The next morning, a knock came early on the bedroom door. Fortunately, Elva and I had risen with the dawn and were already dressed.
Expecting the nanny, I headed for the door, yet when I drew it open, the person on the other side surprised me.
“Nicholas. What are you doing here?”
Behind him, Mark cleared his throat. Immediately, I realized my error.
“Prince Nicholas,” I corrected. After last night, I had become entirely too familiar with him. I had to be more careful, for both our reputations, not to address him so informally. Especially in front of others.
“I came to see Elva,” Nicholas said.
“Nick-lass!”
The rules of propriety, however, did not extend to my three year old.
Elva rushed toward the door. Nicholas bent down and scooped her up into his arms. Elva giggled as he lifted
