Page 32 of The Winter Princess
He crouches in front of me and tucks the blanket more securely with impersonal, economic gestures. He doesn’t bite. His brown eyes dart up to mine. “Liar?”
I cough away the sudden dryness in my throat. “This is nuts and grains lightly dusted in cocoa powder.”
“I suppose you want a tin ofKyriekager,” he says, pacing to the table.
I can breathe and be amused and feel normal things. I am a woman of many parts. I contain multitudes. “The soft kind with the brittle layer of frosting instead of those crispy abominations. You don’t happen to have—”
“No luck.”
I’ve made him smile again, all the more rewarding because he doesn’t want to do it. My eyes follow him as he shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over his office chair. He sits, beginning to unbutton his cuffs, and I watch his tanned forearms twist this way and that as he rolls the cuffs to his elbows. I could write a dissertation on those arms, complete with citations and cross-references to famous forearms of antiquity.
“You canceled the exhibit,” he says. “Why? They would’ve backed you up.” When he looks at me, my eyes blink to his face. I reach for his work apron and toss it to him. He catches it.
“Because I’m a princess?” He makes no response, and I feel the sudden wish to prove him wrong. “Do you think being royal means always getting your way? Because I’ve got news—”
He shrugs. “Forget it.”
I adjust the blanket. “Erik should start filming for your behind-the-scenes posts tomorrow. Make some notes about what you want—”
“Not Erik,” Oskar grunts, tying the apron strings behind his back. “If I’m going to do this, it’s going to be with someone who doesn’t make me want to roll up a magazine and hit him upside the head.”
I stifle a laugh and try to look disapproving. “I thought you promised to wade into the river to catch some fish.”
“I promised to wade withyou, not with Erik.” He picks up a scalpel and begins the gentle scraping, head bent low. “Let him edit all he wants, but I don’t want anyone else in here.”
“Why are you being ridiculous?” I smile since he can’t see me anyway. “I barely know how to operate my own Pixy account. I can’t—”
He looks up, and I whisk my smile out of sight.
“You’ll learn.” He returns to his work. “I’m not letting anyone else down here.”
What else can I do? I nod.
I’m on my way back to the Summer Palace when the museum’s social media account tags me in a new video.
Like Ella showed me, I tap the like button and share it to my page. My phone vibrates happily, and I glance at the screen, taking a closer look at the image Erik selected.
“Oh,vede,” I groan.
“What’s that?” asks Freddie, eyes on the road.
He navigates through a turn, and I describe the cover image, snapped after we’d finished. “I’m looking up atNeerVelasquez like he’s the best thing since designated bicycle lanes. The title of the video is ‘Breaking News.’”
Freddie’s brows launch up his forehead. “Do you have something to tell me?”
“Only that I’m about to commit a murder,” I say, finding Erik’s number in the staff directory. What on earth possessed theflamenidiot to usethatpicture?
The catastrophic intern answers.
“Just a sec—” Erik raises his voice, addressing someone else. “Ahøjpumpkin spice coffee, one-and-a-half pumps of caramel syrup…and a half,” he enunciates, sounding as beleaguered as a general running perilously low on ammunition in the face of an advancing enemy. His voice switches suddenly. “Okay. Erik, here. Why is this a call?”
It takes me a beat before I realize he’s speaking to me.
“This is Freja,” I say, enunciating with similar clarity. I wish to use my title.This is Her Royal Highness, Princess Freja, Duchess of Piskmont, and you had better start groveling.“You have got to take that cover photo down.”
“What?” he draws the word out, pitching up at the end. “Why?” The words are glacial, dropping from his mouth like cold treacle.
“Because, Erik, it either looks like I’ve just announced my engagement or I’m going to start making out with someone on the internet.”
