I punch his arm. “Don’t tease him, he’ll hold you to it.”
“And ABBA knows my mother, I’m pretty sure I could arrange it.”
“ABBA knows your mother?” Pike asks.
“Well, yes,” Viktor says. “Everyone knows my mother.”
Here it goes.
“Why, is she famous?” Callum asks.
Viktor looks at him and nods. “Yes.”
“Why, who is she?” April says, sounding more curious than snarky now.
“She’s the queen of Sweden,” he says with a shrug.
“Shut up,” Rosemary says. “Your mother is not the queen of Sweden.”
“She is. My father is the king.”
“Phhhfff,” April says, turning her back to us. “Yeah right. We might be Americans but we ain’t dumb.”
“That would make you a prince,” Thyme says.
“I know,” he says. “I am.”
“Shut up,” Rosemary says again.
“Rosemary, stop telling the Prince of Sweden to shut up,” I tell her.
“Pike, tell them to stop lying,” April says.
I look at Pike. His brows are drawn together as he looks out the window, deep in thought. He finally looks at us. “The car that’s out there. Friend of yours?”
“That’s Janne,” Viktor says. “He’s assigned to protect me.”
“Protect you!” Rosemary exclaims.
“Really?” Thyme says.
Viktor nods. “I’m not joking.”
“Bullshit,” April says. “As soon as this coffee is done, I’m going upstairs and not listening to your nonsense anymore. And I’m not going to Sweden.”
“But you would get to live in a palace and meet the king and queen,” Viktor says. “All your desires would be taken care of.”
“You’re a liar.”
“No,” Pike says, looking down at his phone. “He’s not.” He lifts his phone for everyone to see. It’s the Google Images page of Viktor.
All chairs are pushed back at once, the scrape of them filling the kitchen as Callum, Rosemary and Thyme run over to Pike to get a better look.
They look down at the screen.
Look up at Viktor.
Look down at the screen.
Look up at Viktor.
“Holy crap,” Rosemary and Thyme say together.
“Holy crap!” Callum yells.
“Yeah. Holy…” Pike trails off. “I can’t believe you kept this a secret.”
I shrug. “It wasn’t my place to say.”
“I don’t like lying,” Viktor says. “But I had to last time. It would have been a security risk if anyone had known it was me.” He looks at Callum. “I am still a good cook though. That wasn’t a fluke.”
And now April slowly comes over to Pike and takes the phone from him. She glances at the screen, doesn’t say anything and gives the phone back. “Can we seriously stay at the palace?” she asks Viktor.
“I don’t see why not,” he says. He looks around the room. “So what do you all say? Christmas in Sweden?”
Everyone exchanges excited glances and then yells, “Christmas in Sweden!”
Chapter Twenty
Maggie
A week flies by in a blink.
One minute I’m working my ass off with extra shifts, trying to get the house in order for Pike to make this job as easy on him as possible, the next I’m boarding the plane for Stockholm, Sweden.
First class!
I even have my own bed and everything. It’s almost nicer than the bed I have at home. I even have my own butler, just like Viktor does.
Okay, so the first-class flight attendants aren’t servants but they do bring you champagne and whatever else you ask for even before the flight takes off.
There is a sharp twang of guilt that I’m doing this while the kids are slaving away at school, but the guilt disappears when I realize they’ll be doing the same thing, albeit in coach, in two weeks from now. Until then, I’m going to be alone with Viktor in Sweden.
Viktor said he was going to try and shield me from the world as much as he could. It feels kind of romantic, being kept in secret like a concubine. He said the only people who would know would be his private secretary Freddie, his butler and a few guards. Eventually he wants to introduce me to the rest of his family, but he seemed pretty adamant about keeping me a secret at the start.
I don’t mind. I brought up the fact that Meghan Markle and Prince Harry dated in secrecy for months before even Prince William found out. If they can do it, so can we. That said, we’ll both be in Stockholm, not some safari camp in the middle of nowhere, and it’s going to get intricately more challenging once the kids come, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.
All that matters now is that a choice has been made and I’m on my way.
To fucking Sweden!
Land of aquavit and moose and IKEA and ABBA and Volvos and universal healthcare!
There are a million more things to get excited about but as the plane takes off and the runways of LAX drop away, I’m met with some worry. The biggest one is my job. Juanita would have been fine with me taking two weeks off but over a month? That crossed the line.
We parted on amicable terms, even though she thought I was crazy to do this, and she said she’d give me my job back when I returned but the truth is, until then, I’m out of my job.
In other words, I quit my job for Viktor.
Now I know Viktor has told me many times that he would take care of me and I also know I have savings now that can support all of us if it turns out I have to look for another job (of course those savings I have thanks to Viktor), but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m doing something quite irresponsible.
Neither Annette or Sam think it’s a good idea either. I mean, they thought it was romantic and they think it will be awesome for the kids to travel for the first time, especially if they are treated like royalty. But I did just quit my job to do this, which is a huge step. And though I love Viktor more than I can bear, there is currently no security in our relationship. It’s so brand new.
And that’s nagging at me too. As it stands, I’ll be coming back with the kids, though Viktor said he has yet to book me a return ticket. He thinks he can change my mind. He thinks I might want to stay. He says it will be his mission over the next month to make me stay.
But as Sam had said on the phone, where is this going? Where could this go? I can’t just stay in Sweden, I have kids to take care of and a life in Tehachapi. And even if I did stay, then what? Am I willing to risk everything, and I mean absolutely everything and everyone, on love?
I guess the answer for now, is, yes. Quitting my job, a job I needed, for a man, was never something the old Maggie would do, but apparently the new Maggie is just throwing caution to the wind these days for a chance to keep having hot sex.
Hot sex with a prince.
Hot sex with a man that I love.
Maybe quitting my job was worth it.
I don’t fret too much more for the rest of thirteen-hour flight because the flight attendant thinks I’m super nervous, so she keeps giving me booze and then I start watching movies and after a while, when the cabin lights are dimmed, I actually fall asleep.
I wake up just as breakfast is being served and before I know it, the plane is landing at Stockholm’s Arlanda airport.
I look out the window to see my first glimpses of the country and my bleary-eyes are blinded by all the white.
Snow.
There’s nothing but snow.
In fact, the runway that is quickly rushing up to meet the plane looks exactly like a skating rink.
Oh my god, we’re all going to die.
They forgot to plow the runway!
I look around frantically to see if anyone else is in the crash position or bracing themselves but everyone else looks completely calm.
We land without incident. I’m not sure what kind of snow tires they have on this thing.
Then I’m
off the plane and in the very clean and modern airport and it’s just like…
I’M IN SWEDEN!
The signs are in Swedish and people are talking Swedish and everyone looks like a supermodel and I’m so tired and jet-lagged and overjoyed right now.
And scared. I’m also scared, wishing that I could have flow back with Viktor when he did or wishing he stayed in Tehachapi with me, even though there was no way he could have spared the time.
I go up to the passport control and slide a very unsmiling man my passport.
“What brings you to Sweden?” he asks.
Oh shit. I can’t say I’m meeting the prince. That’s all top secret.
“I’m meeting a friend.”
He looks past me at someone in the line, like he wants to murder someone back there. “What is your friend’s name?”
What?
“Uh, Johan Andersson.”
“Where does he live?”
“Stockholm.”
“What is the address?”
“Why, you gonna come check on me?” I try and laugh.
His sharp eyes flit to mine. “What is the address of Johan Andersson?”
Oh shit. You don’t joke here.
“It’s one ten…Skarsgard Way.”
He narrows his eyes, studying for a moment.
I hold my breath.
How obvious is it that I just made that up?
“How did you meet Johan Andersson?”
“He stayed at my hotel.”
“Pardon me?”
“I met him in California, at a hotel. We went to Disneyland. I fell in love and here I am.” I smile awkwardly. “Ta-da.”
He shakes his head, stamps the page, and curtly slides the passport back to me. “Have a nice day.”
I quickly take it from him and hurry along. Jeez, what was up his ass.
Now that I’ve gotten through passport control, I have other things to worry about.
What if there’s no one to pick me up? What if I have to take a cab and Viktor warned me about the cabs, what did he say again?
I ponder this as I get my luggage from the carousel and haul it through the customs and out into the arrivals part of the terminal.
That’s when I see a familiar face.
“Nick!” I cry out when I see the beak-nosed man holding a sign that reads McPherson.
“Miss McPherson,” Nick says to me, as reserved as ever or I’m starting to think that’s how all Swedes are. “Come this way.”
Nick is dressed in black like all the limo and pick-up drivers are, like they all belong to the same secret army but only Nick walks like he’s leading me off to the barracks.
It feels like that too because holy shit, the moment I step outside I realize how severely underdressed I am. Viktor had told me to bring my warmest coat and even though Tehachapi’s nickname is the town of four seasons (which probably sounds really redundant outside of California) apparently my warmest coat is not going to cut it.
It’s colder than a New York winter.
It’s colder than a witch’s tit.
It’s colder than a polar bear’s toenails.
It’s cold as fuck.
Shivering and quickly buttoning up my shitty coat as I follow Nick to the parking lot, we pass a long line of people waiting outside for cabs, none of them looking the slightest bit put out or shivering like I am. I curse them immediately and the wind picks up in response, throwing snow in my face.
Thankfully it’s not long until I’m getting in the back of what looks like the Mercedes version of a town car. It’s warm in here and then we’re on the highway which seems even less plowed than the runway was, except all the cars are zooming along it at top speed. We only slow down when the visibility turns everything in front of us into a white wall and we’re still going faster than fifty.
“Is it always this, uh, snowy?” I ask Nick.
“Not always in November but we’re getting an early start to winter this year.”
Oh great. I can’t look out the window anymore, it’s giving me anxiety, so I lay back and let the warmth of the car’s heater wash over me and the jet-lag seep into my bones and then Nick is shaking my leg.
“We’re here,” he says.
I slowly push myself up and look around. I’m still in the car. Outside it’s all white.
He gets out of the car and opens the back door, a rush of startlingly cold air swooping in and slapping me in the face. He has an umbrella held above me, though the snow is taking no prisoners, and helps me out.
“This is the back entrance to the palace,” he tells me, and I look over the car at the tall three-story white building that seems to blend in too well with the snow. “Bodi there will get you all sorted.”
A man comes scuttling out of the back door and grabs my suitcase out of the trunk. I’ve heard of Bodi the butler before but for some reason I imagined him to be dressed, like, well a butler. I suppose it’s as much of a stereotype as me wearing a French maid’s uniform.
Bodi is balding a bit but has crazy red hair and bright emerald eyes that match his green velvet suit.
“Welcome Miss McPherson,” he says to me, gesturing to the door. “Please follow me inside.”
I look at Nick as snowflakes gather in his hair. Even though it’s the afternoon here, things already seem to be getting dark, bathing the grounds in this blue-gray glow.
“Where is Viktor?” I ask Nick. I would have thought he would have come out of the door with Bodi.
“He will be back later,” he says and then gets back in his car, the tires spinning on the snow for a moment before the car lurches off.
“Miss,” Bodi urges from the door.
I nod and come toward him, nearly slipping twice on the snow before I get to the door.
“Sorry,” he says, nodding behind me. “It’s usually shoveled dry. I know her highness wants a heated driveway installed but this is a very old place.”
I wave him off, not wanting him to make a fuss. Who the fuck would I be, some poor girl showing up at a royal palace and seeming upset that the driveway isn’t shoveled?
I also found it kind of funny that he said “her highness wants this” like he’s being sarcastic but he’s very much not. Because, that’s Viktor’s mother. I might not have to call Viktor anything but Viktor, but I can’t go up to his mother and be like “yo, what up Mrs. N, what’s happening?”
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 loo
k 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.