A Nordic King(24)

It’s been a week since the nanny’s first day on the job, when she wore that ridiculously short black skirt, and I absolutely hate the fact that I still can’t get the image of her in it out of my head. It should have helped that the skirt in question was paired with the kind of coarse, itchy sweater my father used to wear, but it didn’t.

Now I think she’s trying to kill me.

In fact, I know she is. That woman has spite coming out of her pores. When I saw her the next day after her shopping spree on Copenhagen’s Str?get, she proudly showed me her array of solid-colored miniskirts and patterned blouses. “The skirt and the top may change color,” she’d said with a bright smile, “but the overall look will be consistent.”

And of course I couldn’t quite come out and tell her that her legs were distracting. So now, I’m just trying to deal with it the best way I can. By completely avoiding her.

“And how was the Prime Minister?” Nicklas asks from the front seat where he sits beside Johan, my driver. I’d just come out of the weekly meeting I have with the prime minister, and while there’s been nothing new or substantial about our meetings lately, Nicklas always has to know. I’ve brought it up a few times that some things are none of his business, especially when he meddles too much, but he always plays up the part of being the dutiful assistant, always trying to help.

I don’t buy it for a second. But there’s nothing I can really do about it. Keep your enemies close is something I’ve taken to heart. It’s something I’ll have to take to my grave.

“Same old,” I tell him, hoping I sound dismissive enough.

“And so how is the nanny working out?” he asks after a pause.

I glance up, and he’s eyeing me in the mirror. I swear he’s smirking.

“She’s fine.” And that’s all I want to say on that subject.

More silence. Then, “I can see why you chose her.”

I look at him sharply. “How do you mean?”

He raises his pale brows in overblown innocence. “All I mean is, she’s a breath of fresh air.”

I grunt in response and go back to flipping through the newspaper, even though I read all these headlines this morning. She’s fresh air all right, the kind that seeps in through the cracks and into your bones until you’ve caught a damn cold.

“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.