The Royals Upstairs

Chapter Five

Five

JAMES

I set my alarm for six in the morning, expecting to have to jump into action by seven. But by the time I shower, trim my beard, get dressed in my suit, and step out into the hall, the house is dead quiet. Not a single sound except for a clock ticking from somewhere.

I make my way on the creaky hardwood floors of the hall down toward the kitchen, expecting at least the cook to be up and making food. But no. Nothing.

Am I in the bloody twilight zone? Did zombies attack in the night?

I leave the kitchen and then make my way to the front doors, opening them. More snow has fallen overnight, and everything is cold and pristine. I step out onto the grand porch and crane my neck to get a look at Einar’s cabin. Smoke is rising from his chimney, so at least that means he’s up.

The air certainly has a bite to it, so I step back inside and close the doors, just in time to see Laila walking down the hall toward the kitchen.

“Hey,” I whisper to her, striding over.

She takes one look at me and keeps walking, like she’s embarrassed to know me. I guess she figured out that I can hear her through the walls and she’s a pretty loud snorer.

I round the corner into the kitchen, grabbing her elbow lightly.

“Where is everyone?” I ask.

Her brows rise. “Sleeping?” she says, as if it’s normal for an entire royal palace to sleep in. She looks me up and down discerningly. “Are you on the way to a business meeting?”

She turns and goes to the kettle, flicking it on. She’s wearing pink-and-white-striped pajamas, her hair in a messy pile on top of her head. With sleep still in her eyes and not a lick of makeup on her face, she’s far more gorgeous than she should be.

“It’s almost seven thirty,” I tell her, glancing at my watch.

She leans back against the counter and folds her arms. “I don’t know what to tell you, suit boy, but this isn’t jolly ol’ England. This is Norway. And for whatever reason, this house likes to get up late. Even the kids. Thank god, because I can use the beauty sleep.”

“Well, it suits you well,” I blurt out. I cover it up with a charming smile. “The beauty sleep.”

She gives me a withering look, not amused. She never took my compliments well, rebounding like she’s Teflon.

“Though I must say, I didn’t get enough beauty sleep myself,” I quickly add. “On account of the thin walls and someone’s predisposition to snoring.”

Her cheeks go pink. That was one thing I loved about her, the fact that she blushed easily, especially with well-placed dirty talk.

Stay focused, James. You’re going to run your new job into the ground if you’re not careful.

“You’re going to have to move your bed to the other side of the room,” she tells me, raising her chin, refusing to be embarrassed even though her cheeks don’t lie. “Or wear earplugs. Also, I don’t snore.”

She turns around and grabs a mug from the cupboard.

“Yes, you do,” I tell her, stepping closer. “Especially after some wine or whisky. Then you’re a bloody banshee, shaking the whole damn bed.”

When Laila and I had our little trysts, I didn’t often spend the night since my own room was downstairs. But when I did, I had to put the pillow over my head. I’m a light sleeper by nature, and her snoring would make the room rumble. Still, there was something about it that I found endearing—like how could such a beautiful woman produce such a horrendous noise?

“James,” she hisses, whipping around, fire in her eyes. “It isn’t starting over again if you keep bringing up how we knew each other before.”

“Everyone knows we know each other.”

“Not in that way, they don’t,” she says, her eyes darting out to the empty hall and back. “ Never in that way, or I might lose my job. And you might too. And if you truly want me to bury the very big hatchet that I personally sharpened just for you, then you can’t ever mention that we were…uh, together.”

She has a point. “Aye.” I raise my palms in surrender. “Fair enough. I’ll try to erase you from my memory. Got to say, it won’t be easy.”

“Oh really? Is that so?” The bitterness in her voice makes me step back. “Because you were so fucking good at it before.”

Ouch.

Out in the foyer, there’s the sound of the front door opening.

She gives me one last nasty glare and then turns around, pulling instant coffee out of the cupboard.

“You’re still drinking instant coffee?” I say. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m used to it,” she grumbles, spooning it into her cup.

“God morgen,” Sigrid, the cook, says cheerfully as she comes bustling into the kitchen, all smiles. “Good morning to you, James.”

“God morgen, Sigrid,” I tell her. “Best that I learn Norwegian sooner or later.”

The sooner the better, since I don’t think Sigrid speaks a lot of English. She just nods at me and goes about in the kitchen, getting ready for breakfast.

Laila leaves the room with her mug of disgusting instant coffee (black! She even drinks it black!) and I make myself a quick cup from the Keurig, like a proper person does when the French press isn’t available, dousing it with cream.

Then I set about trying to find where Laila went.

I look in all the rooms, then head to her bedroom, knocking on the door.

“ What? ” she asks through the door, her voice sharp.

“How did you know it was me?”

I hear her exhale and then she opens the door, staring at me with a pinched expression.

“What do you want?”

“I want to drink my coffee with you,” I tell her. “You’re the only one up and the only one I know. Can I come in?”

The struggle behind her eyes is real. I can tell she wants to shut the door on me, but luckily she relents.

“Fine,” she says, opening it just wide enough for me to squeeze past.

I step inside the room, and she closes the door. Then thinks better of it, and opens it, leaving it that way.

I know what she’s doing. She’s being smart. If someone were to walk past her room and hear us talking with the door closed, perhaps they’d get the wrong idea. Also, this is her way of keeping me in line, reminding me that we’re starting over again and nothing from the past is to be mentioned. I’m on the same page as her, but she wouldn’t believe it.

I walk around the room, taking it in. It’s the same size as mine, mint-green wallpaper with silver filigree accents. Her bed is small, piled with thick Nordic quilts, and pressed right up against the wall where mine is.

I stop by a framed photo of her and Helge, her grandmother. The photo is different from the one she used to have in her room in London. In this one, Laila has her arms around her, and though both are laughing, Helge looks much smaller and frailer. I feel a familiar pinch in my chest, that conflicting feeling of wishing I had someone like that in my life, who raised me and loved me, and then being relieved that I never have to deal with anything like the loss of someone I deeply love. I already went through that when my parents gave me up, and then when my wife left me, and I’m making it my life’s mission not to go through anything like that again.

“How is your grandmother?” I ask, my voice automatically going soft, not sure if I’m being too personal.

“She’s good,” Laila says.

I look at her, and for the first time since I’ve been here, I notice the lines of grief around her eyes.

She takes a sip of her coffee, slender fingers wrapped around the mug, then gives me a quick smile. “I mean, she’s as good as she can be,” she says.

“I’m really sorry,” I tell her, putting my hands in my pockets. “I know how much she means to you. When I’d heard from Eddie that you left…”

“You were probably glad I was out of your hair.”

I shake my head. “Not even a little. I worried about you. I wanted to reach out to you to see how you were, but…” God, why does this feel so bloody awkward?

She gives me a dismissive wave. “It’s fine.”

“Magnus mentioned over dinner last night that she has dementia and she’s in a care home. Does she still know who you are?”

I expect her to brush me off with that question, but instead her features soften, looking defeated.

“She does,” she says quietly. “Sometimes. Other times no. But on her good days, it’s like I have her back, if only for a short while.” She looks away, having another sip of her coffee, silence humming in the room. “But those days are getting few and far between. I wish I could just pop by and see her every day, you know, especially when she’s having a good day. But I can’t. So I just have to hope that on Sundays she’ll happen to remember.”

Laila isn’t the kind of girl you see vulnerable all that often. In fact, in our time working together she’s always put up a tough front, like nothing bothers her. I feel like I’m seeing more of the real her now than I ever did then. We might have been sharing our bodies with each other, but neither of us ever opened up in a personal way, aside from the occasional comment here and there.

I should be honored that she’s confiding in me now, considering how things ended between us, but I can tell she’s realizing her mistake. That softness in her eyes disappears, her shoulders straightening.

“I better get ready for the day,” she says stiffly, her eyes going to the door.

Just as Prince Magnus walks past.

“James!” he exclaims, as if we’re long-lost friends and he hasn’t seen me in years. “Good morning to you! How did you sleep?” He doesn’t come in the room, I guess respecting Laila’s privacy.

I give Laila a parting glance and then step out into the hall.

“Slept great, sir,” I tell him. “I’ve been up for some time.”

“Oh, stop with the sir business. It’s Magnus,” he says, whacking me on the back. He’s in his pajama pants and sheepskin slippers, having thrown on a fleece sweater with a picture of a Christmas tree on it—a sweater that is only meant for ugly Christmas sweater parties and certainly not meant for an heir to the throne. “And we don’t stick to a schedule around here in the mornings. Unless we have to. And then I have a million alarms and wake-up calls. Need a coffee refill?”

He takes my mug out of my hands and saunters down to the kitchen, just as Laila shuts the door on me. I hurry on after him.

“So, James,” he says, sticking my mug under the Keurig. “How would you like to accompany me into the city today?”

I put my hands behind my back. “Of course, sir, anywhere you wish.”

He gives his head a shake, his messy hair jostling, and I can tell he doesn’t like the whole sir thing, but I can’t help it. Especially if we’re going out of the house and I need to be on patrol, I can’t think of him as a friend or anything like that. I know I considered Eddie a friend, but it complicates things a bit when you’re their employee, and this time around I want to keep things as uncomplicated as possible—especially with Laila back in the picture.

“Great. How about we leave in an hour or two? Gives us enough time to eat.”

He hands me my mug, and I thank him.

“Will it just be you?”

He nods. “Yes, me, you, Ottar, and Einar. The boys will stay behind, and I’m sure Ella isn’t interested.”

On the one hand I’m excited to be on duty outside the house. On the other hand I wish Laila was coming with us. I’m not sure why. It’s not like I can bug her or talk to her in a public setting when I’m on duty. I guess there’s this sad little part of me that likes to remind her of what my role is and what I can do. What can I say? My job brings out the alpha male in me.

I don’t dwell on it for long. Sigrid sets up a buffet, as apparently she does every morning, allowing everyone to get their food whenever they want. After a breakfast of cold cuts, smoked salmon, thin slices of dark brown bread, and tons of butter and cream cheese, we’re heading out to the SUV.

I take the front seat beside the stoic Einar at the wheel, who is much older than I am and looks like the product of very angular people, with his sharp jaw and razor cheekbones. He’s also wearing eighties-style ski-goggle sunglasses, despite the day being very dim and gray.

Ottar is in the back seat with Magnus, calling stores to see if they can close them so that the prince can do his clothes shopping in private. Naturally, the stores all comply, because they all want to be the place where the Prince of Norway shops.

Meanwhile, I’m just happy to be heading into the city.

“What kind of a drinker are you, James?” Magnus asks me.

I twist in my seat to look at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“What kind of drinker are you? You’re Scottish, so that’s a start. You know I have this bar I go to, total divey, hole-in-the-wall place. I should take you there after your shopping spree.”

I frown at him. “ My shopping spree?”

He laughs. “You thought we were going shopping for me? Look, I know you saw me in that sweater this morning, but I can assure you I have a lot of clothes. Proper clothes. Not to say I won’t take a look if they have some new Tom Ford in, but no, James boy, this is about you.”

Einar glances at me, and though I can’t see his eyes underneath those ridiculous sunglasses, I know he’s feeling sorry for me. Poor new bodyguard, has to have the prince buy him new clothes.

“Your Majesty, really, I’m fine.” I throw the Your Majesty part in there to remind him that in the end, I’m here to protect him. Not to be a guinea pig in some makeover.

“James,” he says, slapping his fingers along his knee. “We’re going. Consider this your uniform.”

Guess I can’t argue with that. I look down at my gray suit and navy tie and wonder where I went wrong. It seems everything I learned being a PPO for Eddie and others has been thrown to the wind.

The drive to Oslo doesn’t take as long as I thought it would, and when we start getting into the city proper, my spirits rise a bit. I haven’t had any time to explore Oslo, and even though I am officially on duty, I can’t help but take note of what look like cool restaurants, museums, or bars. We eventually stop at a store in what seems to be an upper-class, boutique area of the city and park the SUV at the back, and I slip into my security role. Whether you’re protecting the Prince of Fairfax or the Prince of Norway, the job is always the same. My focus sharpens so much that it’s almost an out-of-body experience. I float to the store, every sense heightened, my eyes seeing everything, my ears hearing everything. The sense of power I get from having the role of protector never fails to get my adrenaline and endorphins running.

The owner of the store opens the back door, and Einar takes the lead and strides in, casing the joint. I stay behind Magnus, between him and Ottar.

The store is empty aside from three employees dressed in black. Their faces are so impassive that I’m sure Magnus’s shopping trips happen more often than I think.

“First off,” he says to me, “we’re going to get you a few new suits. Nice ones.”

I look down at my suit again. “What’s wrong with this one?”

“It’s fine,” he says. “If you’re working for the British monarchy. We’re in Norway now, James boy. Birthplace of death metal.”

Oh my god, where is he going with this?

“We’re a little darker,” he says, quickly running his hands through a rack of suits. “A little crazier. Unpredictable. You need to dress for the culture.”

If he pulls out a kinky leather suit, I’m going to be pissed.

“Here,” he says, snatching a suit from the rack and holding it out to me.

To my relief, it’s something Alice Cooper would never be caught dead in. Just a simple black suit, maybe a bit of a blue sheen to it, the lapels narrower than I’m used to. But harmless, really.

“What size are you?” he asks. “No, wait, you go by UK sizing. We’ll get you measured.”

And thus comes the slightly embarrassing scene where the tailor, who has ear hair growing out of his head like an overgrown field, measures me with Prince Magnus, Ottar, and Einar all watching. When he’s done, he jots a bunch of numbers down, goes back to the rack, and pulls out the suit in another size.

“Denne,” he says in Norwegian. Whatever he’s saying, it’s a command more than anything.

I thank him, “Tussen takk,” happy to remember my Norwegian from the other day, and then get changed in the dressing room.

The suit is a lot tighter than I’m used to. Normally this would be a problem, since I have to have a lot of movement, but it moves beautifully. Maybe it’s the material, but it almost feels athletic. Hides my gun well too, thanks to the drape of the suit jacket.

And, well, it shows off my junk just a little bit, for any discerning eyes out there. This certainly isn’t a suit for a modest Brit. For a brash Scot, aye, it will do the job.

I step out into the room, feeling like a million bucks already.

“You see!” Magnus exclaims. “Now you’re almost cool.”

I snort. “Almost.”

“You’ll never be as cool as Einar, though,” Ottar says, grinning.

“Not with those sunglasses,” I tell him.

Einar just grunts in response.

After we decide on the new suit, we get into the sweaters, dress shirts, five-hundred-dollar T-shirts, and jeans. I have to say, even though I still find the whole shopping experience with my boss—a royal on top of that—to be a little weird, it’s also kind of nice. I’ve never had anything like this done for me before. Growing up, I was lucky if the hand-me-downs and Salvation Army finds I was given didn’t have holes or stains on them. Most of the time they never even fit me properly. So this is an entirely new experience.

And true to Magnus’s word, we end up going to a bar in another part of town. Of course it’s just after two in the afternoon, but that doesn’t deter him.

Einar and I go in first and check the place out. He wasn’t kidding when he called it a dive bar. The name is Harold’s, and it’s not dirty or anything, just extremely small and dark, without any flourishes except for some tiny gold-framed paintings of whales on the dark green walls. To be honest, it’s my kind of place, except for the lack of suitable women in here. There are two men and an elderly lady sitting at the bar who exchange a nod with Einar, and from the way he nods back at them, and the bartender, I’m guessing they’re considered safe.

Magnus walks in and gives a few high fives to the customers, greeting them like he knows them really well, and then we go and sit in a booth at the back. Einar locks the front door and remains stationed by it, hands clasped at his front.

“I take it you come here often,” I tell Magnus.

He folds his hands across the table. “Before I met Ella, I lived in an apartment not too far from here. I would come here all the time.” He gestures to the three over his shoulder. “That’s Maud, Guillermo, and Slender Man. And the bartender is Harold. Also the owner, if you haven’t gathered.”

“I’m sorry—Slender Man?” I ask peering over his shoulder.

One of the men is extremely skinny and tall, with a long gray face and black suit, so I guess I can see where he got the name from.

“His real name is Erik,” Magnus supplies. “I’d introduce you, but he’s been going through a divorce for years now, and he’ll take the wind out of your sails if you get him going.”

He frowns at me for a moment, weighing something in his head, and I have a feeling I know what it is.

“Something to drink?” he then asks, derailing me.

“No thank you,” I tell him.

“Are you sure? It’s not a problem. We’ll just count here on forward as an evening off.”

I shake my head. “Thank you, but no thank you. With all due respect, sir, even if I was off duty right now, I am your protection officer, and I have sworn a duty to protect you no matter what. We’re out here in public. I need to keep a clear head and do my job regardless.”

A smile slowly spreads across his face. “Well done. That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”

“Wait, was this a test?” I ask as Ottar gets up and heads to the bar.

“Not really. I would have been fine if you had some aquavit with me, but the reason I hired you is to keep me, and my family, in line. Seems you’re going to do just fine.” He pauses. “But the bar at home is a different story.”

“I’ll take that as a warning.”

Ottar comes back with water for me, and glasses of aquavit for him and Magnus. The stuff smells terrible, and this is coming from a man who will drink almost anything.

Magnus raises his glass to me. “Let’s sk?l to James Hunter,” he says. “To your bravery and selflessness in the line of duty. I still don’t think I’m worth taking a bullet for, and I’m definitely not worth missing out on aquavit at Harold’s, but I commend you for it.”

I raise my glass of water and knock it against his and Ottar’s. I have no doubt that my work going forward will never have a dull day.

Magnus slams back the glass of aquavit, making a face, and Ottar does the same, matching him. “You really ought to try this,” Magnus says, though he’s wincing and can barely speak. “Nectar of the gods.” He coughs, face going red.

“I’m sure there’ll be many an aquavit in my future.” I’m more than grateful for my tap water.

“Speaking of Slender Man and divorce,” Magnus suddenly says after he recovers, swinging the conversation back in time. “You were married once, weren’t you?”

Talk about a non sequitur. I’m so taken aback by the question, I don’t even have time to feel defensive.

Oh, wait. There it is.

“I was,” I say carefully, feeling my hackles go up.

He studies me, giving me a sympathetic tilt of his head. God, I hate those head tilts. They always accompany the words marriage or divorce . “Is it hard to talk about?”

I clear my throat. Lift my chin to give the illusion that it isn’t. “No, not at all. It’s just in the past.”

“She was a Belgian woman, correct? What was her name…Anne?”

“Anika,” I say hesitantly. “You seem to know a lot.”

He gives me a tight smile. “I had to do my due diligence when I hired you of course, to make sure there were no skeletons in your closet, or nothing that could impede your duty. May I ask what happened? You’re my age, aren’t you? Thirty-four? Pretty young to be divorced.”

This is something I don’t talk about, with anyone. So the fact that Prince Magnus is asking me so boldly says a lot about where I really stand in our power dynamic, because he knows I have to answer him. Of course I don’t have to—I can tell him it’s none of his business—but I also know that could make things worse. Despite all the pleasantries and his easygoing nature, we’re in the “probation” period of the job.

“I’m going to say hi to Maud,” Ottar says, clearing his throat before getting out of his chair and going over to the bar.

“Now Ottar is gone,” Magnus says to me. “I don’t blame you for being cagey. He has a big mouth. So tell me. What happened?”

I sigh, twisting the glass of water between my hands, averting my eyes from his intense stare. “Nothing too dramatic,” I admit. “It was my first job for a royal family, and I was protecting Princess Adeline of Belgium. Before that I was in the army, worked as security after that, and then I lucked out and landed the gig with the Fairfaxes. It’s a different game in Belgium. The monarchy isn’t as worshipped, or hated, as it is in the UK, but even so, I took my job very seriously. Eventually I met Anika. Fell in love.” For the first time, but I don’t add that. “We got married. And I guess I couldn’t deal with having two lives. One committed to protecting the princess, the other committed to my wife.”

“Ah.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” I say quickly. “I was committed to my wife. Fully. It’s just that my duty took me away from her more often than not. I barely saw her. I tried so hard to find the balance, but it was impossible. I was madly in love with her, make no mistake about that, but being in love…wasn’t enough. Not for her anyway. So she left.”

Actually, she left me for another man, one she’d been having an affair with for a very long time. That man was able to give her everything I couldn’t. That man was enough for her. I wasn’t.

“It can’t be easy being a bodyguard,” Magnus eventually says with a wince. “I know that being a royal is hard, and I was extremely lucky that my path crossed with Ella’s. I have no idea where I’d be right now, or what kind of person I’d be, if I hadn’t met her. She’s changed me, helped me…saved me in more ways than one. But I often forget how hard it is to be involved with the monarchies. How little a life you get. I hope you know that I’ll do whatever I can to make sure that you still get to have your own life when you’re not protecting mine.”

“My duty is around the clock,” I remind him.

“It is. But even so. I’m trying. I look at Laila sometimes and wonder the same about her. She’s so young that it feels like a waste that she’s locked up in that house with us and the boys.”

I swallow hard. “It’s her job too. She knew what she was getting into. And from what I know, she wants to be here.”

“You’re right. And sometimes I think people like you, like Laila, purposely take these kinds of jobs to avoid forming any attachments.” He drops that last bit of info like a bomb, a knowing glint in his eye as he studies me, as if searching for the truth.

I let out a sour laugh. “You’re a philosopher all of a sudden.”

He taps his fingernail against his empty glass. “I blame the drink.” He pauses, something weighty coming over his expression. “I didn’t want to just talk about your divorce, James. I wanted to talk about the period after your divorce.”

I press my lips together, hard. Talking about my divorce is one thing, but talking about the aftermath? That’s a whole other ball game of personal .

“I took some time off, that’s all.”

“That’s all? You traveled the world for two years.”

“It’s a big world.”

He clears his throat and gives me a somewhat sympathetic look. “When I talked with Eddie about hiring you and asked him about your previous work experience in Belgium, he told me it was more than just a sabbatical. That it was for your mental health.”

Damn that Eddie. That’s what I get for confiding in him, and that’s exactly why PPOs and the people they work for shouldn’t become friends. Should have figured that it would travel along the royal grapevine.

I nod, taking in a sharp breath through my nose, steeling myself for what I’m about to say, though it won’t be much. “I wasn’t doing…great. The divorce caught me off guard. I quit my job and went traveling. To clear my head. It worked.”

“You sure about that?” he asks after a moment, studying me.

I meet his gaze dead-on. “Absolutely sure.”

I don’t know how long our staring contest goes on for, though in the back of my mind I know it’s not normal for a bodyguard to be staring down the prince he’s supposed to protect, but then Magnus raises a brow and gives me a wry smile.

“Good. Then it’s all settled.”

He turns in his seat and waves at Harold. “Harold, another please!”

Whew.