The Wild Heir(29)

Mari just nods. “We will see you in the morning.”

Jane raises her glass of champagne. “Cheers, Princess.”

Magnus guides me out of the parlor room and into the hall.

“Elevators are right over here,” he says as we walk along the tile floor. “Your room will be on the third floor. That’s pretty much the real ‘house’ of this whole place.”

He presses the button for the elevator and I blurt out, “And if we were to be married, would we be staying here or have a palace of our own?”

He frowns. “You’re rather confusing, did anyone ever tell you that?”

“And your family is bloody insane, has anyone ever told you that?”

The elevator doors ding open as if on cue. He gestures with his arm. “After you.” Then he steps inside, standing beside me. “And yes, I’ve been told that. A lot of people blame my mother for being a commoner and introducing her wild blood and ways into the family, but to be honest with you, she’s the sane one here.”

“I can tell. She’s the one who has no idea what’s going on and I know once the truth comes out, she’s going to be furious with your father.”

The elevator doors open. We step out into the hall but don’t move.

“What did my father do?” he asks.

I tilt my head, really examining him. Aside from being tall and burly and, well, fidgety, he seems to come by his confusion honestly.

“That’s why I wanted to talk to you in private.”

“So getting me to escort you to your room wasn’t an invitation?”

“Are you kidding me?” I shake my head. “No. Why does everything have to do with sex when it comes to you?”

He shrugs, grins. It’s charming and it shouldn’t be. “I don’t know, I guess I’m just used to it. Bad habits, Your Highness.”

“Well, I guess you can chalk me up to being one of your bad habits,” I say with a sigh as I look up and down the halls. The palace is opulent, but up here in the residential wing, things are a lot more subdued. No more marble statues, just rustic paintings instead. It’s almost homey.

“What does that mean?”

“How about you show me to my room first?”

He squints at me. “I swear you’re a different person from the one at the start of dinner. Maybe even two seconds ago.”

I choke on a laugh. “No kidding. The person I was at the start of dinner had no bloody idea what the hell she was getting herself into. Now I do.”

“Your British slang is very cute.”

“Get stuffed.”

“There you go again,” he says but starts off walking down the hall, gesturing with a nod of his head for me to follow him.

He opens the door to one of the rooms, and I step inside as he flicks the lights on. It’s smaller than I thought and maybe a bit drafty, but the bed looks warm, with loads of wool blankets piled on top. My little suitcase is sitting on an ottoman.

I turn around to look at him, feeling more indignant than nervous now.

“So, if you didn’t invite me up here for nefarious purposes, what did you invite me here for?” he asks.

I take in a deep breath. I feel like this evening has just been a series of very deep breaths. “That was my father on the phone.”

“Yes, I figured that.”

“Your father and he had a long chat while we were out in the garden.”

He purses his lips. “Okay…”

“Your father,” I continue, “told my father that you were proposing to me.”

Magnus stares at me for a second, eyes wide as it very slowly sinks into his thick skull. “But…I wasn’t. I mean, I was telling you the deal, the truth and all that, but…oh fucking hell. Do they think…does your father think this is actually a real official thing?”

He’s starting to freak out. It makes me feel good for a nanosecond to know that this wasn’t what he expected either.

“Yes. Your father said you were proposing and that’s why I was invited here, and he said we were a good match. My father automatically assumed I had said yes, because for crying out loud, why would I ever say no to anyone?”

Okay, so that last outburst is more about me than it is about him, but still.

“And you didn’t tell him otherwise?”

“This isn’t about me, okay?”

He looks out into the hall and then shuts the door behind him so it’s just the both of us in this room. “It kind of is. First you shoot me down, repeatedly, like you’re playing Duck Hunt and running out of quarters—”

“You’re twenty-eight! Why are you referencing things that are old? And anyway, I never shot you down because you never asked me anything.”

“I told you the plan.”

“Yes, in some round about half-assed way.”

“Hey, I was putting my full ass into it,” he says snidely. “You’re forgetting the big picture here, and that is…why the hell didn’t you tell him that my father was being premature and talking out of line?”

“You don’t know my father,” I tell him. “Or our relationship. To say it’s strained is putting it mildly, and anyway I didn’t exactly want to admit that your father, the King of Norway, is a big fat liar!”