Page 14 of Once Upon A Royal Christmas
Then a knock sounded on his door, and relief flowed through him. Finally. Emilie was the one knocking this time, and not him. At least they were speaking. That was progress, right?
“Em.” He flung the door open, but it wasn’t his sister at all.
Instead, Nick found Jaron standing on the threshold with his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Just so you know, this wasn’t my idea.”
Nick’s gaze flitted from Jaron to the unfamiliar man standing next to him and did his best to keep his outward expression neutral. Internally, he scowled.
He’d been doing a lot of that in the days since his return from the mountaineering trip—scowling. He was becoming more famous for it with each passing day.
The strange man, dressed in a plain black suit and carrying a black leather case in his left hand, bowed. Beside him sat a sleek barber’s chair on wheels.
“Your Royal Highness,” the barber said stiffly.
Nick’s attention shifted back toward Jaron. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
What was this? Haircut by ambush?
Jaron nodded at the barber. “Go ahead and get set up inside. We’ll be right with you.”
The barber wheeled his chair past Nick and began making himself at home.
Nick held the door open wide and motioned for Jaron to enter. “Join us. By all means, the more, the merrier.”
“I told you I had nothing to do with this.” Jaron nodded toward the barber. “I’m just the messenger, by request of Her Majesty, the Queen.”
Nick’s mother. Of course.
“Does the queen really think a haircut might put a stop to the articles?” Nick’s parents still hadn’t sat him down to talk about the snow prince pictures. He knew they’d been talking about them, though. Wasn’t everyone?
Jaron’s gaze flitted toward Nick’s beard. “Perhaps a haircut and a shave?”
Nick crossed his arms. “Anything to make me a bit less abominable, eh?”
What difference did it make? Nick had fully planned on getting rid of the beard and getting a trim before the opening of the Ice Festival. But it would have been nice if he’d been able to do it of his own free will instead of being strong-armed by the royal press officer.
Even if that royal press officer doubled as a friend. Probably Nick’s closest friend, aside from Emilie.
“I could always send out a statement. Just give me the word and I’ll get something drafted,” Jaron said.
Nick shook his head. “No. If we respond, it will look like we’re taking the matter seriously.”
“Which we aren’t.” Jaron nodded. “Got it.”
Mittens woofed and took a flying leap from the foot of Nick’s grand canopy bed, anxious to greet their new visitors. The dog sat politely at the barber’s feet and once he’d been petted, he scurried toward Jaron with a mad wiggle of his entire back end.
Jaron slipped a dog biscuit from his pocket and offered it to Mittens, who crunched at it with unabashed glee. Tiny crumbs fell onto the toe of Nick’s polished loafer.
Nick eyed the barber chair and sighed. His mother had a point. A shave and a haircut couldn’t hurt.
“Thank you for coming,” Nick said to the barber, belatedly remembering his manners. He shook the barber’s hand, sat down, and leaned back as a steaming hot towel was placed over his face. Mittens jumped in his lap and curled into a warm ball of fur as Nick tried his best to relax.
He’d known the Abominable Snow Prince nickname was going to cause trouble. Sure enough, within days, the tabloids had dredged up the articles from a year prior, as if the presence of icicles in his beard had somehow confirmed everything his ex-girlfriend had said about him in the press all those months ago.
“You do realize that not every woman you date will sell you out to the press, don’t you?” Jaron said as he loomed above him.
“I do.” But Nick wasn’t taking his chances. Not anytime soon, anyway.
This is precisely why arranged royal marriages used to be in fashion, he thought.
