The Royals Upstairs

Chapter Eight

Eight

LAILA

Sunshine lights up my dreams.

I take a moment to lie in bed, appreciating the way the sun is slicing through the bedroom this morning. It only lasts a short while before the sun moves on, ever closer to the horizon, but after nearly a week of snow, the sun feels good, especially since I’ll be heading into Oslo, which always looks so much prettier with the sun reflecting off the harbor.

I have a whole day off, and I get to see my grandmother. I’ll stop by Steen & Str?m, the department store, and see if they have any of her favorite cloudberry cake (something she still seems to love), maybe do some shopping for myself, then head on over to her. Afterward I’ll get a bite to eat at a wine bar and drink until my heart feels warm, then come back home.

I sigh in quiet contentment, closing my eyes.

Suddenly James’s headboard knocks against the wall.

My eyes fly open. I take in a deep, shaking breath through my nose, willing myself to calm down, my contentment interrupted.

The headboard knocks again.

What the hell is he doing?

I find myself holding my breath and listening now. Any sense of morning peace has vanished.

Wait…wait a minute…

I close my eyes, as if that will help me hear better.

A moan.

I hear a fucking moan .

And not just any moan. A familiar, low, lust-soaked moan.

Oh my god. Does he have someone over? Did he bring a woman back here last night?

My heart pinches, as if I’m jealous, and I’m trying to think, my brain flipping through the files of last night. No. He couldn’t have. He stayed in, just as I had.

But while I’m distracting myself with this, he’s moaning away in the bedroom next to me. And I’m starting to realize that he’s got no one else in there.

He’s by himself.

Jacking off.

I smile to myself, feeling all sorts of things I shouldn’t be feeling. One is that I’m catching James in the act of something I shouldn’t, so yes, I’m feeling a little naughty. Two is that the sounds are bringing me back. Back to when I used to make him feel that way. He’s always been very vocal, and a dirty talker to boot, and I have to say I sometimes miss the way he let me know how much he enjoyed what I was doing to him.

Three is that James has no idea I’m hearing him right now, so this could be rather embarrassing information for me to wield.

Except…no.

Of course he knows I can hear him right now.

My body reacts, heat pooling between my legs, a tightness in my throat.

I feel a sudden thrill at the knowledge that he’s doing this on purpose, knowing I can hear him, knowing how it affects me. It’s hot, dirty, and wrong, and I can’t help but run my hand down over my shirt, my legs parting slightly.

He whispers good night to me through the wall every night—is this his way of saying good morning? He knows I can hear every heated sound that’s coming out of his mouth, probably hoping to wake me up.

That bastard. And to think I was this close to touching myself and playing along with him, my nipples already tight against my nightshirt, body feeling flushed with heat.

I get out of bed as quietly as I can, silently seething, and know that the only way to play this is to pretend that I hadn’t heard him at all.

I head into the shower and try to forget his asinine attempt…at what, even? Turning me on? Reminding me of what I’m missing? As if I didn’t know. All I had to do was sleep with him once, and then I was a goner, utterly addicted to him.

I know I sound like some obsessed woman who slept with a guy and let her feelings run away from her, immediately wanting more. I know that’s what James thought of me, at one point. But that’s not really in my nature.

Before I worked for the Fairfaxes, I was an au pair and a nanny for a lot of aristocratic and royal-adjacent families around Europe. Back then, my duties were very typical and I always had evenings and weekends off, unless there was a special event. I had all the time in the world to date, but I just…didn’t. Not to say I never went on dates. I did. They just rarely went anywhere. If I was lucky it ended with a one-night stand, but even the guys who were the best in bed weren’t really worth calling the next day. There was no one I wanted to let into my life. No one I wanted to open my heart to. Even friendships were tricky for me as I’m never sure of people’s true intentions. You learn to distrust people as a whole when you’ve been burned before.

Then I got the job for Eddie and Monica, and things changed. Suddenly the freedom I had was gone. I went from being a nobody, gallivanting around London by myself, to being the nanny for the most adored and photographed baby in the entire country, maybe even the entire world. Suddenly everyone knew who I was. They knew every detail about me, from how my parents died when I was eight, to how my grandmother raised me by herself in Todalen, to who I was not dating.

It made me a shut-in, and I was already antisocial to begin with. I didn’t even want to go out when I had a day off because I knew I’d be photographed. (I know, why would they even bother with a nanny? But the UK media is batshit when it comes to anything to do with the royals.) I stayed in the palace all the time when I could, and my only real friend was Monica, but even that was always precarious because of the boss-employee relationship.

And so…there was James.

The minute I first saw him at the Fairfaxes’, all tall, with striking dark brows, amazing hair, witty eyes, a panty-dropping Scottish accent, big hands, and a wicked smile—I knew he was trouble.

And then he smirked at me.

It was fleeting, his face quickly going back to neutral. But that smirk did me in. It was another week before we were properly introduced to each other, but even then, in the back of my head, I knew it was just the beginning.

After that, the two of us skirted around each other until James invited me out for dinner in the city with him and his old friends in town, Harrison and Piper. Nothing physical happened between us, but we got closer. A lot closer.

It wasn’t just lust either. At times he genuinely seemed interested in me. He seemed to care. It’s part of his charm. He would ask about my grandmother a lot, perhaps knowing that part of me often missed my home country and the woman who had raised me.

But after a while, the sexual tension was impossible to ignore. One crisp fall night at three in the morning, the thread of tension snapped.

Next thing I knew, I was getting royally screwed by Prince Eddie’s bodyguard. After that, it was all I could think about. It’s not just that our chemistry was combustible, but that I found some kind of solace in him, as if he understood me and I understood him through just our bodies.

Or at least I thought I did. The thing about James is that being Prince Eddie’s PPO never stopped him from going out and living his life. In fact, he had a bit of a reputation for it. But me? I was blinded by lust and very, very lonely.

Which in the end made me feel vulnerable when he abruptly broke it off and started acting like I didn’t exist. The one time I let myself fall in lust. Lord help me if I ever truly fall in love.

I take an extra-long time in the shower—as if I can wash away the fact that James’s skilled hands were ever on my body—then I start getting ready for the day. I put on a thin red sweater that keeps me warm and fits nicely under my coat (also happens to make my boobs look huge), and high-waisted skinny jeans with thick fluffy socks. I blow-dry my hair straight, making a mental note to get more highlights put in at some point, then do a quick coat of makeup. I’m so used to just pulling my hair back and not wearing makeup when I’m here that I almost feel like a different person when I’ve got lipstick on.

I grab my purse and then step out into the hall.

Nearly colliding with James.

“Hey,” he says to me, his eyes taking on a mischievous slant. “How did you sleep?”

Don’t give him an inch.

“Just fine,” I tell him, offering a quick smile before pushing past him.

And he’s right on my tail as I head to the shoe rack by the front door.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

I sit down on the bench, glancing up at him as I grab my boots. “It’s my day off.” I eye his suit. “Isn’t it your day off too?”

He looks down at his suit. “Old habits die hard.”

“They certainly do.” I’m just glad it’s not his new suit that Magnus bought him, because those pants are pretty tight and they leave nothing to the imagination. As in, you can’t help but stare at his crotch, and since I happen to know how well-endowed he is, it’s an extra tease.

Again, probably done on purpose.

“You’re going to visit your grandmother?”

I pull on my boots. “Yup.”

“Can I come?”

I pause, eyes widening. “Why? To see my grandmother?”

“Sure, why not?”

Is he serious? “Why not?” I repeat. “Because I don’t want you there?”

I don’t mean to be so blunt with him, but I can’t help it.

“Oh,” he says.

Shit. Now I feel bad.

“Look,” I say, zipping up my boots and getting to my feet. “It’s not a good idea for my grandmother to meet new people. It’s overwhelming. She’ll probably end up thinking you’re her late husband. Sometimes she thinks I’m my mother, and…well, that feels like a kick in the chest.”

“Totally understandable,” he says. “Forget I said anything. Didn’t mean any harm by it.”

He turns to walk off, and I hate how torn this man is making me feel, how I’m angry at him one second for pleasuring himself loudly enough for me to hear, then guilty the next because it also seems like he’s trying to be nice.

“Wait,” I call after him, grabbing my coat from the rack.

He looks at me over his shoulder.

“Why don’t you come with me? You know, downtown. Olaf drives me. He’d be happy to give you a lift too. We can meet up after.”

James faces me with a wary expression. “You sure about that? I don’t want to step on any toes.”

“I’m sure,” I tell him as I zip up the coat. I think.

Then he grins at me, and damn it if I don’t get a little winded at the sight of how gorgeous he is. He strides over to me, grabbing his long wool peacoat and slipping on his boots, and we step outside on the porch.

Olaf, ever punctual, is already in the car, the engine running.

“Did you grab any breakfast?” James asks me as we head down the steps and into the sunshine, the snow sparkling so brightly I have to fish my sunglasses out of my purse.

I shake my head, slipping them on. “No. I usually get a cake for my grandmother, so I save myself for that.”

I reach for the door, but James is fast and opens it for me.

“After you,” he says.

I give him a quick smile, trying not to be fooled by any gallantry, and slide on in. I say hello to Olaf, a super old fellow who has worked for the royal family his whole life. He used to be the king’s butler but now is the chauffeur for anyone who needs it. He doesn’t hear the best, but he drives well and is always humming to himself happily.

I expect James to get in the front seat with him, but he slides right into the back seat next to me. This is just a black VW, so there’s not a lot of room back here, especially when you consider I’m tall and rather large-boned, with wide hips and a big ass, and he’s even taller and even larger-boned. Our shoulders are close to touching.

I angle my face away, putting my attention to the window as the car drives off. I hate how the smell of him seems to sink into my bones, so easily igniting the heat between my legs. I close my eyes, and my mind automatically starts playing back the sounds from this morning, that low, rich moan of pleasure.

My eyes snap back open. Nope. Can’t think about that.

And now it’s too hot in here.

I unzip my coat and try to get the giant puffy thing off me without touching James, but it’s impossible.

“Sorry,” I say as I elbow him repeatedly, maybe with a few extra jabs in there for good measure, stuck inside my coat until he grabs the ends and pulls me out of it.

“Thanks,” I tell him, trying to tame my hair, pushing my sunglasses up to the top of my head. I smoosh the coat between us like a barrier.

I feel his eyes on me for what seems like eternity before I finally turn my head and look his way.

He was just staring at my chest. Like I said, this sweater is extremely flattering (not that my curves need any emphasizing at all, because I have an ample amount). And he makes no apologies for his gaze either. His eyes drift up to mine, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Your hair looks really nice.”

I pat my hands over it, for a moment thinking he’s being sarcastic. “Thanks,” I tell him. “I use Sundays as an excuse to fix myself up.”

He looks me up and down, heat simmering as he goes. “You do a good job. That sweater is very… becoming on you.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “If you turn that into a pun, you’re getting kicked out of the car.”

He grins and looks away.

And then I find myself smiling too.

Not good. This is how it started last time. This is exactly how he got under my skin. That smile and those burning eyes and a rocket full of innuendo ready to launch at a moment’s notice.

Suffice to say, the ride into Oslo feels much longer than it should. And hotter. And it feels like there’s no air in the car. By the time Olaf drops us both off outside Steen & Str?m, I feel like I’ve been released from some prison of my own sexual frustration.

“Where you off to?” James asks me, following me as I head into the store, totally prepared to just leave him outside.

“I’m going to get my grandmother a cake from the café,” I tell him, stepping out of the way as shoppers come in and out of the store. “Then maybe do a bit of shopping before I see her.”

He has this eager, almost hopeful look in his eyes. His puppy dog impression. But I’m not about to invite him along for this. This is the one day of the week that’s my time and my time alone. In the name of self-care, I can’t have James following me around.

I don’t even have to say anything because that hopeful look disappears pretty quickly. “So what time does Olaf pick us up?”

“I’ll text Olaf and let him know when we’re ready. I usually go for dinner after, so…” I pause, rubbing my lips together for a moment, knowing I’ll regret this. “So if you wanted to get something to eat when I’m done, I know a nice little wine bar.”

His brow creases in surprise. “Really? I’d like that.” He walks over to me, and I freeze, not sure what he’s about to do.

He holds out his hand.

I stare at it for a moment.

Stare up at his face.

Get overwhelmed at how handsome he is.

And put my hand into his.

He smiles in delight, giving it a squeeze. “Actually I was just wanting your mobile. I wanted to add my number.”

Shit.

My cheeks immediately burn, and I try to snatch my hand from his, but he hangs on to it for a few seconds more before I can take it back. I look down and busy myself, searching for my phone in my purse, my skin on fire.

Finally I enter my passcode and give him my phone, avoiding his eyes. Even so, I can tell he’s got that cat-got-the-canary smile, and right now I’m one very flushed canary.

He takes the phone and enters his contact information. “Feels kind of silly, doesn’t it?” he says as he types. “Considering we’re practically sleeping in the same room.”

I swallow, trying to calm my flaming cheeks, make my face go neutral. He’s baiting me about this morning again. I say nothing.

He hands it back to me. “Text me when you’re done. I think I might go check out the Viking museum.”

Then he walks out of the store, holding the door open for an elderly woman who gives him the crankiest look. He shoots me another grin over her head and then leaves.

I stare at him for a moment, watching him disappear through the glass doors. If you didn’t know he was a professional bodyguard, you’d pick up on it anyway. Yes, he’s charming and a little goofy at times, definitely a rascal, but he walks with a sense of purpose and grace, like he can fight to the death and he knows it. His body is a very well-oiled machine, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice, and the man doesn’t seem to show any fear. He’s all confidence.

And yet, there are times when I’ve seen his confidence waver. And there was one time when I saw the fear.

It was in bed.

With me.

When I told him I was falling for him.

I didn’t think it would be a big deal, not in the moment anyway. It was after a particularly slow and sensual round of sex. I’d just come, hard as hell and in an emotional way, and I was so loved up on endorphins, being held in his arms, feeling his heart beat, that I just blurted it out.

I mean, it wasn’t “I love you.” I didn’t love him. I wasn’t in love with him.

I was just falling for him.

That’s not the same at all.

But when I said the words…James just froze.

Literally froze.

Like I thought he died. He wasn’t even breathing.

And the look in his eyes after that was…well, it was fear. He was afraid. I opened my mouth and said something I shouldn’t have, when I was feeling very open and vulnerable, and I set him off.

So yeah, I’ve seen him be afraid.

Just sucks that I was the one that scared him.

I shake that out of my head, hating that those old feelings are being conjured up again, the feelings I did my best to forget. Rejection, bitterness, unworthiness. I push them away and then carry on in the department store, looking for cake.

Thankfully they do have cloudberry cake, so I order a small version of it, and then I peruse the makeup section, wondering if a new lipstick in red would be a nice pick-me-up. I find one that’s more expensive than it ought to be, but that’s Norway’s pricing for you.

Then I grab a taxi outside to take me to my grandmother’s home.

The care center is just to the north of town and is a bit of a drive. When I finally get there, I take a moment to appreciate the view of Oslo from up here, shining in the sun, then head in to check in with the staff.

Lisbeth, one of my favorite caretakers, is here and greets me with a shaky smile. My heart immediately drops.

“Laila,” she says to me. “I’m so glad that you’re here.”

“What happened?” I ask, hand pressed against my chest.

“Nothing,” she says quickly, though her eyes seem worried. “Here, let me take your coat.”

She takes my coat from me and hangs it up before taking me down the hall toward the wing where my grandmother resides.

“You seem worried,” I tell her, trying to slow my racing heart.

She shakes her head. “It’s fine. Helge, well…she had a bad scare yesterday.”

“What happened? Why didn’t you text me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” she says. Believe it or not, since Lisbeth is only a couple of years older than me, we’ve become friends. Not good friends, but I text her often to ask about my grandmother, and we end up talking about our lives. Or at least her life. My life is pretty damn boring these days, and I’m not really keen to open up about deeper things.

She continues as we walk. “She woke up from her nap and just started screaming. She thought she was young again. In some ways I think she thought I was your mother. Funny how the wires get crossed. We couldn’t calm her down, no matter what we did. We ended up having to sedate her.”

My heart sinks, the sorrow spreading inside me like ink in water. “You should have told me.”

“There’s nothing you could have done.”

“I could have come here sooner.”

She gives me a sympathetic smile. “It wouldn’t have made a difference, Laila. You’re here now.” We pause outside her door. “Just, take it easy on her, and yourself. She most likely won’t recognize you.”

I stare down at the box of cake in my hands.

“She might not eat either,” she says. “She hasn’t yet. But maybe that will change. Do you want me to go in with you?”

I shake my head, trying to whip up the courage. How quickly things change. One moment you can’t wait to see someone, the next you’re so terribly afraid that they won’t know who you are and will never remember you again.

The grief has my heart in a chokehold.

“I’ll be nearby if you need me,” she says before opening the door.

My grandmother is sitting by the window, staring out at the view. I don’t know how it’s possible, but she seems to have aged several years in a week.

“Grandma?” I call out softly, shutting the door behind me. “Helge?”

She doesn’t look at me, but she bundles her shawl closer to her, her gaze fixed outside. The shawl is an old heritage piece that her own mother made, pale blue wool with pink felt flowers. I filled her room here with as many heirlooms and personal items as possible to try to jog her memory, to keep her connected to past and future, but I’m not sure how much pull they have.

I slowly walk in, like I’m afraid she’s a wild animal I might spook, and I hate that I have to behave this way. I hate that I can’t just run in here, burst into her room like I did as a child, throw my arms around her neck, and ask her to make my favorite cookies. Or stomp into the room, tears in my eyes, crying over a boy at school. She was always able to solve everything.

I carefully sit down on the chair across from her. “Hello,” I say. “It’s Laila.”

She nods but doesn’t look my way, and doesn’t really seem to hear me either. Her frail hands are speckled with age spots, looking so skinny, the veins thick and raised. Her fingers grasp one another, squeezing and releasing. She’s nervous. Afraid.

I feel tears rush to my eyes, and I swallow them down, do everything I can to keep from feeling what I’m feeling. She won’t understand why I’m crying.

“I brought you something, in case you get hungry.” I hold out the cake and then slowly open the top, trying to keep my hands steady. “Cloudberry cake.” I refrain from telling her it’s her favorite, because if I wasn’t sure of who I was, or when I was, I don’t think I’d appreciate hearing things like that. It would make me feel more lost.

She finally steals a glance at the cake and nods. Then looks at me. For a moment I think I see recognition in her blue eyes. Then she frowns and mutters, “No, you aren’t her,” and looks back to the window.

I take in a deep breath until my lungs feel like they might burst, the pain nearly impossible to ignore.

“We don’t have to eat it,” I say after a moment. “You can eat it later. Anytime you want. And we don’t have to talk. Just know that I’m Laila, and I care for you a lot, and that I’m here.”

We sit like that for thirty minutes until she falls asleep in her chair.

The moment I’m outside in the sunshine, I start to cry.