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“Go ahead and just keep stirring until you feel the tomatoes start to soften,” I said.
“Okay. How will I know?” Odette asked.
“You’ll know. Promise.”
I tasked Odette with creating a butter and tomato sauce. Somehow, the simplest of flavours combined into something magical. I tried to build her confidence. The girl had never boiled water for pasta—something unimaginable to a kid who couldn’t even afford fancy pre-made lunches to pack on a school field trip.
My phone buzzed, and I lowered my bread knife to check it. Stephen’s travel agent contact had sent the itinerary.
“Hey, question,” I said.
Odette looked over. “Am I screwing it all up?”
“No, no. You’re doing great. They’re simmering. It’s about me. Would you be able to run to the States next week?”
She grimaced. “I cannot, Wyatt. I have to be here to help. Between Alex being sick and the wedding, everything is a disaster. And I’d like to say Ingrid is helpful, but she’s not. She’s more interested in making eyes at that hunky pilot of hers.”
“Ah,the prince?” I winced.
“All the time. All the bloody time,” Odette sighed. “Anyhow, I cannot. I’m sorry. I’d love to. Is everything okay?”
“Sure. Just business. I thought I’d ask.”
She gave me a brave little smile before returning to the tomatoes, which were sweating in their buttery haven. I wasn’t upset, but we’d officially reached the point where I wished she could go with me.
“Papa!”
I looked down to see Theo. He’d put a pair of shorts on Grieg—with Grieg’s head through one leg hole. The other just hung there.
“Buddy, you cannot dress up the dog,” I panicked.
Odette turned, snickering and doting in French. “You look darling, Grieg.”
He wagged his tail. I pulled the shorts off his head and handed them back to Theo.
“Go put these back in your room, please. The dog has a coat. He doesn’t need clothes.”
“Maybe,” Odette said. “Maybe sometime you can help me pick some clothes for Grieg?”
Theo clapped his hands and hugged her so tight he nearly took her out at the knees.
“Hot things, hot things,” she said, a bit uneasy.
Many people who never had children wouldn’t have thought about the hot pan a foot away. Odette’s instinct was one of persistent vigilance—a carer worried about everyone around.
Theo left. Grieg trotted after.
“They’re bonded,” Odette said. “It’s okay. Grieg is a saintly pup. He lets my nieces play dress up all the time. He loves the attention, and—believe it or not—Theo is very gentle.”
“He’s imaginative,” I said. “It’s not my dog. I don’t want?—”
“It’s good to worry, but Grieg was bred to be a dead head. His parents are long-time companions on the Lundhavian royal yacht.”
“What?” I laughed. “I’m sorry, Odie, you’ll have to repeat it for my normal American brain.”
“Your brain isn’t normal—any more than mine is,” Odette laughed. “Are these softening?”
She poked the tomatoes.