Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 117920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 590(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 590(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
But the bed is more persuasive than anything else, and after I wash up and slip on the first item of clothing I find, a long-sleeved shirt that says “Dogs <3 Me,” I climb under the thick covers. The nights are chillier here than in Paris and the palace itself seems a little drafty. Then again, what palace isn’t drafty when you have rooms the size of apartments and ceilings that are fifteen feet high.
I lie there, thinking of how drastically my life has changed. Never in a million years did I think that a girl growing up in a shack outside the “town” of Windorah, Australia, surrounded by red dust and futility, going to bed hungry every night, wearing clothes donated from neighbors, wondering if she’d ever see her father again, could end up sleeping in a royal palace. Even as a child, I never even let myself dream about a better world for myself.
The sad thing is … I still don’t let myself dream, even when I’m supposed to be living it.
Chapter 5
Aurora
Despite being tired, I don’t sleep very well.
I never do in general and I especially don’t the first night in a strange place, whether it be in a hotel or my new room at my new job. I’m always too aware of how unfamiliar my surroundings are. I’m always planning my escape route in case something goes wrong—I’m always distrustful of the shadows.
In this case, my room is huge and the shadows are deep and long and everywhere. Plus, in the back of my mind I think I hear someone walking up and down the hall. It might be Sleepwalking Johan and I start to wonder if I locked my door or not.
When the sky begins to lighten from black to purple-grey, I’m already awake and getting out of bed. Maja had told me that Clara’s school starts at eight-thirty and is about a twenty-minute drive, so we should be out of the house—erm, out of the palace—no later than eight.
I’m nervous as I usually am on my first day on the job. I don’t know the area (and in this case, the country), I don’t know the children or the adults. I have no idea what to expect and that’s not even factoring in the whole royal thing. Having a shitty sleep on top of it all doesn’t help my nerves either. The best I can do is just ignore the whole royal thing for now, and the fact that my new home is a castle, and I’m caring for two bloody princesses, and just pretend that this is nothing new.
Though a vat load of coffee wouldn’t hurt. I flick on the lights and look around the room. I wonder if they’d mind if I got a kettle for the room along with some tea and instant coffee. I can’t see myself trudging down to the cavernous kitchen at all hours of the day and night for my fix.
You’ll get some caffeine in you later, I tell myself. Just focus on the day. You know everything will work out the way it’s supposed to.
The first step is to figure out what to wear. I’m a bit of a tomboy-ish dresser and you can usually find me more on the side of casual than not, favoring shorts and singlets in the summer and skinny pants and fitted tees and jumpers in the winter. But this being a royal palace and all and the fact that my two charges seem awfully fond of pretty little dresses, I wonder if I need to step it up a notch. Even the nannies from the Norwood handbook stuck to a Mary Poppins-esque uniform at school (Complete with hat!) and a working uniform of navy blue skirts and blouses.
I dig through my luggage some more, putting half my stuff away, until I come across the only skirt I have, which is a black wool A-line skirt. In fact, I don’t think I’ve worn it since I came to Europe—it was part of my waitressing uniform back in Brisbane before I scrounged up enough money to escape.
I squeeze it on, feeling like I’m going to have an aneurysm doing so, and can’t even get it zipped all the way up the back. Well, if there was any doubt that I’ve gained weight since moving to Europe, here’s the proof. Not that I’ve been lazy (I like my walks, and running after kids is brilliant cardio) or eating crap (the food here is amazingly fresh and whole compared to back in Oz), but I was painfully thin back then. In fact, this skirt used to be huge on me to begin with.
I shudder at the memory and figure I should probably take it off lest it remind me of my past all day. Only I can’t. The zipper is stuck halfway.