The Wild Heir(90)

She closes her eyes and blows a strand of hair off her face. “No, it wasn’t just you. I called my father, and, well, I got him on the phone.”

Uh oh. “And?”

“And he was short with me. I mean it was fine, he said he was coming to the wedding and that he’ll talk to your father about it. But he was off the phone with me so fast, it was like his castle was on fire or something. I really thought he would have been more receptive but…I dunno. Maybe this doesn’t change anything.”

At this point I’m not sure what I’m going to say to my future father-in-law when I finally meet him because he’s put Ella through the ringer enough times by now.

“It’s going to be okay,” I tell her. “I promise.”

“How do you know that?”

“I don’t know, I just feel it. It’s a royal wedding. No matter what, everyone is going to be on their best behaviour.”

“Great. So that means I’ll have my father there pretending that he cares about me.”

“Ella, you can’t go into this like that. You’ll just set yourself up for disaster. It’s not about him anyway. It’s about us. And I promise you when that day comes, and we stand before each other at that altar, there will be only truth between us. Okay?”

She nods. “Okay.” She sighs, and her eyes start to droop closed. “What happened to the old Magnus?”

I stiffen. “The fun one?”

“You’re still the fun one. I mean the man-child. I only now see the man.”

I lean down and rub my lips along hers. “Oh, I’ll show you the man, all right.”





Twenty





Ella





“Here comes the bride, all dressed in white!”

Welcome to my new alarm clock.

Apparently, it’s Jane, sneaking into my room in the wee hours and singing this song. But before I can laugh at how horrible a singer she is and how obnoxious she’s being and how much I want to keep sleeping, it all hits me like a hot frying pan to the face.

Today is the day.

I’m getting married today.

It’s actually happening.

I open my eyes to see Jane holding a tray of food and coffee.

I slowly sit up. “What is this?”

“Well, since this is the first morning in over a month that you’ve slept in this bed here and not with your husband-to-be, I decided to take advantage of that and bring you breakfast in bed.”

She places the tray down on the bed and then hustles over to the windows, opening the curtains. It’s been snowing for the last few days, though today the sun is out, and everything is blinding and bright.

This should be a good omen.

As is Jane bringing me food.

I stare down at the tray, eagerly going for the cup of coffee and slice of cake. I turn my nose up at the pickled herring strewn bread in the corner. “Jane?” I gesture to it. “I’m not eating that.”

“Sorry,” she says cheerfully, snatching it up and cradling it in her hand like it’s a precious gem. “This is for me.”

“Since when do you eat pickled herring?”

“Since I decided to become as Norwegian as possible,” she says, taking a large bite. I grimace and turn away. “Today I’ll stand before the public as your maid of honor, and I want them to know I’m fully embracing their culture.”

“Well, then I’m sure they’ll appreciate your culinary sacrifice,” I tell her as I take a sip of coffee. I close my eyes. It’s bliss. I feel like I’ve gotten no sleep these last few days and it was only last night when I went to bed early that I was able to get some shut-eye, AKA my beauty sleep.

It helps that Magnus stayed at the royal palace in Oslo last night as part of the tradition of the bride and groom not seeing each other before the wedding. I love that man, but my god does he tire you out sometimes, especially in the bedroom. He can go all night. I can go once, okay, usually twice when he’s working his magic. But then I need to sleep.

“Are you nervous?” Jane asks. “How do you feel?”

I give her a dry smile. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re handling all of this rather calmly. The last few days with all your fittings and that damn drama with your tiara, you’ve been taking it in stride. I’m impressed.”

That damn tiara. It’s customary for those marrying into the royal family to wear their own tiara at the wedding, given to them from their own country or family. I’m not sure what the protocol is if you’re not of royal blood but in any case, I had to get Schnell to send it from Liechtenstein. Only it was never sent.

Now, he and my father arrived in Oslo last night and are also staying at the royal palace and apparently have the tiara with them. I just hope I get that thing on my head before I’m walked down the aisle.

I really should just be grateful that my father came at all. I know it would have been in very bad taste if he didn’t—he really does care about a better relationship with Norway—but I hate the feeling that I was pulling teeth with him. I mean, my brothers aren’t coming, and they were invited.

I sigh. I’m not upset that they’re not coming, per se, but I do feel slighted. They’ve never given a damn about me and maybe it’s because I was sent away from them so young, it was easy to forget I existed, but even so it brings back all those feelings of being not wanted and not good enough.