It’s an L-shaped white building, two stories high, with some groomed grounds and landscaping around it, set up on a hill at the base of a bigger mountain. Simple and classy, but other than the vast view over the farmlands below, it’s nothing to write home about.

“It’s quaint,” Jane says in a chipper voice in case the limo driver will report her. Then she leans into me. “It’s definitely no Vaduz Castle.”

Vaduz is where I grew up and where my father still resides in Liechtenstein. It’s a legitimate castle with turrets and the works, built into the side of a cliff in the eleventh century.

“Definitely not,” I tell her. But actually, even though the idea of being in Magnus’s apartment put me off, the thought of being in a big, cold palace wasn’t too inviting either. This place seems right in between, the Goldilocks effect.

But there are no bears in this fairy tale. Instead, it feels like I’m about to step into the den of the very big, very bad wolf.

Nine

Magnus

Growing up, I spent a lot of summers at this estate. It was paradise, a respite from the restrictions of school, the forced learning, the structure. Here I was finally free, surrounded by fresh air and summer sun, and I had nothing to do all day except precisely what I wanted.

Which, when I wasn’t terrorizing my sisters, included a lot of sports. If I wasn’t beating Cristina’s ass at tennis matches, I was playing soccer or rugby against various butlers and guards. The only thing I didn’t do here was horseback riding—I left that to my sisters. I don’t get along with horses.

This morning, I’m on a long run through the woods and up the mountain right behind the house. I know Ella and Jane are expected at any minute and then the two-week countdown begins, but the amount of nervous energy I have coursing through me has to go somewhere.

So I run several laps around the small lake nearby until sweat is pouring off of me and my heart feels like it might burst through my chest, and finally, finally my thoughts cease. I’m no longer worried about anything—having to live with Ella for two weeks, not knowing what’s going to happen after—none of that matters. My mind is blissfully blank.

By the time I get back to the house, my damp shirt is off and bunched up in my hands, my skin slick, my hair sticking to my forehead.

I see a limo parked in the driveway.

They’re here.

And so it begins.

I run up the front stairs and through the main doors and hear voices coming from the parlor room.

Ella and Jane are talking to Ottar about the crown moldings or something and I can only guess he’s pretending to know what he’s talking about.

“Sir, you’re back,” Ottar says, then frowns. “And you’ve lost your shirt.”

I hold up the shirt. “Didn’t lose it. It’s right here.”

Look, I know what I’m doing. I know I’ve worked my ass off for this body and I’m not afraid to use it. It’s at least working on Lady Jane, who is staring at my abs and chest in a very unladylike way.

Ella, however, immediately averts her eyes the moment she takes one shocked look at me. But I’m not blind. Her cheeks are going pink. She likes what she sees even if she wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it.

I can work with that. For the next two weeks, I can definitely work with that.

“Do you run?” Lady Jane asks, finally tearing her eyes away from my body and up to my eyes. “Like, as exercise?”

I nod. “There are a lot of trails around here. Hiking trails too, right to the top of the mountain. You should go at some point.”

Jane laughs, a kind of belly laugh that shakes the whole room. “Please. My idea of exercise is a good brisk sit. Preferably with a hydrating beverage in hand. Chardonnay is best.”

“Chardonnay isn’t very hydrating,” Ottar comments, which I’m pretty sure causes everyone to roll their eyes. He can be quite the literal one.

“She’s joking, Samwise,” I tell him. “So, how was your flight?” I ask her, making small talk now. As Jane chatters away about the plane, I walk further into the room, purposely passing close to Ella as I grab an apple from the fruit bowl that the help must have laid out for us. I stand right behind Ella, staring down at her delicate neck.

Her hair is up in a messy bun, but there are a few loose strands with a bit of curl to them, which makes me wonder if her hair is naturally curly or not. The nape of her neck is pale and there’s a tiny freckle just behind her ear.

I wonder what it’s like to kiss her there. If I’ll ever get a chance.

The thoughts are fleeting but they’re there. Usually I don’t have to work so hard to wear a woman down, but this is a whole new ballgame, and at this point I can’t expect anything.

What I do know is that the next two weeks will become a lot more interesting if I make it my goal to get under her skin. Whether she likes it or not, I think provoking her might be my next adrenaline sport. She wants to see if we’re compatible? I’ll show her we’re combatable.

She can tell I’m staring at her too, from the way she adjusts herself in her seat like she’s uncomfortable. She’s not listening to Jane at all. Her focus is entirely on me, whether she wants it to be or not.

Finally, Ella whips her head around to glance up at me with a dirty look, and I smile and open my mouth to take a smooth chomp out of the apple.

Only to realize it’s fake.

Wax.

Oh god.

I keep the smile plastered on my face, frozen mid-bite, until she turns back around. Then I spit the apple out.

I glance up to see Ottar staring at me with his brows furrowed, having seen the whole thing.

“Sir?” he asks with concern.

I ignore him. “So,” I say to everyone, clearing my throat. “Now that everyone is here, I guess we should go over the rules.”

“What rules?” Jane asks suspiciously.

“The rules,” Ottar says.

“Ottar is a huge fan of rules,” I point out. “I like to break them but I do think some of them have merit. The big one, of course, is that Ella, you’re not allowed to leave the estate at any point. I’m still public enemy number one and on the paps radar and there are Russian twins who are crazy enough to set up camp outside the main gates. We’re just lucky that word hasn’t traveled yet that I’m staying here, but it will.”

“It’s like being trapped on the moors,” she says quietly.

“If it makes you feel any better, then yes. Just pretend I’m Heathcliff.”

“Like you’ve even read Wuthering Heights.”

“Hey,” I tell her, gesturing to my muscles. “Just because I look like this doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

Ottar stifles a laugh and I give him a look to shut his face.

Ella twists in her seat to face me. “Okay. So have you read Wuthering Heights?”

“Well, no.”

“Any books at all?” She looks so fucking smug, like she knows I’m going to admit that I don’t read.

I automatically narrow my eyes at her. “I’ll have you know that I’m a huge fan of audiobooks.” When I can find the time and the patience to listen to them, of course. Somehow I found the time to listen to The Lord of the Rings numerous times but I’m not sure admitting that I love Tolkein will impress her enough. She seems like the type who would only be impressed by someone who has been dead longer than he has.

“Back to the rules,” Ottar says. “Can we have a no quarrelling rule in there because it’s making things awkward for the rest of us.”

“Speaking of the rest of you,” I tell them, “both you and Lady Jane have your own quarters in the servants’ house next door. For the sake of Ella and I getting to know each other, there should be a rule that you aren’t to pop by here after eleven at night.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Ella says, getting to her feet. “You make it sound like there will be something going on here for them to interrupt.”

I give her a quick smile. “Well, don’t count that out.”

“Sir,” Ottar says to me, this time in Norwegian, “I don’t say this to be a cockblocker, but I think it would be best that her lady-in-waiting be able to stay here for the princess’ piece of mind.”

“You’re always trying to be a cockblocker, Ottar,” I tell him, also in Norwegian.

“Wait a minute,” Ella speaks up. “What are you both talking about?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly in English.

“That should be a rule too,” she says. “English only. No Norwegian. I don’t want to hear your secret language and you can bet I’m going to be Googling what kuk means.”

“You won’t be surprised,” I tell her dryly. “Okay, fine. No Norwegian. We wouldn’t want you to feel stupid.”

She shakes her head slightly and sighs. “Anything else with these rules or is that it?”

“Not really. I’m sure you’ll get used to see the royal guards walking about. My personal bodyguard is Einar, so you’ll probably see him a lot. I don’t know where he is right now. Probably hiding where no one can see him.”

“I’m right here,” Einar says from behind me, making me jump.

“Jesus,” I yelp, seeing him sitting in an armchair in the corner of the room. “How long have you been there?”

He doesn’t say anything. Also he’s wearing those damn sunglasses inside.

I shake my head at him and then face Ella. “So that’s Einar.”

He nods at her.

“There are also a few cooks and cleaners,” Ottar tells her. “But they’ll mostly be staying in the other house.”

I clap my hands together. “So there we have it. That’s how the next two weeks are going to go. I can’t promise that we’ll be friends by the end of it, let alone engaged, but I can promise you that you’re about to get really, really bored.”