Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 117920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 590(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 590(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
“I’ll take them up to bed,” I say, about to get to my feet and rouse them.
“You will not,” Aksel commands. “You’re off duty right now.”
“I’m going to go to bed anyway,” Stella says tiredly as she gets up. “You both stay. Just make sure the palace doesn’t burn down.”
She gets Anya and Clara up, who give us a bleary-eyed goodbye, then she scoops up a sleeping Freja into her arms as they leave the room.
All at once I’m aware that it’s Aksel and I, alone. Even the copious amounts of sweet cider and wine I’ve been drinking all night aren’t enough to temper the nerves that are beginning to dance inside me, like a live wire on the ground. I’m painfully aware that the last time I was alone with him was in this very room and things got weird.
“How did you enjoy your first Danish Christmas?” he asks idly. He’s sitting back in his chair, a glass of brandy dangling from his fingers. Half his face is lit by the fire, the flames dancing in his eyes, highlighting his high cheekbones and the hollows underneath. I’ve felt those cheekbones under my fingertips once.
“Better than Australian ones,” I tell him, giving him a quick smile.
“Ah yes. I’m sure eating shrimp on the barbie and going to the beach makes for a rotten Christmas.”
I roll my eyes at him. “No one says shrimp on the barbie.”
“I’ve heard you say a few odd things,” he muses. “Once you said that the square out front was choc a bloc when it was crowded. You called Clara a bludger, was it? When she wouldn’t get out of bed one morning? And another time you said I was wearing daks when I was going to the gym in my sweatpants. I had to Google everything to figure it out.”
“Welcome to my world,” I say with a laugh. “I’m still trying to figure out every second word spoken here. Lord knows what I’ve been agreeing to half the time.”
“Hmmm,” he says thoughtfully between sips of his drink. “Had I known that, I would have spoken Danish more. See what you’d agree to.”
Butterflies burn in my stomach from that comment. There’s something teasing and light about him right now. Dare I say it’s sexual innuendo.
I raise a brow at him. “You’re in an awfully good mood.”
“Why shouldn’t I be?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Because Christmas can be depressing sometimes and, well, you’re never in a good mood.”
“You think so highly of me, even after that gift.”
I chew on my lip for a moment, trying to conjure up the right words. “You really shouldn’t have given that to me.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t … I’m not deserving of it.”
His brows knit together and he leans forward in his chair to look at me closer. “Why would you ever believe that?”
I shrug. Because it’s true. I try not to dwell on it, but it’s true.
“Aurora,” he says, his voice so low and velvety that I feel it under my skin, “you deserve that vase and more. You have no idea what you’ve done for this family. No idea at all.”
Another shrug. “I do what any nanny would do.”
“Not even close. You don’t even do what some mothers would do. You are always going above and beyond for them. More than that, you let them be who they need to be without trying to contain them, without putting them in a box. They’ve never had that before, and it’s what I’ve always wanted for them. It’s what I never had growing up. You have such a big, beating heart and you love them and they feel that. You have no idea how invaluable that is. It’s worth more than a vase. It’s worth more than I can ever give you.”
I glance at him, lost in his eyes, in his words. He has no idea that he’s wrong. That there is more that he can give me.
His heart. He can give me his heart.
I’ve never wanted anything more.
But of course I can’t say that, so I don’t say anything. I press my lips together and keep all those secret wants and fears and desires locked in.
Bloody hell.
I think I’m in love with my boss.
A king.
And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
“Are you alright?” he asks me.
I blink, trying to clear my head so I can deal with this realization, this blow, another time.
That I love him.
“I’m fine,” I say quietly, avoiding his probing eyes, ignoring the concern in his rich voice. “I’m just tired. I think I’ll go to bed.”
I get to my feet just as he gets to his feet and reaches out, grabbing my arm.
“I haven’t dismissed you,” he says, and though I know he’s joking, his eyes are dead serious. Maybe they’re more than serious. They’re wild again, searching my face with quiet desperation.