The organisation’s meeting in Öström was one of the most important events on his schedule. It would never be found on public record, it would never be spotted in a newspaper, it would never even be known outside the smallest of circles that he’d even been there. But it was still absolutely vital that he attended. He had given his word to his future brother-in-law that he would handle Kozlov, even though Lykos Livas did not truly know the extent of his relationship with the Russian oligarch. Aleksander had absolutely no intention of letting the Russian’s threat to his sister slide and it was of the utmost importance that he was dealt with once and for all. And he refused to entrust his travel plans to someone as monumentally inept as the kid who had just cancelled not one but two world leaders.
It wasn’t up for debate any more. Whether she challenged him or not, he needed Henna’s help if he had any chance of getting to his sister’s engagement ball with his throne and his sanity still intact.
Henna folded the last of her pullovers and placed it into the bag she would keep beneath the bed until winter came back around, until she realised that she wouldn’t be here for winter. She sank onto the bed, the cashmere soft in her hand, knowing that, especially now, there was no going back. She had irrevocably and completely burned the bridge that had connected her to Freya, to Marit and to...Aleksander.
She had called Freya earlier that morning, not wanting to interrupt her and Kjell’s precious time away but knowing that each minute that ticked by was another spent fearing that Aleksander would tell Freya first. Not out of meanness but just because he didn’t always think. She’d been avoiding it because telling Freya would make it real. But Henna knew now that sheneededit to be real.
‘You can’t!’
It had eased a scared part of her to hear Freya’s response. Henna hadn’t realised just how afraid she’d been that Freya wouldn’t care, that she didn’t think of them as sisters, as Henna did. And she would have absolutely buckled under Freya’s plea to stay, had it not been for the kiss.
Pressing her fingertips to her lips, she could have sworn they were still bruised by the force of their passion. And while she could never tell Freya what had happened with Aleksander, she had instead slowly unravelled her feelings about working in a new role and being offered this new position. Forming the words and sharing them with her friend had made her realise that thiswasthe right time for her to leave. She was good as Freya’s lady-in-waiting—excellent even. But she was also unchallenged and it had left her too much time to think.
She supposed, had she been another type of person, she could have done anything. Gone travelling, moved to some far-flung destination and taken up a thousand hobbies. She was lucky enough to have financial security outside her job, thanks to her father, but Henna had always seen it as a financial security that had cost her too much and had never touched the inheritance her father had left her. She really did enjoy working and she knew she would never be happy unless she was doing something that helped others.
There had been a lot of tears between her and Freya and her eyes would probably still be puffy in the morning, but some of that restless slithering she’d felt in her stomach had eased a little. Not completely, and it returned the instant she thought about Aleksander, but she felt much better. Freya had asked Henna to clear their schedules for the day she returned so that they could spend it together and it had warmed her so much to know that Freya would miss her. She was the closest thing Henna had to a real sister, to family, but it was time to find her own way in the world.
Henna thought back to Freya’s first reaction.
‘Did my mean brother scare you off? That’s it, isn’t it?’
And Henna’s reply was the first lie she’d ever told Freya. ‘No. Not at all.’
Henna’s attention had snagged on the word ‘mean’ and inside she had protested. Yes, Aleksander was moody and demanding and difficult. But Henna had seen mean. She had experienced mean. And Aleksander wasnotit. And when they’d been out at dinner she’d even caught glimpses of the charming, easy, fun teen he’d once been, before whatever it was that had happened to take all that away.
Casting her mind back, they’d been at school. It had been the start of a new school year, around the time she was fifteen and Aleksander seventeen. The news had filtered through the school that he’d broken up with Kristine, his girlfriend of three years, because she’d moved away. Had he been so broken-hearted that it had changed him so much? If so, why not track her down later as an adult? Henna wondered how she would have felt in the same situation. She had never thought of tracking down Nils because of what he’d done. But if he hadn’t...if he’d simply had to move...would she have gone with him? Frowning, she realised that she wouldn’t, and she wasn’t sure what that said about her feelings for him at the time. Had she been detached? Had he noticed? Was that why he’d slept with Viveca?
A knock on the door of her suite pulled her from thoughts so all-consuming that when she opened it to find Aleksander standing there she simply blinked at him, waiting for him to morph into Sven or another member of the staff who lived on this corridor.
His hair was ruffled and yet still somehow sexy and, although his hands were in his pockets, tension thrummed through the corded muscles of his forearms, visible thanks to the rolled-back shirtsleeves. His jaw pulsed as they stared at each other, and she wished for all the world that she knew what he was thinking.
Wrestling the spike of adrenaline that had lurched through her at the mere sight of him, she pressed her lips between her teeth, stepping back and gesturing for him to come in. She supposed it was silly to be self-conscious of her living space, given it was just the same as any other live-in staff member’s. But feeling silly and Aleksander seemed to go hand in hand these days.
He stalked to the centre of the room, gaze on the floor until she closed the door and turned to face him.
‘I need you to come work for me,’ he said, his dark brown eyes revealing absolutely nothing.
The statement drenched her body in a volatile combination of heat and fury. Heat that he dared look that good, and fury that he dared ask her that.
‘No.’
Internally, Aleksander reeled. People just did not say no to him—usually because he made sure of the answer before he asked the question, if not by knowledge then by orchestration. And although he allowed for the fact that the manner in which they had last parted made his question extremely difficult, if not downright inexcusable, he was still King of Svardia.
‘Just for three days,’ he bartered.
‘No.’
He snapped his jaw shut, before he could say something he couldn’t take back. Taking a breath to calm the pulse that was unusually quick for such a simple confrontation, he couldn’t help but register that the perfume that was uniquely Henna was so much stronger here than he’d been prepared for.
‘What will it take?’ he asked.
‘For you to get a secretary, I would imagine,’ she said, reaching for a jumper on the bed that was part of the open-plan living arrangement and he immediately looked away. That wouldn’t help either of them.
He didn’t want to be here. He disliked intensely that she was the only person in the entire palace that he needed while he was in Öström, but what really pushed him to the edge was the lack of control he had over his body around her.
‘You could ask for anything,’ he threw at her.
‘Really? WhatshouldI ask for?’ she enquired.