The Wild Heir(34)

“I’m going, I’m going,” she says, shuffling backward and turning away from Einar’s reach. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you know who I am?”

Einar just stands there, arms crossed, and I’m more than grateful for his formidable silent type persona right now because it hints at how lethal the man can be. I mean, I’ve never seen it myself, but my father has told me stories and he certainly plays the part.

At any rate, Heidi takes heed. She turns and walks away, swaying slightly, until she disappears around the corner. I feel a twang of pity for her. I know from the few dates we went on that she’s a little lost, neglected by her father, obsessed with notoriety and attention. But my pity doesn’t stretch that far. I’m still not convinced it wasn’t her that leaked the sex tape to the press.

Satisfied that Heidi won’t be returning, Einar turns around and gives me a nod.

“Back in Tromso, we had a name for women like her,” he says gravely. “A barnacle.”

I laugh and slap Einar on the back. “If you say she’s a barnacle, she’s a barnacle.”

“What would you call her?” he asks.

I think for a moment. “Psycho hose beast.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t heard of that one,” he says. “But I must say it fits.”



The next morning I’m woken up with a call from my mother.

“She’s coming today. I need you here in thirty minutes,” she says.

I rub the heel of my palm between my eyes and groan. “What are you talking about? Who? What time is it?”

“The time? It’s time for you to grow up,” she says sharply. “Why on earth are you sleeping until ten o’clock? Half the morning is gone already.”

I sigh and roll over, trying to wake up. I don’t think I slept very well. Running into Heidi right before I went to bed was bad timing.

“Who is coming?” I repeat.

“Princess Isabella of Liechtenstein.”

“Okay, first of all you don’t have to say her full name every time. And second of all…what?”

My mother gives an overblown sigh I can practically feel whistle through my ear. “She’s coming over. She and her lady.”

“To Norway? So she said yes?”

My heart is already racing. The fear is real.

“Not exactly,” she says after a pause. “She said she has a lot to discuss with us. Negotiations. It’s to be expected, I suppose. I’m not sure you made the best impression on her so you better not screw it up this time. If you don’t win her over, I don’t think she’s coming back.”

My mother is right. I know I didn’t leave a good impression on Ella and I don’t know why I was so surprised that she didn’t want anything thing to do with marrying me when she normally would never give me the time of day.

But winning her over sounds like a rather tall order.

Doesn’t mean I won’t try.

“Okay,” I tell her, swinging my legs out of bed. “I’ll come right over.”

“Oh, and Magnus. Do shave. And do something with your hair. This isn’t the medieval ages and you’re not a Viking.”

I grumble something and hang up. I’m not sure if this outing calls for a suit again but because I’m expected to make a better second impression, I pull out a black suit anyway, no tie (lest my mother be outraged). But I don’t touch my hair. I run an electric razor over my beard and raze it down to stubble, but I refuse to be clean shaven.

That will have to do.

Soon, Einar is pulling in through the palace gates and Ottar is trying to rein in his curiosity. I told him he should come since negotiations sometime involve paperwork, and paperwork is my nemesis. I think he’s just overjoyed to be involved in this thing anyway he can be.

Ella won’t arrive for another hour, or so my mother says, so that gives us time to gather in the sitting room and fret.

Actually, I’m not the one fretting. My father is upstairs taking a nap, though I’m assured he’ll be down later. Mari is at school, so it’s just my mother, Tor, and her lawyer, Sigurd, and of course me and Ottar.

My mother is pacing back and forth, dressed to the nines in a bright fuchsia silk pantsuit, and I can see where I at least get some of my fidgeting tendencies from.

“Princess Isabella might try to play hardball with us,” she says.

“I would assume so,” I tell her, watching her go back and forth. “There isn’t much for her to gain here.”

She stops pacing and faces me, shock pulling back her face. “Are you serious, Magnus? Nothing to gain? She would become a princess and eventually a queen. The queen. She’ll take my place.”

“She’s already a princess,” I remind her.

“But she’ll never be a queen of her country, even if she didn’t have her brothers. That’s not how it works in their country. No woman will ever inherit the throne. It’s their law. Isabella will never be able to move past her title, and it’s one without many privileges.”

“I really don’t think she has any interest in being queen.”

“How would you know? You barely spoke to her.”

“Well, according to father, I spoke to her long enough to propose to her. You know, I wasn’t going to say this to him because he’s under enough stress as it is, but he really fucked things up there.”