laughed, then her own phone began to shrill. Groaning, she rolled out from beneath the warmth of the quilt, casting around until she tracked the sound to the bag she’d abandoned by the door last night. Unselfconscious about her nudity – which suited him perfectly – she skipped back to the warmth of the bed. ‘Hi, Josie,’ she said into the handset, grinning at Nico.
Josie’s strident little voice reached Nico without needing to be put on speaker. ‘Oh, good, you’re not asleep. We’re meeting in half an hour for breakfast, OK? And have you seen how much it’s snowed? Farmor says Daddy’ll have to carry Maria or a snow plough will cover her up.’
Hannah managed an authentic-sounding yawn. ‘OK, see you soon.’ She managed to end the call before bursting into laughter. ‘I feel as guilty as a teenager up to no good,’ she murmured, kissing his neck.
He eased her closer, knocked out by the combination of soft skin and firm flesh. ‘One of the perils of being a parent is finding ways to have sex without scarring your offspring for life.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘This parental responsibility thing is tougher than I thought.’ She sobered. ‘I understand that you don’t shove your sex life in your kids’ faces. I’ll go back to my room to shower.’
‘Shame,’ he sighed. But she was right. He was getting so much enjoyment out of watching her hunt naked for her clothes that they’d never get downstairs on time if he got her soapy body in his hands.
Breakfast was leisurely, though Maria was outraged to discover the hotel had no ‘Beetabix’, as she called it. He diverted a tantrum by telling her she could have sponge cake instead. Her scream-face miraculously transformed into contentment and she munched cake between slugs of apple juice, pointing out of the window and saying, ‘Snow!’
‘It is.’ Nico hadn’t anticipated how hyper-aware of Hannah he’d feel and had trouble concentrating on even that level of conversation. It was obviously not appropriate to advertise to the assembled company how he and Hannah had spent the night and, judging by the way she focused on her breakfast, she was all too aware.
‘Do we have a plan for today, before we go home?’ Carina asked, stirring cream into her porridge.
Hannah reminded her, ‘I need to go off and track down my ex. He doesn’t know I’m in Stockholm so I hope to surprise him. I’ve been thinking and, although I don’t altogether want to, I should see what my old shop’s been turned into before heading for Albin’s office. I doubt I’ll get past the front desk but at least I can go public and loud there. People employed by the financial industry aren’t meant to be financially iffy.’
And he probably wouldn’t want details of his sex life bandying about either, Nico thought, even as he recoiled from the scenario Hannah described. ‘Why don’t I go with you?’
‘Because it’s not your problem,’ she said reasonably, turning her beautiful eyes on him, more green than blue in the winter light streaming through the windows. ‘You don’t want the kids around. Imagine if some security guy ejects me.’ She smiled, but with a steely glitter that told him she considered herself capable of dealing with this.
Her solicitude for the kids ignited an unexpected flame of happiness inside him but he searched for a way to prevent her from bearding Albin alone.
Unexpectedly, Carina came to his rescue. ‘It’s always better to have a witness to a dispute. I love to visit Gamla Stan so let’s go there together. Then Nico can go with you and I’ll take the children to my favourite tea shop.’
After a moment’s deliberation, Hannah nodded. ‘Good point about a witness. Thank you.’
They checked out after breakfast, stowing their bags once more in the luggage room, then crunched along gritted, slushy pavements to the nearby open area of Rosenbadsparken where the tree trunks were painted green with lichen. The kids wanted to run – or, in the case of Maria, stagger – over the fresh white snow until their tracks criss-crossed a hundred times. Nico helped them make a giant snowball but it was difficult to encourage Maria to keep her gloves on and when she began to cry at her reddened hands Hannah picked her up and wrapped her own scarf around the frozen digits. For reasons best known to a two-year-old, this proved more acceptable than gloves and she remained on Hannah’s hip shouting, ‘Yo-zee, My-dad, Far-mor … snow!’ and