Imagine if you married Viktor, I think to myself as Bodi leads me into what looks like a giant pantry. Would I have to call my mother-in-law your highness? That doesn’t seem fair.
But I brush that thought out of my head pretty quickly because even though I’m currently following a butler through a Swedish palace because I’m dating the prince, that sort of stuff seems very far away and off the table.
After all, we only had one week together in California.
But what happens when we have a month in Sweden?
The palace in some ways is exactly as I was expecting. When you think of a palace you think of striped wallpaper and high ceilings with crown mouldings and elaborate designs. You think of antique high-end tables peppered with statues and large oil paintings with gold frames hanging from the walls. You think of velvet chaises and chairs, much like Bodi’s suit, and silk and satin and leather. All of this stuff makes up the many rooms of the palace.
It is lacking the Scandinavian charm that I assumed would be here–like an IKEA showroom on steroids–but honestly, I’m so enthralled and amazed by the palace that it doesn’t matter.
It’s a fantasy come to life.
“This is your room,” Bodi says, opening the door.
It takes my breath away.
And not just because I climbed three floors on very steep stairs.
It takes up the whole top tower of the building and the ceilings are at least fifteen feet high. There’s a huge four poster bed in the middle, a little living room seating area to one side with a widescreen TV, on the other side is a desk by the window that must look out to the front of the palace, then a bar cart, a door leading to what I assume is the bathroom, closets and more.
“This is my room?”
“This is His Highness’s room,” Bodi explains and I swear the guy winks at me. He rolls my suitcase along and then chucks it up on the luggage rack already laid out for it. “Feel free to explore the house. If the doors are closed it’s probably because it belongs to one of the staff. I’d suggest you walk the park and the grounds but not in this weather.” He nods to the whiteout outside the window. “Perhaps later in the week.”
He does a little bow and then turns to leave.
“Wait,” I call out. “When does Viktor get back?”
“It’s hard to say,” he says with a raise of his brow. He’s probably not used to hearing him called Viktor. “He has a speaking engagement at one of the universities this afternoon and I believe he’s going to Drottingham Palace for dinner. Where the king and queen reside.” He pauses by the door. “Just relax and make yourself at home. If you’re hungry or you need me for anything, just ring this bell here and I’ll be up right away.” He taps a buzzer by the door. “Oh and try not to fall asleep until a reasonable hour. It will only make the jetlag worse.”
“Okay,” I say softly as he leaves, closing the door behind him. “Thank you.”
Holy fuck.
So Viktor just has this Bodi guy at his beck and call 24/7? I mean, I get that’s what butler’s do but I’ve just never seen one in real life. Or heard of one. I mean, do celebrities in LA have butlers? Do the Kardashians?
To top it off, Bodi seems to want to serve. He seems to love his job. It makes me feel ashamed, actually, for taking no pride whatsoever in what I do. Sure, no one else looks kindly upon housekeepers and maids but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t.
What you did, remember. You quit. Past tense.
Fuck. Stupid voice.
That’s when I’m hit with a wave of nausea and the room spins. Suddenly it doesn’t seem right to have to stay awake anymore.
I force myself though, determined to beat the jetlag. I put all my clothes away in the chest of drawers and the space in the closet that Viktor has clearly created for me. Then I put my toiletry stuff in the bathroom and take a long hot shower, which makes me feel a little bit better.
Oddly enough I’m not hungry at all and I go to the window, spending a few minutes looking out of it, trying to see if I can see trees through the whirling snow and darkening light or if my eyes are playing tricks on me.
I glance down at his desk. A pad of paper is laid out, along with a pen and a small sachet of…
I pick it up and smell it.
My heart melts.
Lavender. It’s lavender.
He really was scenting his letters.
I let myself swoon for a moment because wow.
Viktor is the real deal.
I sigh happily and then do one of those twirling, smiling, swooning moves across the room like a total Disney princess and then toss myself on the bed.
The moment the soft covers meet my cheek, I know it’s a bad move.
Sleep comes for me like a monster and then…
I’m out.
* * *
***
* * *
“Maggie?” I hear a voice float into my dreams.
I open my eyes to darkness.
A slice of bare light cutting across my vision like a sword.
Then it fades.
I fade.
Another light glows behind my eyelids.
I pry them open to see Viktor standing beside the bed having turned on the side lamp, his pants unbuckled, undoing his tie. It runs through his fingers with a slick cutting noise that stands out to me in this cavernous room.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he says softly. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t home earlier.”
I mumble something like, “no cow on the ice,” but it all comes out in a garbled hush. I clear my throat and try to push myself up onto my elbows, my eyes all squinty, my hair mussed up. I’m still in my clothes.
“What time is it?” I whisper, my voice rough. I need water.
“It’s just after ten,” he says. “At night. Let me get you some water? Do you need anything to eat?”
I’m still not hungry. I just want to keep sleeping.
“Water is good,” I manage to say.
He gives me a warm smile and then walks off into the bathroom. I hear the sink running and I place my head back on the bed.
“Here,” he says, and suddenly he’s sitting beside me and holding out a glass.
I try to sit up, not as much as before, and take it from him, downing it in three large gulps and coughing wildly at the end.
“Easy, Maggie,” he says to me, taking the glass away. “I’ll get you another. I’d offer you some red wine or brandy, but I don’t think you need anything.”
“No,” I say, grabbing hold of him. It takes me a moment to realize that now his clothes are all off and he’s just in his pajama pants and nothing else. My fingers curl around the fabric. “Please stay. I don’t feel…good.”
He lets out a low laugh. “Jet lag is a bitch, as they say. It always takes me a few days to adjust when I’m coming back home. It can be really brutal. Did you take any melatonin?”
I shake my head. He did mention it, but I didn’t think it necessary. I thought jet lag was something I felt when I went from California to New York. This is a whole other beast altogether. This makes me feel like I am on a really weird drug bender and not the good kind, the kind that you know will take days to wear off.
He strokes my head and I’m falling into the mattress again. “Just sleep Maggie. Tomorrow is another day. A better day. I’ll be here in the morning.”
“Then where are you going?” I ask him and suddenly I’m gripping him tighter.
“To a gala,” he says.
I look up at him and squint. It’s still my Viktor, looking as handsome as ever. Jet lag doesn’t change that. “Okay.”
“I’d invite you of course but…”
“But I’m a secret.”
“It’s better this way, please believe me.”
I sigh, nestling my face deeper into the covers. “I believe you. The whole Meghan and Harry thing.”
“You don’t understand. I want time alone with you. I don’t want to share you. Everything is still so new to us and our time together, just us, is crucial.”
I smile, my eyes closed. “I know.”
And I do. I can feel every single word that falls from his lips, the way they radiate from his heart.
I feel him lie beside me in bed and when I open my eyes, his face is facing mine, cheek against the bedspread. “Look, Maggie, I invited you here because I want you here and I need you here and I’m going to do what I can to make it worth our while. Whatever silly thing I have planned or engagement that’s not worth it, I will skip for you. Whatever event I’d rather not do, I won’t. I’ll stay home. I’ll tell people I’m running a fever, I don’t know. But I will do all I can to make sure that the next two weeks and the weeks after that with your family, are all focused on you. I will be here by your side, as much as I can. As Viktor, not a prince. As your friend, your lover, your man. You understand?”
“I do. That was a lot of words flying into my head, but I understand,” I mumble against the bed, my eyes lazily focused on his. I smile and reach for the waistband of his pajama pants, my hands skimming the taut planes of his stomach, the soft trail of hair. “Do you understand this?”
He grins at me, that same fucking grin that always catches me off guard and makes me swoon all over again. “I understand very well. But you’re in need of sleep, my dear.”
He then moves over on the bed and pulls back the covers, and then puts his hands under my arms and practically lifts me so that I’m properly positioned.
Then he starts to undress me. My boots, my jeans, my sweater, my shirt. My bra. I’m topless in my underwear and in the back of my head I’m wondering if I smell and then I remember I had a shower earlier. My hair must be such a wild mess right now, I never even had a chance to brush it.
“Sleep tight,” he says to me, pulling the sheets over me. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He pauses. “If you wake up in the middle of the night, feel free to watch TV or whatever. I can sleep through anything.”
I don’t even get a chance to reflect on that before I’m drifting off again.