‘Hanna?’ She shook her head, feeling guilty. ‘I’m afraid not. I wasn’t thinking that clearly. I wasn’t thinking that far ahead.’ She remembered the panic she had felt that he was gone too, the weight of his head in her lap the whole journey back, Mats and the crew working like devils to find the fastest way home; the way he’d stared up at her as they’d cut through the waves, the look on his face, unfiltered . . .

Concussed. She blinked it away. ‘It must have been Måns.’

He shrugged. ‘Or Cathy.’ And when she frowned, he added, ‘Dr Sorensen. She would have known Hanna’s my next of kin. She was always the point of contact when I was in the hospital. Apparently.’

‘Right. Well, either way, it’s great she’s here and can look after you for the next few days.’

‘Mmm. Maybe I’ll pretend to be sicker than I am.’ A dark gleam came into his eyes. ‘It’s nice to see she cares.’

She looked away, not wanting to be his confidante. She couldn’t pretend to be his friend. ‘Of course she does.’

She felt his stare become more focused upon her. ‘I suppose this means you’ll be leaving, then. For a while, at least.’ She looked back at him quizzically. ‘Well, if Hanna’s here to look after me and . . . chaperone Linus, you can escape this place at last.’

A residue of sarcasm traced the word ‘chaperone’, reminding her of their fight – that her very presence here offended him, that she was a necessary burden to tolerate whilst he rebuilt his relationship with his son.

‘Yeah, I guess I can,’ she said with a spark of defiance. ‘Someone will have to look after the girls. Unless of course Max is over.’

She saw the anger flash through his eyes at the casual mention of Max’s name, but she refused to look away. She was allowed to speak the truth, wasn’t she? Max’s existence couldn’t be hidden or ignored, no matter what Emil might wish. If he was going to win his wife – his family – back, then he was going to have to go through Max first.

His eyes narrowed, the mood between them changing, becoming darker again. ‘You like him.’

‘You would too. He’s a good man,’ she shrugged. ‘And a great father. He loves his kids.’

‘And I don’t?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘But you don’t think I’m a good father.’

‘I didn’t say that either.’

‘But you think it.’

She sighed, taking the empty glass from him and turning away. ‘I should go—’

He caught her by the wrist, and she felt how cold her skin was in comparison to his hand. She needed to get out of her wet clothes. She was shivering. ‘I’ve seen it in your eyes. You disapprove of how I’m trying to win back my son.’

‘It’s not my place to disapprove. I’m just the nanny.’

‘No you’re not. You’re not “just” anything, and we both know it. You’re everywhere, all the time.’ Bitterness and a hot anger spiked every word. Doctor Sorensen had warned that volatility was one of the signs of concussion, but this felt more than just that.