A Nordic King(25)

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 miniskirt 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.