Page 16 of Gotta Have Mistletoe
“Hello, Your Majesty,” I tell him, proud that I’ve remembered he’s got one of those fancy titles.
The prince’s eyes widen.
“That’s not what you call him,” Olav says, his demeanor outraged.
Have to say, I’m not crazy about him.
The king clears his throat.
“We really must speak,” Olav says.
“This is my royal advisor, Olav.” King Erik introduces us.
“Hi! I’m Glen Garland.”
“I know,” Olav mumbles. He looks at the king. “Perhaps if we step inside...”
“Mr. Garland has a busy schedule,” the king says, and I shoot him a grateful smile.
His eyes soften, and he gazes happily at me.
“By Solberg,” Olav murmurs.
King Erik sighs and crosses his arms. “Tell me what the issue is. Make it quick.”
Olav glances at the woman beside him. “I can’t...”
King Erik smiles. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this, Olav. All thanks to you.”
“And this is Lena Haugeland.” King Erik flourishes a hand to the woman. “She’s a reporter for Solberg National Media.”
“Wow.”
The woman smiles at me.
With that, King Erik marches to the podium. I stand awkwardly beside him. It’s strange, but I gotta say, I am pleased to see him. He’s been on my mind.
“Thank you for being here,” King Erik says in a manner that verges on the dramatic.
I grin. Casual, he ain’t.
“I am announcing that I am in love,” King Erik continues, shooting me a mischievous grin.
My throat dries.
I’m not jealous.
Nope. I’m not.
Of course, some person probably snatched the king up. And he’s probably straight anyway. Though I sort of think that he’s likely bisexual. If I didn’t know any better, I would say we had ourselves some chemistry, but reckon people always think that about him. It don’t mean anything. Besides, I ain’t looking. I’m especially not looking for dates in European royal families.
I look around the balcony, wondering who this mystery person is that the king is going on about, and when he’ll get to the part where he wants me to support him. Is this something to do with the restaurant renovation? Is the king buying it instead of that Vegas guy?
King Erik pauses his speech. His lower lip trembles, his face is paler than before, like he wants to match the snow, and his hand is sort of shaky. If I were closer, and if it were appropriate—and I know it’s not, I don’t need no etiquette master to tell me that, I would want to rest my hand over his. But my handsain’t got magical healing powers, even if I’m mighty good at constructing things.
I chew my lower lip, and he meets my gaze. Though I don’t say nothing, a moment later, he’s drawing in a breath of that cool, crisp, delicious Nevada air, and squaring his shoulders, all-royal like.
“I am in a romantic relationship with Mr. Glen Garland.” King Erik gestures to me with a flourish of his hand.
