“The girls seem to be livelier with her here,” he says, and then he catches himself because he has no fucking business ever commenting on the girls. It’s the one thing he’s not allowed to discuss with me.
I eye him sharply until he looks away, his attention back to the window.
He’s not wrong, of course. The girls do seem happier. It’s only been a week but I’ve been checking in on them when I can, together and individually, and both Clara and Freja are all smiles, always talking excitedly about what Aurora taught them that day or what game they played. Some of that sadness I’ve seen in their eyes has been pushed aside for now. I’m sure time will tell if this is just a matter of the nanny being shiny and new or if this is something positive that will last, but for now I’ll take what I can get. Anything to let the tragedy of losing their mother take a back seat, to let them be kids again.
Maja, too, seems pleased with the progress, if not a little vague about it all. I have a feeling there are some things she’s not telling me and I gladly file those away under things I don’t want to know. But overall she says she’s happy with her, even if Aurora is a little green when it comes to being a royal nanny.
Where Maja sees green, however, I see defiance. There’s something about her that gets under my skin in ways I can’t articulate. Maybe it’s her effortlessly cheery disposition or the way she antagonizes me at every chance. Okay, perhaps antagonize is a strong word. Tease might be better. Or aggravate. Annoy. In all my years of growing up heir to the throne of Denmark and then King, I’ve never had anyone talk to me the way that she does, not even my own children when they’re acting out. It’s like she’s testing me to see how far she can take it, the fact that I’m only the person who pays her salary, nothing more.
Which, I hate to admit, irks me. The last thing I want to be is pompous and arrogant but there is a certain level of respect that she’s not giving me. The few times I’ve voiced this to Maja, she’s just given me a wry little smile of sorts, either because it’s all in my head or because I deserve it.
Perhaps it’s both.
When I get back to the palace, everything is silent and calm. Eerily calm. I call out and hear nothing. I go to the third floor and peek in the girl’s room but it’s empty. I knock on Aurora’s door but there’s no answer.
I open it anyway. I actually haven’t been in here since she moved in and I’m surprised to see how clean and well-organized it is. There’s something about Aurora that makes me think she’ll just make a mess of her surroundings, and that chaos follows her everywhere. Maybe it’s because when she wears her long brown hair down it seems to have a wild life of its own. Maybe it’s the mischievous glint in her dark eyes or the fact I rarely see her serious. Her smile is something else, charming, wide and uninhibited, and she must be told often how disarming it is, so that’s why she uses it like a weapon.
Thankfully, it doesn’t work on me.
I walk over to her desk and am surprised to see the Norwood handbook open with passages highlighted. Beside it is a notebook where she’s scribbled down to-do lists and made points from chapters from the book, as if this is homework for school.
I have to say I’m impressed. I didn’t think she was taking this position as seriously as she should, but perhaps the only thing she doesn’t take seriously is me. I flip through the rest of the handbook and see she’s highlighted almost every page she’s read, with more notes made in the margins.
I then go through some of her notebook, wondering what else she might have written down. I can’t say that snooping is a habit of mine, and I certainly don’t think I’m allowed to go through her stuff just because I’m her boss but I can’t help but be a little more curious about her now.
Only there doesn’t seem to be anything else but notes on how to be a better nanny. I don’t know if I was expecting a whole dear diary session entitled “Why I Hate Aksel” or something to that like.
Laughter takes my focus away from the books, reminding me that I probably shouldn’t be in here, and I cautiously step toward the window and peek outside. Her room faces the back and the triangle of a yard below. It’s mostly grass with a small playhouse in the corner, a trampoline, outdoor seating, and a large privacy hedge and security fence along one side, keeping it protected from the street.
Aurora and the girls are sitting at a small wooden table in the middle of the yard, all three of them too big for the plastic chairs that I bought for them when they were younger. That hasn’t stopped them from having what looks like a tea party of sorts, with stuffed animals having joined the fun. The girls and Aurora are all dressed up in fancy hats and cloaks, and even Karla, who is carrying out a tray of cookies, has been forced to wear a unicorn horn on her head.
I can’t help but smile at the sight and something in my chest pinches. It’s the kind of joy that hurts, just a bit. That feeling of warmth on your skin after a long, cold, dark winter. I can’t remember the last time I saw them playing like this and I know that no nanny—hell, not even Helena—ever indulged them in this way. Just let them be little girls having a tea party.
For helvede. Maybe I should go a little easier on her.
Not wanting to see my girls from afar when they’re like this, I head downstairs all the way to the French doors that lead out onto the lawn.
“Papa!” Clara yells with a mouthful of food as she waves at me frantically from the table. “Come join our party.”
I saunter on over, squinting into the sun. Autumn has settled on us over the last few days, the sun lower in the sky now and perpetually in your eyes, the air growing crisp at night. Right now it’s still sunny and warm—tea party perfect—but soon the sun will be traded in for rain.
I stop in front of them and look over the table. There are finger-sized sandwiches, cookies and scones on Helena’s good china, plus cups of tea and pots of jam and cream. Both the jam and cream are all over Clara and Freja’s smiling faces and all the way down their napkins tucked into the front of their dresses.
“I hope you don’t mind me wearing this,” Aurora says carefully, and I shift my attention over to her. For once she’s not in her blouse and that terrible mini-skirt but rather a long green satiny gown with billowy sleeves and a corset body, a matching hat set at an angle on her head. “I found it in a closet full of clothes in one of the empty bedrooms.”
“I told her she had to wear it,” Clara says before trying to serve a cookie to the teddy bear beside her.
I raise my brow at Aurora. “I’m fairly certain that gown is from the late 1800s. Belonging to my great-grandmother.”
Her face falls, that bright smile wiped off her face. “I’m so sorry. I can get changed and put it back.”
I raise my hand, remembering that she’s trying. And if she’s also making my children smile, then it’s worth it. “Don’t worry about it. I suppose it’s better on you than being kept in a closet. I was thinking of donating all of it to a museum or something but I just don’t have the time to go through it. Perhaps when you’re done playing dress up, that’s something you can tackle.”
Aurora nods, a hint of smile back, her eyes still wide and warm. “Absolutely.”
The truth is, I don’t even know what’s in half the rooms in this place. After my father died and Helena and I moved in here, we didn’t have the luxury of time to go through everything. This palace is just hoard of family history that I haven’t even begun to explore.
“Oh listen, now that you’re here,” Aurora says and she tries to get to her feet, only getting off the tiny chair is a challenge in itself. Soon she’s stepping on the end of the dress and falling forward.
I stick my arm out and catch her before she face-plants into the grass. She looks up at me, her hat now falling over the front of her face. “Thanks, I almost ate sh—” She glances over her shoulder at the girls who are staring at her. “Grass there. Almost ate grass.”
She adjusts her hat and then the front of her dress, which, to my dismay, is on the low-cut side, showing
off the full, pale swells of her breasts. I avert my eyes and take in a deep breath through my nose. What is wrong with me? First Aurora wears a sweater that reminds me of my father, then she wears my great-grandmother’s dress, and yet somehow I’m still turned on.
No, I remind myself. You’re not turned on. Get your head on straight and listen to what she has to say.
I take a step back from her, which makes her frown, and then ask, “What is it you want to talk to me about?” I clear my throat, making sure my voice sounds distant.
“Oh, you see…” she says and then she quickly glances at the girls before taking a step toward me.
I take another step back.
She scoffs, making a face. “Do you think I bite or something?”
I suppose I am being rather ridiculous. “What is it?”
She takes another step and my shoulders stiffen, making a point not to move an inch. I can’t say why having her so close to me makes me uncomfortable but it might be both the fact that her breasts are nearly pressed up against me and that she smells like sunshine.
“I wanted to talk to you about the girls,” she says, lowering her voice and looking up at me through her long eyelashes. Dear lord, does she know how she both looks and sounds right now?
Aksel, focus.
“What about them? Are they alright?” I look over her shoulder at them and they’re back to feeding treats to their teddy bears and giggling happily.
“They’re great,” she says. “But every night at dinner they’re upset that you aren’t there. Maja tells them you’re busy and they understand but I really think it would mean a lot to them if you started eating with us.”
Oh.
I swallow, feeling like a dirty dishcloth. “I see. I didn’t realize that.”
“Maybe just a few times a week?” she suggests hopefully, gnawing on her full bottom lip for a moment. I’m just now noticing that she rarely wears any makeup, nor does she need to. The natural color of her lips is this rich, deep pink. “Your Highness?” she prompts.
“Huh?” I say, blinking, and then realize I must have been lost there. “Yes. No.”
“Yes no what?”
“I agree.” I raise my chin, clearing my throat. “I should be there. I’ve been busy with paperwork and some events, but I don’t have to attend every dinner I’m invited to and I can always do my work later.”
Aurora breaks into a smile. Jesus, why can’t I breathe?
I look away, focusing on the girls. “Hey girls, would you like that?”
I brush past Aurora, and the strange hold she has on me, and walk back over to the table.
“Like what, Papa?” Freja asks in her small voice.
“If I started having dinner with you more. I realize I should be there and I’m going to do what I can to make it happen more often.”
“Yay!” Clara exclaims while Freja gives me a deep, adorable smile.
“I’ll start tonight. Maybe it’s not too late to have Karla whip up your favorite dish.”
Clara frowns. “What’s our favorite dish? Macaroni and cheese?”
“No,” I tell her, and I can hear Helena’s voice in my head admonishing them for even knowing what mac and cheese is. “Roast chicken with cloudberries, bacon mashed potatoes and gravy.”
“No way,” says Clara while Freja wrinkles her nose.
“But you love that meal,” I tell them, confused.
“No. No chicken, no bacon.”
“No meat,” Freja says. “We’re veterinarians.”
“You’re what?”
“It’s vegetarians,” Clara corrects her sister and then lifts her chin at me defiantly. “We’re vegetarians now, Papa.”
“Since when?” I cry out. I glance over at Aurora hoping she’s got the same “they’re crazy” look on her face, but she’s looking down at the grass and biting her lip. The fuck?
“Since Aurora told us we could be,” Clara says. “And that is that.”
“That is that?” I repeat sharply. I grab Aurora by the arm and pull her away from the girl’s earshot. “What the hell is going on? My daughters are vegetarian now?”
She gives me a helpless look. “I’m sorry. It just came up.”
“It came up?”
“Well, it’s not like they’re vegans. Though there wouldn’t be anything wrong with that either.”
Fucking hell, what is wrong with this woman? I let go of her arm before I can grip it any tighter. “For helvede,” I swear. “You are not turning them vegan. They eat fish. We eat fish in this country and you aren’t taking that away from them!”
Aurora gives me a sympathetic smile, the kind of smile that makes me want to yell at her more. “It can’t do any harm.”
“Harm? Now Karla has to make two separate meals.”
“Or you could eat vegetarian,” she says.
“Are you even a vegetarian?” I cry out.
“No. But it doesn’t bother me that other people are.”
I shake my head, my jaw clenched. “Let me get one thing straight here, okay?” I growl, leaning into her so that the girls don’t hear. “You are their nanny. You are not their mother. Got that? You don’t get to make decisions like that. Those are my decisions to make.”
Anger sparks in her eyes, and I know she hates that I’m talking to her this way but frankly I don’t care. “You have to learn your place here in this palace,” I remind her. “You’re not part of the family. You’re just the help. You’re an employee of mine. And those girls there, those girls are not your sisters and they aren’t your friend. So, if you want to keep being paid to live in this house and do this job, you’re not to make any decisions like that without consulting me first. Got it?”
She presses her lips together and looks away.
“Do you want me to repeat that in Danish because I’m pretty sure you understand English,” I tell her.
“Yes,” she mumbles, and a bit of pink creeps up on her cheeks, her neck growing flushed as well. “I’m sorry I said it was okay. I should have deferred and then asked you to make the final decision.”
I watch her closely, trying to see if she’s lying, watching to see if she’s going to slip up and roll her eyes at me because I swear to god, if she does, she’s out of here. But she’s avoiding my gaze and she’s grown silent, which is a whole new thing for us. It’s scary, if anything.
“Look,” I say quickly, aware that the girls are still staring at us and picking up on our rigid, hostile body language. “I know you’re trying. I know you’re studying that handbook and highlighting important things. It’s just that—”
“How do you know that?” she says sharply, her eyes narrowing at me.
Ah. Right.
“I, uh, was in your room.”
“When?” she cries out.
“Just now.”
“Why?” She steps away from me, her eyes so full of vehemence that I shrink a little. “Why would you do that?”
“I wasn’t snooping,” I tell her, my attitude automatically getting haughty. “I was looking for you and I happened to see your handbook and notebook out on the desk.”
“You looked through my notebook?”
I swallow and glance at the girls again. This time, Clara’s brows are halfway up her forehead, staring at me expectantly. “All I saw were notes that you jotted down from the handbook. That’s all. Nanny things.”
“And what if that had been a diary? What if I’d written down my personal thoughts and feelings in there? Does that mean nothing to you?”
I raise my hands in surrender, aware that her voice is cracking and I’m not sure what she’s going to do next. Would she hit me right here in front of the girls, in my own palace? “I meant no harm.”
“No harm?” she repeats, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You know what, Your Majesty? You expect me to treat you with respect but you give me none in return. We can keep dancing back and forth like this but the truth is, this won’t work until you and I are equals. I know where I sta
nd with your family, don’t think I’ve forgotten my role, but my place in their lives isn’t as cut and dry as you think it is. Now I’m sorry that your daughters have decided to be vegetarians, but in the end it’s their choice what they decide to put into their bodies. In the end, it’s them who makes these decisions, not me, not you.”
“And now, if you’ll excuse me.” She clears her throat loudly, and with one hand makes a sharp adjustment of her hat. “I have a tea party I need to get back to.”
She turns on her heel, holding the rest of her long dress in her hands, and walks as gracefully as she can back to the table.
I swear Freja gives me the stink eye.
With a heavy sigh, I leave them and head back into the palace.
Chapter 7
Aurora
October
“Tivoli! Tivoooooooooli!”
The sound of Clara’s yelling breaks through my dreams. What’s going on and what the hell is Tivoli? I quickly try and remember my dream and I’m pretty sure Jason Momoa was in it again, wearing a crown, and so whatever interrupted that better be damn good.
I roll over in bed and blindly reach for my phone to check the time. Then I remember it’s Saturday and there’s no reason Clara should be up at 8 am and yelling for whoever or whatever Tivoli is.
Bang, bang, bang.
My door practically comes off the hinges thanks to someone pounding incessantly at it. Come to think of it, it sounds like two people are pounding at it. Little people.
“What is it?” I cry out, and even in my annoyance at the wake-up call, I manage to switch to Danish. “Hvad er det?”
Even though I’ve only been living in Denmark for three weeks now, I’ve managed to pick up a handful of phrases, most of them via the girls. I can also say “Jeg orker det simpelthen ikke” which means “I simply can’t be bothered” which is what Clara often says, accompanied by her dramatically falling on her bed, when I ask her to help clean up their room.
“Tivoli!” they yell in unison and so I’m up in just my sleepshirt and boxers, padding across the dimly lit room to open the door.
A Nordic King Page 8
