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 do,” I say. “I mean, I never really got to hear what your role in all of this is.”
“My role?”
I bite my lip, wondering if I’m being nosy. “Yes. Are you … working for the royal family?”
“I’m the queen’s sister,” she says stiffly. “The dowager queen.”
Which I now know means the title is by marriage and not by birthright, so that makes Maja the sister of Queen Liva—therefore she’s King Aksel’s aunt. “I’m handling these affairs for His Majesty.”
I nod. “I bet it can’t be easy. Finding someone.”
“No,” she says. “It’s not. We’ve had a nanny or two since Helena died but they weren’t quite right.”
“Is it bold if I asked what went wrong?”
She purses her lips together as she eyes me. “It is bold,” she says after a moment of scrutiny. “But I’ll allow it.” She sighs, looking out the window and I can tell she’s trying to find the right words. “As you well know, the family has gone through a lot in the last four years. First with the King, Aksel’s father, passing away. Then with my dear sister Liva … she’s not been the same since. Aksel was thrust into the role of king far before he was ready and more or less lost both parents at once. Then with the car accident and Helena … you can understand he can be quite disagreeable at times.”
I have a feeling that ladies like Maja use the term “disagreeable” to mean raging asshole, but time will tell.
“I’ve worked well with a variety of personalities,” I assure her. Including Etienne’s father who hit on me non-stop. That tosser was just part of the reason I quit that last job. “Nothing phases me.”
Except, you know, sexual harassment and brats that try to set your hair on fire.
She gives me a tight-lipped smile. “Which is one of the reasons why I called you back. The last two nannies were too soft, too sensitive, too reactive to stress. What the King needs, what the girls need, is someone who can weather any storm. Water off a duck’s back, is the English term, is it not?”
“It is.”
“And you can handle all that?”
“Most definitely.”
“Godt,” she says, clasping her hands in her lap. “Good,” she then clarifies, which makes me realize I have to start picking up some Danish.
We don’t talk for the rest of the drive but that’s fine with me as my attention is completely stolen by the streets of Copenhagen. I hadn’t made it up to northern Europe yet, so this is my first glimpse of everything Viking and Hygge.
So far, Copenhagen is living up to all my Scandinavian dreams. It’s absolutely charming, with cobblestone streets between colorful buildings done up in yellows and corals and greens, and I swear, the hottest people I’ve ever seen. The majority of them are tall and blonde with cheekbones that can cut glass. Most seem to have an ice cream cone in their hand, biking past breezily. All seem exceptionally smiley and happy. I guess I’d be that happy too if I was eating ice cream and looked like a supermodel.
“And here is the palace,” Maja says suddenly, which snaps my attention forward again. I had no idea how close the palace was to the city center. For some reason I expected the royal palace to be on the outskirts, not right beside the harbor.
But there it is.
“This is Amalienborg Palace,” Maja says as the driver takes us down a side street past an imposing domed church and a large square full of photo-happy tourists. At all four points of the square there are palaces. “There are four palaces but only the fourth one, Christian IX’s Palace, is where we take up residence.”
“It’s so close to … everything,” I say, gawking out the window at the four matching palaces dotted with grand windows and stone columns. I can’t believe they all face a public square like that. “How do you get any privacy? Where do the kids play?”
“There is a small yard in the back. It is enough. And as it is, we’ve only just come back last month. We use this as a residence for autumn and winter. We spend the summer elsewhere.”
All I know is that if I were royalty, I wouldn’t be in a palace surrounded by tourists peering up at all the windows. I’d be holed up in a castle somewhere. Preferably on a beach. With a margarita in hand. And a shirtless butler that looks like Jason Momoa.
“Here we are,” Maja says as the car stops in a small lot behind the palace, a heavily guarded gate closing behind us.
Okay, enough crazy daydreams. I’m here. And I’m bloody nervous.
I get out of the car and Maja escorts me in through a large wooden door.
We step inside a small foyer and I’m led along intricately designed Baroque floors toward a grand room.