Page 51 of Gotta Have Mistletoe
Erik stiffens and narrows his eyes. I narrow the distance between him.
“Miss Haugeland, I did not expect to see you.”
“The Solbergian people love photos of their king. What would they love more than photos of their king baking?”
“It was my idea,” Olav says with pride.
Erik tightens his grip on his wooden spoon, and for a moment I think he might crack it.
“Very admirable,” Erik says. “But surely there’s something else besides baking for you to cover?”
“Oh, no,” Miss Haugeland says. “Solberg is run exceptionally smoothly. No scandals. No crime.”
Erik mumbles something, and I inch closer to him.
“How do you like Solberg?” Miss Haugeland’s eyes gleam.
“It’s lovely,” I say, realizing that whatever I say will be reported in the news. “With, um, lovely people.”
“And that’s enough,” Erik says sternly. “This is family time.”
Miss Haugeland blinks. “You want me to leave?”
Olav leans toward Erik’s ear. “Your Majesty, this is a wonderful opportunity for an interview.”
“You may take some photos,” Erik tells Miss Haugeland reluctantly. “I suggest you take them soon.”
Miss Haugeland frowns but snaps photos, then leaves the room.
“That was not advisable, Your Majesty,” Olav says. “You were lucky she was able to come on short notice. You want to give the press stories. You don’t want them to go searching on their own. She was already mentioning American contacts.”
“I do not want it to be national news when I venture into my own kitchen.”
“But—”
“I am grateful I am king,” Erik says. “I enjoy being king. And I think I excel at it.”
“You’re exceptional, Your Majesty!” Gunnhild exclaims.
“Not now, Gunnhild,” Olav says.
“We went through a paparazzi onslaught yesterday. I would like some private time with my guests.”
Olav frowns. He darts his gaze around the kitchen. Gunnhild is speaking with Anders and Max. “You’re acting like this is real. We both know it’s not.”
Erik goes rigid. “That is enough, Olav.”
Olav leaves the kitchen.
“I’m sorry about that,” Erik says.
“Let’s get back to cooking,” I say.
“Baking.” His smile broadens, and he narrows the distance between us, and presses a finger against my chest. “You are bad at this.”
Heat swirls around Erik’s finger.
Erik’s eyes sparkle, and it’s all I can do to resist the urge to press his finger against my mouth and kiss it. It’s all I can doto resist the urge to haul Erik over my shoulder and kiss him senseless in his bedroom.
