A Nordic King

I immediately sit up and then remember Clara and Freja are on either side of me.

“What is it?” Clara asks through a yawn and squints at the morning sun already coming in through the curtains. We must have slept in, even for a Sunday.

“Aurora!” Aksel’s voice booms from the other side of the door as he knocks on it again. “I need to speak with you. Now.”

“He’s found Snarf Snarf,” Freja says quietly, fear in her eyes as she climbs out of bed. As much as the girls said he’ll let them have their way, I think they also know that having a pet pig isn’t meant to be.

“Just a minute!” I call out, getting out of bed alongside the girls. I pull on my robe and give them both a pained look. “This is it, girls. Say goodbye to Snarf Snarf.”

I go over to the door and open it.

Aksel’s eyes are like sharpened ice as he stares at me, a cold rage building behind them. Then he sees the girls on either side of me, and his expression instantly changes to one of confusion. “Why are you girls in here?”

“We slept with Aurora last night,” Clara says.

“Why?” He glances at me, the line deepening between his brows.

“Because…” Freja begins.

“The girls wanted a slumber party,” I fill in quickly. I’m not bringing up Snarf Snarf until I have to and it’s possible he wants to yell at me over something else entirely.

“I see,” he says, clearing his throat. “Well, you better run along to your room. I need to speak to your nanny in private.”

Clara and Freja exchange a look, brows raised, and then quickly scamper off down the hall, shooting me one last wary look before they go in their room. So I’m guessing this isn’t about the kidnapped pig at all.

“What, uh, is it?” I ask as he pushes past me, striding into the middle of the room while he takes out his phone.

I slowly close the door behind me and turn to face him. I’m not going any closer.

“This,” he says emphatically, holding the phone out for me to see, his arm stiff. I have no choice but to come forward until I see the screen.

It’s a picture of me.

No.

A breathless gasp falls from my lips as I take the phone from him.

I have no idea what it says but it’s obviously some Danish tabloid or gossip site and there’s a whole slew of pictures of me and the girls from yesterday. Of course, they’re all terribly unflattering and you can almost see up my skirt from the picture where I’m crouching down and trying to console Clara.

“You have two seconds to explain yourself,” he says.

“That’s hardly enough time,” I say weakly, because fuck, it’s worse than I imagined. Why are there so many pictures? Oh shit, there’s even a video! Some wanker was videoing us at the part when I told them I’d sue them!

I give the phone back to Aksel and put my face in my hands, trying to breathe. I didn’t think this invasion of privacy would bother me like this but it’s so much worse than I imagined. I feel absolutely violated, and more than that, I feel like I failed as a nanny. My job was to take care of Clara and Freja and this feels like I flat-out failed. This didn’t protect them at all, and now they’re tabloid fodder all because of me.

“You fucked up,” Aksel says, and his words are knives into my heart, only adding to the pain. “Part of your job description is to keep these girls away from the paparazzi and to keep them calm and orderly. They aren’t some daughters of a CEO in France, they are heirs to the throne of Denmark!”

I turn and glare at him, feeling heat rising up my throat, spreading across my face. “They’re still girls, and girls are going to have breakdowns and temper tantrums every now and then.” I don’t know where I find the nerve to argue back but I feel like I’m at a breaking point.

His jaw clenches as he angrily shoves the phone back in his robe. It’s only now that I’m realizing he’s just in pajamas underneath. He must have woken up and seen this first thing. “Your job, Aurora, is to make sure these temper tantrums are managed. Your job isn’t to make it worse. Yelling at the public like that? Threatening to sue? Do you know how that looks? Do you know what you’ve done?”

God, he’s mean. So handsome and so mean.

“Well, they shouldn’t be filming us!” I yell. “If it were anyone else they wouldn’t dare!”

“That’s because we’re not anyone else! I don’t care who you worked for before, none of it counts. I don’t think you’ve gotten it through your thick skull yet that this is a royal fucking family.”

Whoa. Whoa. “Thick skull?” I repeat, and now I feel hot tears prickling behind my eyes.

Oh my god. Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry here!

“Yes,” he says, though he hesitates slightly. “Because you don’t act like you get it. I haven’t changed my opinion about you. You’re just not fit for this job, you’re not cut out for it. If you were, then this wouldn’t happen.”

Holy fuck. This hurts. I mean, this hurts. I knew he was an asshole but his words never hurt me until now. Jesus, why am I even letting him get to me?

Maybe because I believe it myself.

Maybe because he’s right.

Maybe because it’s been nearly a month and I still feel like I’ve barely got my head above water. I’ve been trying so hard to persevere and stay positive and go with the flow but … but …

The tears start to spill.

Shit. I can’t cry in front of him. He’ll probably fire me for crying if he hasn’t fired me already.

I turn away from him, choking on a sob, and head for the bathroom.

He grabs my arm and pulls me toward him before I even get two steps.

His palm is warm against my forearm, his grip strong. I keep my eyes closed, my face turned from his, trying to breathe through it.

Don’t cry, don’t cry. Suck it up.

“Hey,” he says to me, his accent deepening. “What’s this?”

What’s this? Despite myself, I look up at him through blurry eyes. “I have a hard time believing you’ve never made anyone cry before.”

Then I pull my arm out of his grip and wipe away my tears with the heel of my palm, taking a few more deep breaths until I know the tears are at bay.

“Look,” he says. His voice is quiet, his stance unsure. He doesn’t know what to do with me now. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

He frowns. “For … making you cry.”

I sniffle and tighten the sash around my robe. “I’m not crying over you, so don’t flatter yourself. I’m crying because … because you’re right. Because maybe I’m not cut out for this. I’m trying but … it’s hard. It’s really hard. And yesterday was horrible.”

He exhales through his nose, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I should have given you more warning about the paparazzi. I know they can be hard to avoid, I just … I’m trying to protect my little girls. I don’t want intimate moments like this to end up as gossip for the masses. Do you understand?”

“I understand. Of course I understand. I want the same things for them as you do. But you knew that we were going to this theme park.”

He runs a hand down his face in frustration. “I know. That’s the problem. I also want them to be little girls. I don’t know what the happy medium is. Before … there was Helena.”

“And she took care of them.”

“No,” he says quickly, something flashing in his eyes. Then he relaxes slightly. “No, we both did. It was just that she planned it all. She handled it, for lack of a better word. I should have done more but … those were our roles. And now I’m a single father and honestly … I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how I’ll be able to raise them without her.”

Oh my god. He’s being honest. And real. And his eyes aren’t this cutting glare anymore but there’s a softness to them, to his face. It makes me want to keep staring at him, to keep pulling back that hard exterior, to see what he’s really like. If he has a heart that beats.