, it’s nearly unwrapped and I’m starting to figure out it’s some sort of pottery or dish.

And then … my heart stops.

This can’t be what I think it is.

“What is that?” Clara asks, reaching for the bubble wrap. “It looks boring.”

But it’s not boring. It might be the most magical, priceless thing I’ve ever held in my hands.

It’s a black vase or pot with handles, with a gold painting that stretches all around it depicting a few scenes. Greek scenes. It’s ancient as all hell, and as far as I can tell, absolutely real.

Aksel clears his throat and gestures to it. “It’s a red-figure bell krater,” he says. “Made from terracotta. I’m sure you know what it was used for.”

I nod slowly, having trouble finding the words. “It was a vase used in ancient Greece, to mix water and wine in.”