Page 40 of A Fierce Princess

Tessa has worked here for years. She’s originally from somewhere in the southern part of the United States. She was a nanny for us when we were very young, but as we grew, we needed tutors more than nannies. She ended up helping in the kitchen at the royal palace. It wasn’t long before her cooking abilities were clear to my father. He asked her to stay on but to help run the kitchens at the summer palace. She took the job and has been here ever since. Next to Helga and my aunt, I’d say she’s the closest thing I’ve had to a mother since my mom’s death. She was still my nanny then, and she smothered me with love during the two years after the accident. My father was reluctant to remove her from her duties, but I think Auntie Lara talked him into it. Having her in the kitchens of the royal palace helped me with her transition from being in my daily life, since I could still visit with her. Tessa has one sister and two nieces who still live in the States. She goes on a vacation once a year for a month when we aren’t here so that she can see them. I remember asking her why she never married, and she told me that she was in love with her soul mate, and he was killed while serving in the military. I guess she never got over it.

I’m deep in thought as I look around my room and find that everything has already been put away. I grab a shower and walk into the sprawling closet. My clothes from the royal palace are hanging neatly as though I’ve been here for days. I roll my eyes. I wouldn’t have thought twice about it except for this last week, doing things for myself, no staff waiting on me, it’s been…liberating in a way.

I throw on an oversized, lightweight sweater and some leggings. Since I can’t leave the palace, I may as well take advantage of it and wear something comfortable. I head downstairs using the staff entrance. It’s a small stairwell hidden in the wall at the end of the wing. It leads straight down to a hallway where the laundry is done and then into the kitchen. I waltz inside and see Tessa is busy at the counter. She must sense me there because she pulls out her famous cookie jar and whips around, placing it in front of me. She grins and lifts the lid, and I breathe in the aroma of her famous oatmeal raisin cookies. The woman can bake, and she makes all kinds of amazing desserts, but these cookies are my absolute favorite in the whole wide world.

“Go on now, Anna,” she urges as she shoves the jar closer to me. I laugh and take two out of it.

“That’s more like it,” she says with a grin as she goes back to her cooking. I’m inundated with smells, fabulous mouth-watering smells.

I take a bite of the first cookie and close my eyes. I moan as my taste buds savor the perfect combination of spices.

“I’ll have what she’s having,” Logan’s voice comes from behind me, and I jump, nearly choking on the cookie.

He claps me on the back. “You alright?” he asks.

I cough and nod. “Fine,” I say hoarsely as I dislodge a piece of cookie from my throat. I swallow it, and before I can ask, Tessa sets a glass of apple juice down in front of me. I drink it all.

“That’s my girl. Now, who is your friend?” she asks, eyeing Logan up and down.

“Oh, uh, this is Logan Winters,” I say to her. “Logan, this is Tessa Higgins.”

“Well, nice to meet you. Have a cookie,” she says, pushing the jar over in front of the seat next to me. He sits and takes a cookie.

I watch as his eyes close, and he moans. It does strange things to me. I imagine what those moans would sound like if we were…my mind suddenly flies back to the present as Tessa stands staring at me while I stare at Logan.

“I’m sorry, what’d you say?” I ask her.

She gives me one of her knowing looks. “I asked how you two met,” she repeats with a raised eyebrow. Shit. I know that there’ll be a Spanish Inquisition later from her.

“Logan was the captain on the cruise we took in the Bahamas,” I explain. “Chris is working on a business endeavor and asked Logan to join us here to discuss it. Things sort of got a little crazy because of Uncle Hans’s plane, and well, here we are.”

Her eyes go cold when I mention the plane. “Well, I’m just glad none of y’all were on it,” she says.

“These are amazing, Ms. Higgins,” Logan says after finishing one cookie and going for another.

“Thank you, Logan. Please call me Tessa,” she says to him.

“So, Tessa, what special meal do you have planned?” I ask, intentionally changing the subject.

“Lobster mac and cheese, tomato soup, blackened chicken salad, and corn muffins,” she says.

I grin. When we were having a bad day, even when she was our nanny, she’d go to the kitchen and whip us up what she called “comfort food.” It usually revolved around mac and cheese. As we grew older, she experimented with all kinds of mac and cheese. Lobster is our agreed upon favorite, although personally, I love the classic plain mac and cheese.

“American food?” Logan says with surprise in his voice.

“Sugar, where do you think I’m from?” she says with a laugh.

“No…well, yeah. I just mean I didn’t expect to eat Southern comfort foods here at the palace,” he stammers.

She laughs and turns back to the soup. “Well, I raised those kids to love good Southern cooking, so naturally when I get them all here together, I tend to spoil them a bit. His Majesty doesn’t mind. Secretly, I think he loves my cooking,” she says.

I take one last cookie and stand up. “I’m going to see if Daddy’s done with his phone call,” I say to her as I practically skip over and give her another hug. She kisses my cheek.

“I’m glad you’re here, sweet pea,” she says using the nickname that only she and my father use.

“It’s nice to be home,” I say to her. And what I really mean is that being with Tessa is home, not the summer palace, but those are things royals don’t say out loud. We’re taught at a young age to lock our emotions away. My father is probably more tolerant of us showing them than most kings, but still, there’s a formality expected, especially with the staff, no matter how we feel about them. Only when I’m alone with Tessa, do I completely let down my guard.

I leave Logan chatting with her as I make my way down the great hall and back toward my father’s study. I knock on the door, but I find it open. My father is at his desk, looking at his computer screen intently as Marcus hovers behind him. The look on their faces tells me whatever they are viewing is not anywhere near warm, fluffy kittens.

---