The Wild Heir

  “Okay.” I watch as I slip my hand down over her forearm to her delicate wrist, wrapping my fingers around it. I can feel her pulse racing against my skin and slowly look up to meet her eyes. “Just so you know, the more you get all mouthy with me, the more I think about what other things your mouth might be able to do.”

  She stiffens and tries to yank her wrist away but I hold on. “You’re a brute.”

  I raise my brows and smile. “A brute? I like that. Isn’t there a cologne called brute?”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re a caveman. No class.”

  “Ouch,” I say mockingly, rubbing my thumb along the soft skin of her inner wrist. I take a step toward her. “You insulted my social standing. How will I ever recover? I know, perhaps I’ll become king one day. That should solve the class problem.”

  “Having a high social standing, money, or position of power has nothing to do with class and you know it. You can still be king, but you’ll be a crude one.”

  “Then wouldn’t it make sense to have a sweet queen at my side? Life is all about balance.”

  “I am not sweet and you know it,” she says.

  I suck my bottom lip in for a moment and her eyes follow. Fucking hell, if I could just figure out whether she’s attracted to me or not it would be so damn helpful.

  “The thing is, Princess, you are sweet. You’re spicy too. You’re a lot of different flavors I haven’t even had the chance to lick yet.”

  Her cheeks burn and she shakes her head. “Why do I even bother with you?”

  “I’m not sure. Why do you?”

  “You’re a hestkuk.”

  I blink at her for a moment, my hand dropping away. Then I erupt into laughter, not believing she just said that.

  “What? You called me a hestkuk?” I manage to say between laughs. “Where did you learn that? Do you even know what it means?”

  “I asked Ottar to tell me a swear in case I needed it. He said it meant asshole. You know, more than drittsekk.” A flash of worry comes over her eyes. “Doesn’t it?”

  “It’s actually very close to English,” I tell her. “It means horse cock. But your pronunciation is spot-on.”

  “Horse cock!?” she repeats indignantly. “How is that an insult?”

  “It’s not for me. But then again, I have one.” Her eyes drop to my crotch for a second and I can’t help but grin.

  “Damn Ottar,” she grumbles, quickly looking away.

  “He’s from up north, they’re more creative with their swearing up there,” I tell her. “But since we’re on the subject of cocks again, I think we should stay there. You seemed a lot more into it before. Let’s just add horse cock to the trouser snake, the master of ceremonies, and the pink bologna pony.”

  I thought my names would bring out another eye roll but instead she just snarls. Everything sweet is replaced with five alarm spice.

  “Go fuck yourself,” she says to me and then starts walking off down the hall.

  Helvete. She’s getting quite the mouth on her.

  “Stay nasty, Princess,” I call after her. “That’s just the way I like you.”

  She just gives me the finger and keeps walking.

  After our horse cock altercation in the hallway, I left for the bar and I’m sure Ella went to bed angry. Truth is, I felt bad about the whole thing—again—and just outside of Oslo I made Einar take me back to the estate. It didn’t feel right going to the bar anymore after all that.

  The next morning I refused to let things get weird between us again. I made sure I was at the breakfast table with her as she grumbled about our typical Norwegian breakfast, which is basically bread piled high with a million different things. I do mine with herring and pickled onion and ham, which disgusts her. She just drowns hers in Nutella.

  “Hey,” I say to her as I sit down across from her at the table. “I’m sorry about last night.”

  She shrugs, eyes focused on the Nutella.

  Jane, who has been eyeing us like we’re some theatrical play that’s here for just her entertainment, asks, “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” Ella says.

  “I think she’s feeling a bit like she’s under house arrest,” I admit. “And I’ve been a little rude, crude, and thoughtless. So I’ve come up with an idea.”

  Ella slowly raises her head to look at me. “What?” she asks cautiously.

  “Tonight when I go to the bar, you can come with me.”

  She frowns and starts picking about her bread. “You know I can’t be seen in public.”

  “I know.”

  “Especially with this nose,” she says, pointing at her bruises which are fading pretty quickly.

  “You look so much better,” Jane tells her. “Really.”

  “And it doesn’t matter,” I add. “Because there’s only one bar I’ve been going to and no one knows about it. It’s basically in a back street, it’s a quarter of the size of this room, and the owner, Harold, doesn’t let any cameras in. Plus I haven’t seen paparazzi there for weeks.”

  Ella stares at me for a moment and I can see her inner demon and inner angel arguing with each other. The part of her that hates the fact that right at this very moment she’s skipping school is telling her that leaving the estate is against the rules. The other part of her, the one that fears being left out of things and brushed aside, that part is telling her she needs to do this, that she deserves to have a little fun.

  I decide to appeal to the latter side.

  “You deserve a little break,” I tell her. “I know what the rules are, but I promise this won’t come back and bite you on your cute little ass.”

  “Sir,” Ottar admonishes from across the kitchen as he pours his coffee. I didn’t even notice him earlier.

  I shrug it off. He’s heard way worse than that.

  “What time?” she asks. “What would I wear? I didn’t pack anything for a bar or anything like that.”

  I give her a reassuring smile. “Believe me, you can wear the pajamas you’re in right now. It’s not that kind of bar.”

  “I’ll think about it,” she says before she takes a bite of her sandwich.

  I’m tempted to pop question tiiiime on her but since it’s supposed to be a thing between just us, I decide to wait for later.

  And later slowly rolls around. It’s nearly eight o’clock at night when Ella appears in the doorway of the parlor room as I’m scrolling on my phone by the fire.

  “Okay. I’m in,” she says simply.

  I glance at her. She’s dressed in skinny jeans and a low-cut black top that shows off just a hint of lacy black bra underneath.

  Jesus. I’m pretty sure this is the first time I’ve seen her cleavage. I practically stagger to my feet, yanked toward her in some sort of sexual tractor beam until I’m just a foot away.

  “You look…” I tell her, unable to keep my eyes from roaming all over her chest, down her arms. The fabric of her top is slinky and begs to be touched, then pulled off, preferably with my teeth.

  “This is the fanciest thing I have,” she says, chewing on her bottom lip.

  I clear my throat. I’m fucking hard as concrete right now and I don’t care if she knows it. “It’s perfect,” I manage to say, finally meeting her eyes. “You look amazing.”

  She averts her eyes shyly. “It’s just some cheap top I got at H&M.”

  “You look beautiful,” I tell her emphatically.

  “Oh, well thank you,” she says, and I notice she’s put on a bit of makeup as well, not just covering up the bruises but adding some smoky eyeliner that makes her look a little bit older and definitely sexier.

  Then again, I also think there’s nothing sexier than Ella first thing in the morning, padding down the hall in her fluffy robe and slippers, her face bare, her eyes sleepy, her long blonde hair cascading messily around her. She always looks like she got rightly fucked in her sleep.

  I’m starting to think I’d do anything to make her look that way myself.

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nbsp; Now that she’s ready, we don’t waste any time. Jane and Ottar stay behind so it’s just Einar taking us to Oslo.

  It almost feels like a date as we sit in the back seat of the car, and I debate with myself whether I should reach out and hold her hand or not. But I know at this point I have nothing to lose. Time is running out, and with each second, I know how these two weeks will end.

  I grab her hand, and while she flinches at my contact, she doesn’t quite pull away. She lets me hold it there, resting between us on the middle seat.

  Even though it’s a long car and Einar is in the front, I lower my voice and softly sing, “Question tiiiiime.”

  She gives me a look that says, really? Here?

  I go on. “Do you like this? Me, holding your hand?”

  She stares at me with big eyes, her brows doing a dance while she once again wrestles with different answers. But finally she nods and says quietly, “Yes.”

  I want her to elaborate but I don’t think I’ll get much more out of her.

  For now, I feel like I’ve just been handed a victory. The battle isn’t over, but this is a huge step for us. Who the hell would have thought that one day I would equate hand-holding to fucking? But it’s true. Holding Ella’s hand feels like I’m holding on to sunshine.

  We pull into the dark, wet streets of downtown Oslo and Einar parks the car around the corner from the bar.

  “Do you miss this area?” Ella asks me. I’m still holding her hand as we walk down the nearly empty street, Einar trailing behind us.

  “It’s only been ten days,” I tell her.

  “I know. But it feels like it’s been a lifetime somehow.”

  I know what she means. The estate has turned into a time warp of sorts. “Do you miss school?” I ask her.

  She thinks that over. “Yes and no. I miss the classes, the learning. I don’t miss living there. It was rather lonely.”

  Something about her admission breaks my heart a little. I don’t want this girl to be lonely, not after what she’s been through. “What about Jane? That must help? You two are close.”

  “We are.” She gives me a small smile. “She’s the closest person to me. But, you know, she’s still paid for by my father. He gives her a paycheck to look after me, so as close as I am with her, I wonder what would happen if she were fired or my father decided it wasn’t worth it anymore. Would she stick around? Maybe not.”

  “I’m sure she would.”

  “Would Ottar?”

  I laugh softly. “Ottar would leave so fast it would be like one of those cartoons where you’d see an Ottar-shaped hole in the wall.”

  She giggles. “I can see that.”

  We stop outside of Harold’s. The front window is all frosted glass so you can’t see inside the bar from the outside. Harold’s is written across it, the paint gold and peeling.

  “By the way,” I say, pulling her close to me before I open the door. “I may have told them that we’re already engaged.”

  “Why would you do that?” she cries out softly.

  “Hey, it’s no worse than what you told your father,” I remind her. “Let’s just say I was feeling optimistic.”

  “Do you still feel optimistic?”

  I raise her hand up so it’s between our chests. “The fact that you’ve let me hold your hand this whole time gives me a reason to think so.”

  Then I open the door.

  “Prince,” Harold calls out merrily and then stops rubbing down the bar counter the moment he sees Ella. “Who have we here?”

  “Is this her?” Slender Man asks from the booth, his voice so high and anxious I half expect him to start fluttering his hands. “Is this your fiancé?”

  “This is her,” I say proudly. “This is the future Princess Isabella of Norway.”

  Maud staggers out of her seat and comes forward for an inspection, peering over Ella at close range.

  “Getting a good look there, Maud?” I ask, then realize I’ve been speaking Norwegian. I switch to English. “Ella, here, is from Liechtenstein,” I say, putting my hand at her back and leading her over to the end of the bar furthest from the door. “So she doesn’t know much Norwegian yet, except for some swear words. But don’t worry. I’m working on teaching her more swear words.”

  I introduce her to everyone, and then once Einar is inside, I go over to the door and lock it, explaining to Harold that because our engagement is still a secret, we can’t risk the public knowing about it.

  “And don’t worry, dear,” Maud says to Ella between sips of her martini. “We won’t tell a soul. All the souls we know are either dead or right here.” Then she goes into a long speech about all the lovers she’s had that died, all the classic film stars she knew that died, all the people who will probably die soon, and so on.

  Luckily, Ella is enthralled by Maud’s stories of old Hollywood, even if they’ve taken a morbid turn. She also goes out of her way to talk to Guillermo and tell him about herself, then even sits down across from Slender Man and asks him questions.

  Believe me, Slender Man normally just talks and talks and when he does he’s this big black hole that sucks the life out of you and the room until you’re crushed under the weight of his horrible luck and life.

  As a result, no one ever asks Slender Man what he’s doing because, believe me, you don’t want to know.

  But maybe it’s because Ella is drinking more than she normally does, or maybe she’s just so damn happy that she’s out of that house, but she’s actually interested in what he has to say. And for once, his black hole of despair has no chance against her ethereal ray of sunshine. It’s like watching Galadriel have a counselling session with Sauron and actually get through to him.

  Fuck, I’m glad Ella can’t see my thoughts. I’m not sure if being a closet LOTR fan would work against me or not.

  Later on in the evening, Harold leans across the bar, fixes his one good eye on me and says, “I approve.”

  “Yeah?” I’ve been sitting here watching Ella actually make Slender Man laugh. Everyone in the bar jumped at that sound since we’d never heard it before. It sounded like a cat being strangled, but still, it was a laugh.

  “She’s smart, she’s a delight, she’s very pretty,” he says. “I think she’ll be good for you. I’m glad you finally decided to bring her by, especially after all you’ve talked about her.”

  I guess I have been waxing on about Ella during my nights here.

  “You know,” I say to him slowly, trying to figure out the right way to phrase this. “Even though we’re to be married, sometimes I wonder if she’s really in it for me. Or if she’s doing it for other reasons.”

  I watch Harold carefully because he’s old enough to forget about white lies and trying to spare someone’s feelings. Old people wield their bluntness like a sword.

  But I can’t read anything negative on his weathered face. “Women like Ella, they don’t pretend. She’s honest and true, that one. I would think that if she wants to marry you, then she really wants to marry you. You can’t fake love.”

  My smile feels stiff. This is where Harold is wrong. There is no love between us and if things progress as they’re supposed to, as I hope, then we’re both in for a world of pretending. Whatever he is reading off of her about me is entirely fake.

  For the moment, though, I decide to take Harold’s words to heart, and for the rest of the night, I do pretending of my own. I pretend that every time Ella looks across the bar at me and gives me a smile, that it means something. That I mean something to her.

  I never knew that something so simple, just having another person want you and genuinely like you, could mean so much. Relationships, marriage…I’m starting to get it. I’m starting to realize that this horrible situation that I’ve been placed in might not be so horrible after all.

  As long as it’s Ella.

  The thought makes something inside my chest wince.

  It has to be her.

  This won’t work if it’s anyone else.
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  We end up staying way past the usual closing hour, Guillermo and Slender Man having left ages ago, Maud falling asleep and snoring on the bar.

  Einar checks to make sure the coast is clear and then Ella and I stumble, drunk and warm against each other despite the dreary night, all the way to the car.

  “Well that was fun,” Ella says. She moves over so that she’s in the middle seat and her head is resting on my shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve drank that much in a long time. Or talked that much either.”

  “I can’t believe you got Slender Man to open up and turn it positive,” I tell her, staring at the top of her head and fighting the urge to kiss it. The sight of her on my shoulder warms me in a million different ways.

  “His name is Erik,” she chides me, then yawns. “And that’s a terrible nickname to have. Where did you learn your English from anyway?”

  “College. And the Police Academy movies.”

  “You didn’t go to college,” she says after a pause.

  I smile. “It’s a line from Wayne’s World.”

  “So you learned your English from Wayne’s World then.”

  “That movie got me through some tough times,” I admit with a sigh.

  She tilts her head up at me, her dark eyes soft, her lids heavy. She stares at me for a moment before a slow smile spreads across her face. I wish she knew what that smile does to me. Maybe she does.

  “What?” I ask quietly, unnerved by her attention.

  “I’ve never met anyone like you,” she says, sounding awed.

  I cock my brow. “I assure you there are plenty of people who are still quoting Wayne’s World.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” she says.

  The space between us seems to grow smaller, my breath heavier, the air ripe with tension. With any other woman in any other situation I would have kissed her a long time ago. Now, I’m paralyzed by the thought. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something this bad, and it scares me. And what scares me only makes me focus more.

  “What do you mean?” I whisper.