The Billionaire Prince’s Nanny: European Billionaire Beaus, #1

1

There was nothing worse than waiting to be called for an interview. Katie was sure of it.

She sat up straight in her chair, trying to exude confidence to whoever might be watching. It was a feeling that followed her everywhere—that someone was looking, and had already found her unworthy. It wouldn’t be hard to do, if they’d looked her up and seen the mistakes she’d made.

Fortunately, she wasn’t waiting on an interview at one of the major news networks in the United States. They’d know her name there already. There was no good face she could put on what she’d done—not yet. Not until the news cycles were well in the past and everyone had stopped gossiping about the biggest entertainment journalism scandal in the last five years at least.

Katie pushed those thoughts out of her mind. She couldn’t walk into this interview with that weight on her shoulders. She’d have to push past it. Visualize. She needed to visualize the interview being madly successful. It would start when she walked into the room to meet the interviewer. Hello. I’m so pleased to meet you. My name is Katie Crestley. 

There was no way it could go but successfully—not if she wanted to keep her head above water. Katie’s resources were rapidly running out. She’d spent the last year traveling from country to country, all over Europe, and her savings were down to the last dregs. All of her travels hadn’t succeeded in getting her a new journalism job—any journalism job—and her freelance prospects had completely dried up. No—it wasn’t that. She could talk her way into any number of low-paying freelance jobs for different blogs and websites. 

Finishing those jobs was another story.

Writer’s block crippled her ability to string words together on the page. And it wasn’t just for paying jobs. She’d bought journal after journal on her travels, then sat with her pen poised over the page, never writing anything. Eventually they’d all gone to resale shops. 

Which is how she’d found herself in Stolvenia. 

There’d been an unrest there recently that heated her blood and set her journalistic instincts singing.

She’d read about the situation on a blog, late at night, and it had piqued her interest.

The people wanted to topple the monarchy.

She tapped her foot faster against the floor thinking of it. A faction of anti-royalists were out to completely dismantle the political system in the country. The monarchy had stood for six hundred years, and there were those in Stolvenia who were tired of its rule. To hear their views on it, the royal family had been oppressive rulers, always holding the country back from real progress. Not so from the monarchy’s point of view, of course. But the king had agreed to a referendum, putting the question to the people and allowing them to vote on whether they wished to keep the monarchy or let it go. As the voting day approached, tensions continued to climb with both sides doing whatever they could to win the hearts and minds of the Stolvenian people.

A hard-hitting piece on those tensions could launch her back into the career she’d always wanted. Katie bought her train ticket the next morning, hoping and praying that being somewhere so politically charged and exciting would spark her passion for writing that had gone dormant.

But until it did, she needed a way to pay her bills. And aside from journalism, the only career she had any experience in was childcare. That was what brought her here—applying for a nanny position in the household of Stolvenia’s youngest prince, Armin. The opportunity was so perfect that it almost felt like fate. Not only was it a job she could do well, giving her a chance to rebuild her confidence while replenishing her savings, but it would also give her an invaluable insight into how the Stolvenian monarchy really worked.

Stolvenia practically stood alone in Europe for the amount of power the royal family held. Rather than being figureheads or ceremonial figures, they actively ran the tiny, wealthy country to an extent that Katie felt she really did need to see to believe—and understand. Getting this job would be so perfect…if she could just nail the interview.

At least she looked good. In her tiny hotel room this morning, she’d swept her dark hair into a flawless coif, added tasteful eye shadow above her chocolate brown eyes, and applied a shade of lipstick that trended toward professional woman. 

Ms. Crestley?

She hopped up from her chair. I’m so pleased— No. Stop. Yes. That’s me.

The woman who stood in the doorway to the inner office, which matched the rest of the rich interior of the palace, did not look happy to see her.

I’m Ms. Mirzoyan. Follow me.

Katie did so, waiting for the opportunity to shake the woman’s hand.

It never came.

The older woman, wearing a black suit over a teal blouse, went around behind the desk and flipped a folder open. Your resume doesn’t seem to show a commitment to this kind of work, Ms. Crestley.

I— This was not how she had visualized the interview going. I nannied full-time in college to pay my way through school. I took classes in the evening.

To become a journalist.

Ms. Mirzoyan did not invite her to sit down, which gave Katie a sinking feeling.

Hiring a former journalist to care for the prince’s children is a risk, the woman added.

She could understand the fierceness in Ms. Mirzoyan’s eyes. The political situation was fierce—sometimes bordering on nasty—and children were always vulnerable targets. Even more so since these particular girls were new to royal life, not yet accustomed to being in the national spotlight. The prince had adopted them —Katie knew that much. But she didn’t know the details of how they’d lost their own parents.

What could Katie say? Everything in her wanted to push for this—wanted to make it clear that she was responsible and trustworthy—but how could she prove that, even to herself? She knew that she’d made plenty of mistakes before. I understand your caution, Ms. Mirzoyan, but I’d hoped that since you were willing to meet with me—

Yes. The older woman sighed. "It is our custom in the prince’s household to offer interviews to qualified candidates. And while you are qualified in terms of experience, I’m not convinced that you are the best candidate for the job."

"I do have that experience, though." Katie gave her what she hoped was a winning smile. 

It’s not very recent. Ms. Mirzoyan looked down at the documents in the folder. Unless you’ve omitted some recent experience here.

Lie, teased the voice of desperation in the back of Katie’s mind. A little fib about babysitting for a wealthy family in the States. Say something about a nondisclosure agreement, how you wish you could name names, but it’s impossible under the circumstances, of course you understand…

But she couldn’t do it. No. There’s nothing recent. I did help a young man at the train station find the ticket window last week, if that counts.

The joke fell flat.

And there’s the matter of language.

Yes. Language. Ms. Mirzoyan didn’t have to say out loud that it was obvious Katie didn’t speak the traditional local language. The country actually had three official languages, and while Katie was a native English speaker and also reasonably competent in French, the Stolvenian language was completely new to her, prior to her arrival. Of course, since the girls had been adopted from England, they were likely in the same boat. Katie reached for an appropriate way to bring that up. I like to consider myself a neutral party.

Suspicion flashed through Ms. Mirzoyan’s eyes, and Katie knew immediately that she’d made a mistake. Neutral party made it seem like she was neutral on the matter of the monarchy versus the anti-royalists.

Oh—no. That’s not what I meant.

Thank you for your time, Ms. Crestley.

The tone of Ms. Mirzoyan’s voice told her that she was dismissed. Without question.

Yes. Yes, thank you very much for yours, Ms. Mirzoyan. Best of luck with— Oh, god, what was she saying? Best wishes.

Cringing both inwardly and outwardly, Katie went out of the office and through a connecting study. The hallway that led to the main entrance of the royal palace was wide and open, with people coming and going, and the last thing Katie wanted to do was make any kind of scene. Not to mention that it led out to the bustling courtyard, and then to the city beyond. It felt like the city itself was watching. So she rearranged her face into something like composure, tugged her purse closer to her body, and faced reality.

That had been a disaster.

But there was always a silver lining. And the silver lining was that she no longer had to focus any of her hope or energy on the interview. It was over and done. In the past. She’d have to pick herself up and figure out a new way to survive. For the moment, it would have to be in Stolvenia, because she didn’t have the money to keep traveling. There were plenty of shops close to the palace, though, and she would start there to see if any of them were hiring.

The moment Katie had a plan, the devastation wasn’t so intense. Katie held her head up high and headed for the front entrance, which was flanked by two security guards.

She was stopped by a small red ball running into the pointed tip of her high heel.

Oh! a small voice cried from somewhere off to her left. I’m sorry, miss! 

A blur of red and white—a red dress over a white shirt with a precious Peter Pan collar—flew across the hallway, stopping abruptly in front of Katie’s shoes. The little girl scooped up the ball in her hands and peered up at her.

Katie had no right to say anything. The obvious choice would be to keep walking, right out onto the street. This was Prince Armin’s daughter, Lily—Katie recognized her from the sole picture that had been made available to the public. How she has escaped the staff that was supposed to keep her out of the public areas of the building, Katie didn’t know. But she was still utterly and completely off limits.

She was also adorable. 

Five, maybe six, with blonde hair that fell in fine curls down her back and big blue eyes that held all the sadness of the world. But there was hope, too—hope that Katie recognized. She’d felt it so recently.

I— What should she say to this little girl? She looked so sad. The longer the moment held, the more Katie felt for her. She wanted to know her story, but more than that, she wanted to know what she could do to make her happy. Even if it was a small thing. Did she have anything in her purse she could give? No, that would probably be very frowned upon by palace security. Could she—

Miss, do you have any biscuits?

Her voice, with its British lilt, was so pure, and so soft, that it very nearly broke Katie’s heart.

She took a furtive glance around the hall. The two guards at the door were busy looking out onto the street, and Ms. Mirzoyan was nowhere to be seen. A maid bustled out of one room and into another. As far as she could tell, no one was looking. Still, her heart beat hard and fast. The last thing Katie wanted was for the guards to throw her out of the palace