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“Stasi,” he repeats, this time lower, and with more grit. I will not focus on how sexy he sounds when he’s cross with me. I will not focus on the gravelly voice that somehow registers in all the wrong places in my body.
“I’m…fine,” I say, despite struggling. But I’ve got my pride, and I’m at the ladder now.
“Why don’t you jump in then and teach me how to swim if I suck at it so badly, Your Highness?”
“You are not dressed,” he grumbles, averting his gaze as he ties the rowboat to the dock.
“I’ll stay under the water from the neck down,” I insist. “You won’t see anything.”
“I would have to touch your…nakedness.”
I try not to take offense at the fact that he finds the idea of touching my “nakedness” repulsive.
“No, you wouldn’t. Just give me pointers, and I’ll do exactly as you say. I’ll be a good girl, I promise. I’m very good at following instructions,” I say, catching my breath as I rest my head against the metal ladder.
I’m sure I hear a quiet groan and a curse along the lines of “gods help me.”
I watch him gather his fishing things and enjoy the view while it lasts. “I thought you’d left,” I say to the handsome princely bubble butt bent over his fishing bucket, tackle box, and other sundry items.
“I went fishing.”
“Oh,” I say, biting my lip. I’m starting to shiver in the water, and I’d really like to hop out and grab my towel now, but I don’t want to disturb the prince by asking him to hand it to me.
“You didn’t say anything, and I didn’t see your things anywhere, so I just assumed.”
Sigurd clears his throat. “I stashed my stuff in the woodshed. To keep it out of your way.”
I can barely keep my teeth chattering when I reply, “You’re not in my way.”
I don’t know what I expect him to say next, but it sure is not, “I have to clean these fish.”
And with that, Sigurd grabs the bucket and practically sprints away from me.
I spooked the prince with my nudity and scared him off. Wonder where he’ll turn up next.
As I dry off, my body remembers how solid and steady Sigurd’s arms were as he pulled me from the water yesterday. And how confidently he carried me as I slept.
And this girl? Does not weigh nothing. Especially compared to other women I know. Gravenland isn’t precisely a home for wispy fashion models. Most of us are born with some Viking genes that swing toward the tall, sturdy side. I’ve got all that plus a healthy layer of what the group home mom called “baby fat.”
The problem is, the “baby fat” never wore off after puberty. It migrated to other places, like my hips, thighs, breasts, and tummy. Even my knees look a little chubby compared to the average woman.
It’s not anything I’m ashamed of, but I’m also aware that not everyone finds the way I look attractive.
So when a man like Sigurd—a freaking prince—feels so bold as to manhandle me multiple times, I assume he’s comfortable with some harmless toplessness. After all, this man spends all his time in nature. The prince is known to swim naked in the North Sea every morning—something to do with circulation or something.
So, I’m surprised at his bashful reaction to me.
And that reaction makes me even more intrigued.
Maybe I’ll bring up the idea of doing a morning plunge together and see what he says.
Back at the cabin, though, the man has again gone missing. I swear. This man is infuriating.
I take a moment to shower off the lake water, then pull on a pair of cozy lounge shorts and a fresh crop top before I resume my search for the prince.
A part of me tells me I should just lay low. Warm up and wait for him to return, but I don’t want to sit around and wait. I’m not a sit-around-and-wait kind of girl.
I find a narrow trail in the weeds at the shore of the lake, and it leads back up through some dense trees and eventually to an odd little pavilion with a tall table.
