Page 62 of Gotta Have Mistletoe
I lean closer to Anders and lower my voice. “That’s why I had to send Olav away. Olav’s priority is Solberg. But though I’m a king, I’m also a man. A man in love.”
When I step back, Anders looks stunned. “Wow.”
“Sentimental enough?” I grin.
Giddiness has overtaken my nerves, and I can barely keep from laughing.
I love him. I’m in love.
“I like it,” Anders says, nearly giggling too.
“Tell me how to leave the castle without drawing the attention of Sven and his crew.”
Anders’ eyebrows draw together. “I’ve never left the castle unauthorized.”
“Oh.” I shift my legs. “I haven’t either. Naturally. Safety is important, and Sven does not approve of anyone breaking from their rooms.”
He nods.
“I think I know a way.” I head from the drawing room.
“Wait!” Anders calls.
I turn to him.
“You need a present.” He takes on a dreamy look. “A flower will do.”
“Glen loves Christmas. Grab that mistletoe! And maybe...” My gaze catches on the Christmas tree, and I grin.
“Why are you staring at the Christmas tree? Do you want to bring him an ornament? There’s a bear with a heart on it.”
I laugh. “He’ll think of Gunnhild. I have a better idea.”
I march to the tree, bend down, and rescue it from its skirt.
“Father?” Anders asks. “What are you doing?”
I lift the tree up. “Grab the other end, Anders.”
“Seriously?”
“A man needs a gift.”
Anders and I carry the Christmas tree through the hallway. Perhaps we bump into the occasional expensive-looking side table or chair. That’s on my ancestors for not making the hallway sufficiently wide for both the display of one’s expensive taste in furniture and tree lugging.
I knock into another sideboard. “Oops!”
“When you said present, I wasn’t implying you bring this.”
“I want to make him smile.” My face sobers. “What if I’m too late? Or worse—what if I’ve misunderstood everything?”
“You’ll make him smile.”
I nod. I want Anders to tell me that Glen cares about me too. But that’s up to Glen’s feelings, and Anders can’t speak for him.
I tighten my grip on the tree and lengthen my strides.
“Your Majesty!” A stern alto voice rings through the corridor. “What are you doing?”
