Page 10 of Gotta Have Mistletoe
Olav’s face sobers. All the staff loved Sissel.
My vision blurs, and I hastily change the subject. “Now Christmas is just orange and cinnamon where they don’t belong.”
I wait for Olav to laugh. By Solberg, even a polite laugh would do something to dissipate the heaviness in the room and the ache in my heart.
“It’s been three years,” Olav says.
I stiffen. “Are you saying Sissel is not worth mourning?”
“Of course not,” Olav says sharply, and I regret my words.
Olav has served me loyally for two decades. He remembers when I first started courting Sissel.
“I care about your happiness.” Olav’s voice carries the gravitas of a parliamentary address. “I doubt the late queen would want you to spend the rest of your life moping around.”
“I’m content.”
“With your garden?”
“It’s highly enjoyable.”
“There are royal women you could consider dating,” he offers, carefully avoiding eye contact with me. My blood pressure rises anyway. “Or even... men?”
The air vanishes from the room, the way it does in a heist movie when the vault door seals shut.
My throat tightens, but I force my voice to remain calm. “I never should have told you that.”
“I was your friend before I was your royal advisor,” he says softly. “We went to school together. You can confide in me.”
My heart races like it always does when school is mentioned. Olav means well, he always does, but sometimes I think he still sees me as the little boy people were all too eager to mock. Everyone wanted to prove their status was higher than a prince’s.
I look away, toward the snow-dusted windows framed by garlands and mistletoe. “Kings don’t date men.”
He leans forward. “Don’t you think showing Anders you can lead Solbergandlead the life you want would be beneficial?”
“I’m not dating again, Olav.” My voice is sharper than I intend, and for a moment, even the poinsettias seem to wilt under it.
“But—”
“I’m merely doing a few photo ops with the countess’s daughter.”
“But—”
“She’s a professor at Mistletoe Springs University. My people will believe the long-distance didn’t work out.”
“But—”
“Do you have any idea how far apart Nevada and Solberg are?”
“I amexceedinglyaware,” he says. “I recently took an excruciatingly long plane ride.”
“I have no interest in romance.”
“You seemed pretty interested in that cowboy,” Olav says.
Glen’s warm eyes flash through my mind, and heat skitters through my body, like someone’s set it ablaze. I squirm. “There was a cowboy? I-I don’t recall.”
Olav lets out an amused laugh.
