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)
So I’ve been doing what I can to fill that void. Aksel’s words still ring through my head from time to time, when he told me that I’m not the girl’s mother and they aren’t my friends and that I’m not part of the family. I mean, I know all that. I only just started working here, only just begun to scratch beneath the gilded façade of this family. I know my place very well—or, at least, I’m trying to.
But my place doesn’t have to be stagnant. I don’t have to fit into the slot that was carved out for me by the nanny before me. I don’t want to just be a Band-Aid to this family—I want to help them heal. Maybe that’s naïve of me, and maybe I should be a little more grounded with my goals, but that doesn’t change the feeling of why I’m here.
Before I got this job, I’d been feeling stuck in my own life. I’d done so much running and escaping, gone through so much tragedy and horror, that I just wanted something simple and stable. It worked, too. I was a nanny because it gave me the safety and structure I didn’t have back in Australia. But you can only run, only pretend, for so long.
Now that I have this job, however, I feel like I’m in it for the long haul. Sure, it might just be a year. It could be less, depending on how long Aksel can stand me. It could be more. But while I’m here, I don’t want to just be a nanny. I want to help them all get better, anyway that I can. I want to actually be useful for once.
“Well, you can start by getting these girls to whatever Tivoli is,” I say to myself in the mirror as I brush my teeth. I’ve stopped thinking that talking to myself is odd a long time ago.
After I braid my crazy hair back, knowing it’s going to frizz out on me later, I put on a touch of mascara and blush and then head down to the kitchen. Karla has the weekends off—lucky duck—and so Bjørn, the secondary cook, is in charge of breakfast, and he already knows how much coffee I require.
I quickly grab a scone and tuck it into my leather messenger bag for later (it joins my notebook, a wad of euros, some Danish kroner, a million hair ties, a compact, nude lipstick, gum, these salty licorice candies I’m currently addicted to, Band-Aids, antibiotic cream, gummy children’s vitamins and a tube of this strange mustard paste that Clara insists on putting on everything), then sit down at the table with a giant mug (in European standards) of coffee and wait for the girls.
Naturally, I barely finish mine before they’re running over to me excitedly, Clara with her backpack on like she’s going to school, yelling “Tivoli!” and a bunch of other Danish words, and I know they’re going to be a handful today.
It turns out Tivoli is Tivoli Gardens, a famous amusement park and the second oldest in the world, located in Copenhagen. And, oh my god, it’s like Disneyland. By the time Henrik drops us off at the front entrance, I’m just as giddy and excited as the girls.
“Are you going to be okay, Miss Aurora?” Henrik asks warmly as we clamor out of the car.
I stick my head back in through the open door. “I should be. Right?”
He nods. “I can come in with you if you want. There shouldn’t be any problems, but if there is, I can always look intimidating.” He makes a faux angry face and pretends to flex a muscle.
“What problems?” I ask, feeling nervous now. “Oh my god. Like kidnapping? I didn’t get that far in the handbook yet!”
He gives me a wan smile. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one, you won’t be all alone in the park.”
I look around the busy parking lot. That’s true but…
“Meaning,” he goes on, “there will be people, royal staff, watching you. Bodyguards.”
I look around again, brows raised. “Oh. Where are they?”
“They’ll be around,” he says. “When it comes to the girls, King Aksel wants them to feel as normal as possible. That means keeping the guards and attendants at a distance. But don’t worry, they’ll always be watching.”
I’m not worrying at all but it is kind of unnerving. “So what problems did you mean, then?”
“Paparazzi,” he says. “You know, taking pictures. Aksel wants that at a minimum. But if it’s too much of a problem, you can always alert the staff and they can kick them out and escort you as well.”
Oh. That. I haven’t had to deal with the paparazzi yet. I mean, I’ve taken the girls for walks along the water and the parks a few times now (trailed by bodyguards, I’m now realizing) and maybe there’s been a person or two taking pictures of us with a big camera, but they were always so far away that it never bothered me.