A Nordic King

Gulp.

I shut the door quietly and stand in front of his desk, gnawing on my lip. There’s a strange energy in the air. It reminds me of the days in the desert when the storms would come after months of no rain. The air was electric and charged and promising change.

But what kind of change?

I swallow thickly, waiting for him to say something. I spot the Christmas gift I gave him hanging up on the wall and decide to comment on it. “I’m glad it found a home.”

“Hmm?” he asks, finally glancing up at me. That same electricity in the air is swirling in his eyes.

I gesture feebly to the photo. “Your gift.”

He glances at it over his shoulder but he doesn’t smile. It’s like he’s not the same person who opened it on Christmas Eve and laughed heartily, that beautiful rare grin of his cracking his face with joy.

I wish we could go back to that night.

He called me a goddess.

Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but he said it all the same and my ego will never let me forget it.

“Listen,” he says, his eyes moving back to mine. “I need to talk to you.”

Oh god. Okay, Aurora, calm down. He can’t break up with you. You’re not going out!

“Okay. What about?” I try to keep my voice light, a smile plastered on my face.

His eyes rake over my features, as if he’s searching for something. Some truth. Something inside me I haven’t found yet.

“How would you say you’ve enjoyed working for me?”

Oh my god.

“Working for you?”

“Yes,” he says, an edge to his voice. “Have you enjoyed your job as the nanny of this household?”

What’s going on? Why is he speaking to me so formally?

“Of course I have,” I say in disbelief. “Why on earth do you ask?”

He runs his tongue over his teeth in thought. “Where do you expect to be when your year is up?”

Oh no. Are we really talking about this already? My heart is starting to pick up the pace and the light in the room seems too harsh, dizzying.

“I … I don’t know. I hoped I would stay here.”

“You want an extension to your contract?” he asks this so matter-of-factly like he couldn’t care either way and, bloody hell, this actually hurts.

“If I could.”

“Don’t you think you might be better suited elsewhere? After all, that’s kind of your style. You stay for a year or two at the most, when the children are a certain age, and as they grow, you leave.”

I start coughing, my words literally catching in my throat. “What? No. No, I was with the last family for two years.”

“The children were younger.”

“So?” I walk toward him and lean against the desk to look him dead in the eye. “What’s going on? Are we extending my contract right now? It’s February.”

“Better to make plans in advance, isn’t it?” he says, and matches my gaze. That same energy is churning in those glacial blues and for the life of me I can’t understand what he’s thinking, what he’s doing. It sounds like … it sounds like he’s trying to soften a blow. Give me an easy way out.

My breath starts getting shorter, more shallow. I’m trying not to go into panic mode but it’s not working.

Fuck. He’s not trying to fire me, is he?

“What are you doing? You’re trying to get rid of me?” I shake my head, feeling anger and sorrow and horrible, horrible grief take hold of me. “That’s why you sent me away. You made other plans.”

He raises one brow at me, his mouth open, jaw tense. He sits back in his chair, continuing his quiet appraisal.

“Oh my god,” I cry out softly. “I am fired, aren’t I? You’re letting me go. You’ve found someone else.”

He cocks his head, squinting at me. “Does that bother you?”

My mouth drops open. “Bother me? What the hell is wrong with you?” He doesn’t say anything to that, just shuts his mouth into a thin line and swallows. “This is my job. I don’t … I can’t believe you’re doing this to me. That you’re firing me.”

The room begins to spin and I stand up straight, putting my head in my hands. This can’t be happening. Why is he doing this to me?

“Give me a reason why you want to stay,” he says softly.

I drop my hands and stare at him in open shock. “A reason? I’ll give you a million fucking reasons.”

He gets out of his chair and comes around his desk. “Tell me what they are.” He leans back against the desk, his intent gaze still searching.

I blink at him, my heart so loud in my ears that I can’t even think. I just let the words spill out in a frantic river. “Reasons? Reasons? The girls. Clara, Freja. I can’t leave them. I don’t want to leave them. They’re everything to me.”

“Is that all?”

“Is that all?” I repeat. “They’re your daughters and I’m their nanny. That should be more than enough. You know, I hated being away from them this last week. I missed them with all that I am. I didn’t even want to go, I just thought you were trying to get rid of me.” Tears tease my eyes and I shake my head, choked with disbelief. “Huh. I guess you were.”

His nostrils flare and his fingers tighten along the edges of the desk. “Is that it?”

What am I even hearing?

“I don’t understand.”

“You said reasons. You only named one.” He frowns, licking his lips. “What about me?”

“You?” I cry out softly.

“Am I one of your reasons for staying?”

I’m speechless, which is a good thing because I don’t want to say the wrong thing. I take in a hollow, shaking breath. “I have a great respect for you, sir.”

His mouth twitches into a sour smile. “Sir. You just called me sir. You haven’t called me that in a very long time. In your next job, I hope you remember your manners.”

Ow. Ow. The blows are harder and lower than I thought possible. This fills my lungs with pain.

I’m drowning with each breath.

I can barely speak. “Why are you doing this? Why would you try and get rid of me after everything I’ve done for you?”

“Done for me?” he asks quickly.

“Done for you. Done for the girls.”

“And you’ve done it all because you want to. Why?”

I’m ready to tear my fucking hair out. “Because I care about you! I care about them!”

I love them.

I love you.

Is that what he wants me to say?

Why?

Why?

“And?” he prods, eyes full of fire.

“I know I make you happy, even if you’ll never admit it.” I practically spit the words out, having kept them inside for far too long. “And I’ve never made anyone happy in my entire life. So, yeah. Maybe add that to one of my various reasons, if you have to know.”

“How do you know that you make me happy?”

Oh, seriously?

“What?”

“Tell me,” he says, pushing off the desk and standing right in front of me, gazing down from his height. “How do you know you make me happy?” His words are quieter now, rough and low and they make my stomach flip and my heart ache.

Hell. What do I have to lose at this point?

“Because,” I say, and my voice automatically drops to match his, my eyes focused on his chest, the slice of skin at his shirt collar. The electric storm in the room has moved between us, slowly intensifying with each breath, each heartbeat. Can he even feel it?

“Because what?” he murmurs, and his hand goes to my neck, pushing my hair back over my shoulder, and every pulse and cell in my body freezes from shock.

I blink, absolutely terrified at the power his touch has over me. The fact that my knees want to give way until I’m a puddle on the floor.

All because his fingertips are trailing gently along my neck, up my hair and back.

“Because what?” he says again. “Look at me.”

I obey. I raise my eyes from his shirt to the deep hollow of his neck, to his Adam’s apple, to that sharp jawline, ever so tense. Then his eyes. His eyes are telling me everything I’ve always wanted to hear.

“You do make me happy,” he whispers, and my heart explodes. His voice is ragged, his fingers pressing into my neck just a little more, hot and burning like stars shooting down my spine. “How do I make you feel?”