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
