Page 40 of His Highness's Hidden Heir

That remark should have pleased him. It did, before the SUV rolled to a stop outside the stone cottage and an unexpected threat emerged with the rest of the people pouring out the front door.

First was his mother, Truda, with her white-blond hair coming out of its knot and her smile faltering as she shaded her eyes. His four-year-old niece was next. She jumped up and down and waved madly.

His sister, Dalla, hurried out to set her hand on the little girl’s shoulder, trying to keep her feet on the ground. Dalla’s husband came out with a swaddled infant against his shoulder. Then Magnus’s brother Freyr and his redheaded wife. She looked almost as pregnant as Lexi.

Last was a man who had a lot more gray in his beard than he’d had when Magnus had spotted him at Freyr’s wedding two years ago.

“Why thehellwasn’t I advised he was here?” Magnus barked. And why was he looping his arm around Truda?

“He was on the list, sir.” The bodyguard in the passenger seat took out his phone. “I understood it had been forwarded to you—”

“Oh, for God’s sake. It doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“Who—?” Lexi asked warily.

“My father. Sveyn.”

As far as Lexi was concerned, it was a pleasant afternoon. Everyone was polite and friendly if careful not to overstep. The women had a lot of questions about her pregnancy and how Lexi and Magnus had met. The men asked if she knew this or that action star. The food was excellent and the children were adorable.

In many ways, they were the kind of close-knit family Lexi had always longed for, with their cheeky asides and small digressions into each other’s lives.

It would have been a perfect day if Magnus hadn’t been such a looming presence through it all, speaking very little, creating a tension that was so thick, it could have been spooned into bowls like porridge.

At one point, while Lexi was in the washroom, she heard a few sharp words in Isleifisch. When she came back, the room went silent. Everyone wore stiff expressions. Sveyn had left the room.

“Would you like to walk with me to the beach?” Lexi asked Magnus’s niece, even though the little girl didn’t speak English. It was a windy day, but Magnus had warned Lexi that they might walk so she’d worn short boots, wool trousers and a cowl-necked sweater with a short coat.

Dalla came with them. Lexi could see her trying to engage Magnus, trying to repair whatever disagreement had happened in those few minutes Lexi had been absent.

Lexi deliberately lagged behind them to study a tide pool, pointing to interest the little girl, trying to give Dalla a minute alone with Magnus, but he only stopped and waited for her, expression stoic.

When they got back to the cottage, Truda tried to speak to Magnus alone, but he insisted they had commitments at the palace to get back to.

Looking teary, Truda hugged Lexi and said, “I know you’re both very busy, but we’ll be here all week. Come by anytime. Anytime.”

“Thank you. It was so lovely to meet you all.” Lexi said a warm goodbye, aware of Magnus only offering stiff nods.

He said nothing on the way back to the palace and they were both tied up for a few hours once they returned. She didn’t know what mysterious meetings he had, but she was met by a stylist and her team of seamstresses who were assembling a wardrobe of maternity fashions to give Lexi an appropriate selection through the rest of her pregnancy.

The woman had a handful of wedding gowns for Lexi to try on, too.

Mindful of the fact the woman was only doing her job, Lexi went along with choosing one, but after their visit with his family, she had more doubts than ever about rushing into marriage to Magnus. If things didn’t work out between them, would she wind up sitting in a room full of undercurrents like today? She wasn’t sure if he was holding a grudge or what, but it had been very uncomfortable.

She was exhausted when she finished with the stylist, but she went looking for Magnus, determined to take a stand on the wedding before this runaway train arrived at the altar.

Their apartment took up two corners in this wing of the palace and his bedroom was suitably grand with a massive fireplace, a sitting area, a desk and a bed the size of an ice rink. He was seated in a wingback chair, a glass of something amber in his hand.

“Do I have to dress for dinner tonight?” she asked after he invited her to enter.

“It’s just us. It’s in the schedule,” he said stonily.

She knew. She’d used the question as an excuse to come in here. Now she pressed the door closed behind her.

“Can we talk?” she asked.

“Not about my family,” he clarified into his glass.

“About the wedding.”

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