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It’s her.
And she’s just as shocked as I am, her unblinking gaze sinking into mine, memories passing through me, making my blood run hot.
“Wait,” Ottar says slowly, pointing between us. “Do you two know each other?”
Laila lets out a derisive snort, the first of us to snap out of it.
“I can’t believe it,” she says, her round eyes going narrow, and that familiar burning sensation of her glare comes back to me. “It’s you.”
“In all the royal palaces, in all the world,” I tell her, my voice shaking just a little, “I walk into yours.”
“So, how do you know each other?” Ottar asks carefully, probably just realizing that we don’t know each other in the best way.
I give Laila a look, raising my brow to say, Well do you want to tell him?
But she learned her lesson from the last time. We both did.
“We used to work together,” she says crisply, her posture stiffening, a coldness coming into her eyes, the kind that burns.
Then she turns her attention back to the snowman, like I never existed. I guess she’s had a lot of practice.
The two of us had what Lady Gaga would refer to as a bad romance.
And that’s putting it mildly.
The last person I ever expected to see again was Laila Bruset, my wild Norwegian woman.
“James?” Ottar says to me.
I blink, staring at Laila’s back, wondering what the hell I did to deserve this.
Actually, scratch that. I know what I did to deserve this.
My stomach sinks. I look at Ottar, and he gives me a forced smile.
“Shall we go inside and meet the rest of the family? I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities to connect with Laila.”
Out of the corner of my eye I can see her practically bristle.
“Of course,” I tell him, raising my chin. I’m going to have to pretend that everything’s fine going forward if I want to keep my job. I’m going to have to pretend that the woman I had a very passionate and tumultuous affair with isn’t the royal nanny and my future coworker. Thankfully, I’ve made pretending into an art.
Ottar takes my suitcase and heads down the driveway to the palace, stomping confidently through the snow. The estate is big, though it reminds me more of a rich person’s country mansion than a royal palace. It’s white and sprawling, with pillars, but there’s a bit of a rustic quality to it, like it needs a fresh coat of paint. That puts me at ease, just to know that the royal couple isn’t as hoity-toity as they could be.
But that ease is short-lived, because I look over my shoulder at the snowman on the lawn and see Laila’s cold eyes following my every move as I go up the front steps, so much so that I nearly trip and fall.
“Easy there,” Ottar says to me good-naturedly. “It can be slippery. Wouldn’t want you to fall.”
I give him a tepid look in response, just as the front doors swing open.
“Ahh, you found the new recruit,” Prince Magnus says with a flourish as he steps out, arms held as wide as the smile on his face. “James Hunter.”
I’m about to bow, as is the courtesy when meeting a royal, but before I can even do that, Prince Magnus throws his arms around me and gives me a rib-cracking embrace. While I’m in top shape, the man is built like an ox on steroids. Must be a Viking thing.
“So nice to finally meet you,” he says, slapping me hard on the back.
“Likewise, Your Majesty,” I tell him, trying not to wince.
He rolls his eyes. “Please. Call me Magnus. Not Prince Magnus, not Your Royal Highness, and definitely not Your Majesty. You’re part of the family now.”
