A Nordic King(23)

I poke my head into the dining room and see him come in from the hallway. The girls immediately squeal “Papa!” and clamor out of their chairs, running over to him.

He smiles—the first time I’ve ever seen him fully smile—and scoops them both up into his arms. “Hvordan har mine sm? engle det?”

The girls both start talking excitedly all at once, and while they have his rapt attention, I linger back in the doorframe to the kitchen, watching him.

Even though he’s still an imposing figure with his large, tall frame in a sharp grey suit with a white dress shirt underneath (no tie), and his hair perfectly arranged, there’s something about him that seems more real. His features seem less sharp and when his eyes are focused on his daughters, all the ice and chill seems to drain from them, becoming something warm and bright. I didn’t think it was possible for him to get more handsome, but there you have it.

And seeing him doting on his girls might be setting my ovaries on fire.

Then Clara says my name, and his gaze goes across the table over to me in the doorway and the fire is quickly put out. His eyes freeze over in total disapproval. Perhaps for a moment there he forgot I existed and now I’m just harsh reality.

“Good evening, sir,” I say to him, offering a quick curtsey, which I know is totally not necessary at this point. “How was your day?”

He frowns as if I shouldn’t be speaking at all. Maybe I shouldn’t be. Too late.

“Just fine,” he says, clearing his throat, and then his gaze drops from my face down to my legs, with a brief, confused in-between stop at my boyfriend cardigan. I’m not sure he likes what he sees or … no … no wait, that’s definitely a look of disdain for my short skirt.

“Aurora did very well with the girls,” Maja says, helping Clara and Freja down from his arms.

He makes a dismissive sound and manages to tear his eyes away from my legs to look at Maja. There’s something about the arrogant set of his jaw that makes him look like he’s perpetually seething. “Where’s Karla?”

Maja nods at the kitchen. “In there. There are a lot of leftovers,” she adds, then gives me a knowing look. I suppose that’s my fault.

Aksel walks toward me and I quickly step out of the way as he brushes past me to the kitchen and starts talking to Karla in Danish. I can’t help but breathe in deep through my nose. He smells like salt air and pine and things that are bracing and invigorating, and my god, I need to stop this right now.

“I’ll take the girls upstairs,” Maja says, and for a moment I feel like she’s trying to leave me alone with King Aksel. Then she adds, “I’ll be sure to print out the schedule for you. After dinner, you get some private time of your own. It’s very important to reflect on the day and recharge, at least in the beginning.”

Right. Why do I feel like the “reflecting” thing is akin to sitting in the corner and thinking about what I’ve done, AKA turning the children into vegetarians? I watch as they leave the dining room and figure I should probably head out into the streets of Copenhagen to see the city and get my bearings before it gets too dark. Or maybe just go upstairs, read the nanny handbook, and get my room properly organized.

“Where did they go?” Aksel says from behind me, and I whirl around to see him standing there and eating cranberry apple pie from a plate in his hand, leaning against the doorframe. Again, I’m struck by how casual this seems. He keeps vacillating between being an all-powerful king and a regular guy. One that eats pie for dinner.

“She’s taking them upstairs. Apparently, I get private time right now.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, just calmly forks a piece of pie into his mouth and chews, his eyes never leaving my face.

I swallow, feeling extra awkward. “So, uh, I think I’ll go to my room and get myself organized.”

He nods and I turn to leave, not wanting to get trapped in his vibe, when he says, “Perhaps you should think of having a uniform.”

I stop and look at him over my shoulder. “A uniform?”

“Yes,” he says, his eyes dropping to my legs again and back up. “I’ll have Maja give you some money—we’ll cover the expense. I know the nannies from Norwood wear a uniform, you know, the book you’re reading.” His voice drops as he spears his pie again. “And hopefully learning from.”

I ignore that last remark. “What sort of uniform?”

“Something … tasteful. At least so there’s consistency. We do have a reputation to uphold here at the palace and a nanny in uniform would help.”

I try not to narrow my eyes at him. I know what he’s saying. That I look tawdry in my short skirt. If he were anyone else I would have told him about my stuck zipper and that I was wearing the skirt by mistake. But he’s King Asshole and now? Now I’m going to do the opposite.

“Of course,” I say, a wicked smile spreading across my face. “Something consistent. Got it.”

I know he doesn’t quite trust my expression, nor should he. But I walk away, calling out to him, “Good night, Your Majesty,” before I disappear from his view, leaving him alone with his pie.





Chapter 6





Aksel





That short fucking skirt.