Crowned: The Palace Nanny (10 page)

That hurt on all sorts of levels, and one of those levels was the fact that this woman seemed to have put her life on hold for Zoe—and it might be worse than that.

He'd watched her come down the stairs and realised this was no twisted ankle. She was protecting her hip—as she'd been protecting her hip two weeks ago on the beach but he'd been too preoccupied to see it.

‘She hurt it when my mama and papa died,' Zoe said, not picking up on the undercurrents. She was back considering food. This meal was a huge success. He could practically hear the chef's sigh of happiness from here.

‘Are you going to tell me how badly?' he asked Elsa.

‘I broke my hip,' she said discouragingly.

‘You were in the car accident with Zoe's parents?'

‘Yes.'

‘And your husband…'He hadn't put two and two together, but he did now, and he didn't like it.

‘Elsa's Matty was killed too,' Zoe said, and she was suddenly grave and mature and factual. ‘My mama and papa were in the front seat and Matty and Elsa and me were in the back. A great big truck came round the corner on the wrong side of the road and hit our camper van and our camper van started to burn. Elsa pulled me out but she couldn't pull anyone else out. We were both really, really sad. I was in hospital for a long time—I can hardly remember—but I do remember Elsa coming in a wheelchair to see me. She says my grandma came to see me too, but I can't remember that. I remember being in a bath a lot and crying, but Elsa was always there. And then my grandma got sick so Elsa took me home with her—and now we're living happily ever after.'

She was suddenly back to being a little girl again. Happy
and optimistic. ‘Only this is a better place for happy ever after, isn't it, Elsa?'

‘There was nothing wrong with my beach,' Elsa said, making an unsuccessful attempt to glower, and Zoe giggled as if she'd said something silly.

‘No, but our beach doesn't have cream puffs. These are really good. Can I have another one, please?'

‘Be my guest,' Stefanos said and he handed her the plate—but his eyes were on Elsa. ‘So why are you still limping?'

And once again it was Zoe who answered. ‘Mr Roberts says she should have another operation. Mr Roberts came to see Elsa last time I was in hospital and he said, “When are we going to fix that hip, young lady?” And Elsa said, “When I have the time and the money, and like that's going to happen soon.” And Mr Roberts said she had to get her pi…her priorities right and she said she did.'

‘Zoe, don't,' Elsa said, looking desperate. ‘Please, sweetheart, this is nothing to do with Prince Stefanos.'

‘No, but he's nice,' Zoe said, as if that excused everything. ‘Can I have one of those cakey things with wings, please?'

 

What would happen if she just got up from the table, walked right out of here, straight to the ferry, then on a plane back to Australia?

She had a return ticket. That was one of her stipulations about coming.

It was a first class ticket. If she traded it for economy she'd have enough to live on until she could start back to work.

Zoe didn't need her.

Only of course Zoe did. She looked happy and contented but she'd been here for less than a day. She was still clutching her. She was happy because this was exciting and Stefanos was kind. And the rest. Big and too good-looking for his own good—and did he know how sexy he looked in that uniform?

He was doing her head in and her head had to stay intact. She had to stay practical. She needed to find a role for herself here that wasn't tied to Zoe or Stefanos or the palace.

She could do this, she thought. She just had to stay detached from Stefanos and his dangerous charm.

This man was important to her only in his relationship to Zoe. He was good to Zoe. He made the little girl laugh. But he hadn't gained so much trust that Elsa could walk away.

She didn't ever want to walk away. Not from Zoe. The thought hurt on so many levels that the pain in her hip didn't even register in comparison.

‘What are you thinking?' Stefanos asked, watching her quizzically from the head of the table. ‘To make you look like that?'

‘I…nothing.'

‘I don't think I've been appropriately sympathetic.'

‘I don't know what appropriate sympathy is.'

‘Neither do I,' he said softly. ‘But if it helped I'd find it for you.'

See, there was the whole problem. She had so much going on in her head—how to fit in here—what she was going to do with herself while Zoe settled—how she was going to make a life for herself after Zoe stopped needing her, as stop she surely would—and across it all was Stefanos's gorgeous smile, the way his dark eyes creased at the corners, the way he seemed to read her mind…

He left them for a while as she drank coffee. Urgent royal business, he said and that made her even more nervous. By the time he returned she was climbing the walls.

‘You don't need me for this,' she said and pushed her chair back. ‘Zoe, are you okay to do this photo thing with…with your cousin? I'll go up to the bedroom and unpack.'

‘No!' Zoe was out of her chair in a flash, darting round the table to grab her hand. ‘You have to come with me.'

Not so settled, then. Neither would she be, she thought, if someone told her she had to meet the press.

‘I've arranged for Elsa to come with us,' Stefanos told Zoe, and her heart hit her boots.

‘Excuse me?'

‘I've promised the press they can meet Zoe and you.'

‘And me?'

‘You're the woman who's been caring for our Crown Princess for the past four years,' he said steadily. ‘The islanders would have taken Zoe to them in a heartbeat. All of us owe you a debt that touches our honour.'

He rose and held out a hand to Zoe, and the little girl hesitated for a moment and then gave him hers. It was that sort of gesture. Strong, sure, commanding. Royal.

‘If Zoe's brave enough to have her photograph taken, surely you can,' he told her.

‘Yes, but Zoe's a princess,' she said on a wail. ‘Look at me. I'm not even a proper nanny.'

‘You're not,' he agreed. ‘You're our friend. And, as our friend…' He hesitated. ‘Elsa, giving Zoe clothes seemed appropriate. For you, however, it seems almost insulting and I ask you to accept that it's not my intention to insult you. Nevertheless, I've made some fast phone calls and the owners of our two main dress shops are here already, setting out a selection of clothes. For Zoe's coronation you'll need evening wear and we can't get that here, but for now…it would please me if you could choose something more suitable than jeans and sweatshirt for your introduction to our island.'

She stared at him in stupefaction. ‘You want me to buy clothes?'

‘I want you to take the clothes that I will buy for you,' he said. ‘This will be my pleasure.'

‘To dress me?'

His eyes creased involuntarily into laughter. ‘I don't think we're quite there yet.'

She stared at him, feeling a tide of colour sweep upward. ‘Ex…excuse me?'

‘Levity,' he murmured, obviously fighting to get back to being serious. ‘You need to excuse me. But this is clothes, Elsa. No big deal.'

‘I wear jeans.'

‘Zoe says you don't. Not before the accident.'

‘I'm a whole new me since the accident.'

‘Then is it possible,' he said gently, ‘that you can be a whole new you again?'

‘I…'

‘Please, Elsa.'

She stared down at her battered sneakers, her worn jeans. They were like her skin, she thought, yet another skin she was being asked to change.

Poverty-stricken single mother to royal childminder.

Single woman to wife. Eager student to earnest professional. Married woman to grieving widow.

Skins, skins, skins. She hardly knew who she was any more. What harm could one more change do?

‘Fine,' she said.

‘Your gratitude is overwhelming,' he murmured, and there it was again—that hint of laughter.

‘Did you like it when they told you that you had to wear a sword?' she demanded.

‘I…no.'

‘Then pay me the compliment of allowing that I feel the same,' she whispered. ‘Thank you very much for providing clothes. I accept and I'm grateful. It's just…I've learned from past experience that it hurts to change direction. I'm doing my best to smile while it happens but you'll need to excuse me when my smile falters.'

 

She chose a simple green sundress. Zoe and Stefanos chose a whole lot more. Presumably the photographers and journalists had been told to wait, for Stefanos refused to hurry and was only satisfied when he—and Zoe—had decided she had enough clothes to make her…pretty.

Pretty was a strange concept. She'd stopped worrying about her appearance four years ago. Now, dressed in a lovely light sundress, with shoestring straps and a skirt that twirled and swished as she walked, she decided there were definite upsides to shedding skins.

She felt…nice. Free. It was a novel experience, but it didn't stop her hanging back as she finally followed Stefanos and Zoe to the palace media centre.

At the door Stefanos stepped back and motioned for Elsa to precede him.

No way.

She shook her head and dropped deliberately further back, and there was no time for him to react. The door was open. Cameras were flashing and questions were flying.

Zoe cast her a panicked backward glance, but Stefanos lifted her up and held her in his arms.

It was the best thing he could do, Elsa thought. Holding her in his arms. Zoe would feel totally protected.

The press was absolutely riveted on Zoe—their princess coming home. Which left her mind free to wander where it willed.

She kind of liked the way she looked in this sundress. And her new sandals were pretty.

Clothes maketh the woman? The man?

Her eyes flew back to Stefanos. She could see why he'd decided to wear his uniform, but it was more than clothes, she thought. He looked confident, sure, in charge. He was assuming the mantle of control of this country.

He had a job to do and he'd do it.

And he held Zoe as if she was his own. His body language was totally protective, and in his arms Zoe felt brave enough to venture shy answers of her own, responses the media loved—responses Elsa knew would go straight to the heart of any islander.

The Prince and his little Princess. She watched them pose together, she watched Stefanos tease Zoe into laughter, and the weird sensations she'd been feeling since the first time she'd seen him standing on her beach were consolidating to something firm and definite and true. Her vision of Matty was fading still further—not disappearing entirely; she knew it could never do that—but fading to a place where
he could be mourned without the constant piercing pain that had been with her for years.

She could be pretty. She could change her skin yet again with no betrayal of Matty.

What on earth was she thinking? Crazy, crazy, crazy.

A latecoming journalist jostled past her, nudging her out of her introspection. Hauling her back to reality.

Get back to earth fast, she told herself harshly. This is one of Zoe's fairy tales.

And maybe she ought to listen.

‘And may I introduce Dr Elsa Murdoch?' Stefanos was saying, and she was suddenly being looked at by everyone in the room.

Doctor?
She hadn't used that title since…

‘It's Mrs…' she started but he wasn't allowing her to get a word in.

‘Elsa—Dr Murdoch—was in the car crash that claimed Prince Christos's life,' Stefanos said, and his voice was gentle and full of compassion. ‘Also killed were Zoe's mother, Amy, and Elsa's husband, Mathew. Zoe still bears the scars, physically as well as mentally, and so does Elsa. Elsa is a world expert on…what did you call starfish, Zoe?'

‘Echinoderms,' Zoe volunteered. Stefanos was still holding her tightly and she obviously felt confident enough to answer. ‘Or asteroidea,' she added with aplomb.

‘That's the one,' Stefanos said encouragingly. ‘So, for the last four years, Dr Murdoch and Zoe have been conducting echinoderm—or asteroidea—research while they've gradually healed from their injuries. Dr Murdoch has cared for Zoe with total love and commitment, and for that this country owes her an enormous debt of gratitude.'

‘Hey,' she said, startled enough to forget nerves and reply with spirit. ‘That sounds like you're about to give me a gold watch and a pension.'

‘You deserve much, much more than that,' he said, smiling.
‘I'm hoping Dr Murdoch can stay here,' he told the reporters. ‘I'm hoping she'll be a constant presence in Zoe's life. I need to be away from the island for a few weeks between now and Christmas—there are ends I need to tie off before I can stay here permanently—but Zoe and, I hope, Elsa, will be happy here for ever.'