“Uh, hi?”
“Jai Winters—am I right?” Her British accent is most definitely upper-crust.
I nod. “That’s me.”
She sticks a hand out for me to shake. “I’m Penny Tamlin. It’s lovely to meet you.”
My brows shoot upward as I absently take her hand to shake. “You’re Ms. Tamlin? The other tutor?”
She offers a wry smile as we drop hands. “Let me guess, you were expecting a stuffy old woman?”
“Uh, yeah, kind of. Veronika said you’ve been here since Prince Aleksandr was a boy.”
She nods. “I have. I started when I was around your age. I actually went to school with both King Lukas and Queen Lesia, so a smidge of nepotism may have come into play.”
She casts another smile and turns to exit the doorway. “Come on, let me show you around. And you’ll be wanting to meet your charges before you start classes tomorrow.”
I manage to make it through a full week of tutoring unscathed, and all I can say is thank god for Penny. I might be fluent in French and German and incredibly knowledgeable when it comes to Eastern European history, but I don’t know the first thing about lesson planning. But it quickly becomes clear that despite the opulence of the surroundings, the children respond well to a less formal teaching approach, and with Penny’s initial help we manage to get into a comfortable rhythm whereby I appear to know what I’m doing and they seem to be paying attention.
It doesn’t take long for me to fall completely in love with both the royal children, especially seven-year-old Katerina—or Katya, as she demanded to be called—who has the kind of larger-than-life personality that’s constantly keeping me on my toes. Prince Tomas is quieter and more serious, and I have no doubt the responsibility of being the Crown Prince is something that weighs on him, but he’s an enthusiastic pupil and soaks up everything like a sponge.
Apart from our brief introductory meeting, I haven’t had any more up close encounters with the king. I’ve seen him a few times from a distance, but our paths haven’t crossed again. Which is a good thing, I think, considering I’m still harboring this incredibly inappropriate crush.
But, of course, it was only a matter of time before that would change and we’d be thrust together again. In the most awkward and uncomfortable way.
When my phone starts blaring in the middle of the night, I’m ready to commit murder. Despite the fact I’m starting to find my groove here, it’s been a long week and I’m only just starting to get onto Korovan time, so being woken at two in the morning is not even remotely appreciated. When I see who’s calling, I’m even less enthused.
“Mom?”
“How could you leave the country without telling us!”
Ah, shit. I knew there was something I was supposed to do.
“Uhh, can we maybe do this later? It’s, like, two a.m. right now,” I say with a sleepy groan.
“No, we can not do this later,” she snaps. “A child simply does not leave the country without telling his parents! What if your plane had crashed, or you’d been murdered by Russian thugs? You’d be dead and we wouldn’t even know it!”
Gee, stereotype much, Mom?
I let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, first of all, you’ve been watching way too much TV. And secondly, I’m not even in Russia. I’m in Korova, which incidentally has one of the lowest crime rates in the world. I’d be more likely to be murdered in New York.”
She gasps. “Jai Carter Winters, how could you say something like that?”
Well, you started it! I just barely manage not to snap that petulant thought back at her, reining in my frustration with great difficulty. “Look, Mom, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I got a job and had to leave really quickly. And I’ve been really busy ever since I got here. I was going to call, I promise.”
“What kind of job?” she demands.
“I’m the tutor for the Korovan royal children. I’m teaching them languages and history and I accompany them for their other classes. Well, the princess, anyway. Prince Tomas can pretty much get by on his own as long as he has a guard with him.”
If I thought she’d show a semblance of pride, or maybe even just mere approval, I was bitterly disappointed. As usual.
“Are you acting out because we decided to stop paying your rent?” she asks, basically ignoring everything I’ve just said.
I slump back against my bed, a hand scrubbing through my hair as I force myself not to let out a frustrated groan. As it is, I’m relieved we’re doing this over the phone and not on Skype as we would have if I’d been the one to make contact, because if Mom could see my face right now it would just start a whole new line of criticism.
“No, Mom. This is what you wanted me to do, remember? Get a job. Well, guess what—I got a job. And it’s in my chosen field and everything.”
“Your chosen field is to be a nanny?”
“I’m not a nanny!” I am so basically a nanny. “I’m the royal tutor—do you understand how prestigious that position is? It’s like the equivalent of working in the White House.”
“But if it’s so prestigious why did they ask you?” Do you see? Do you see what I’m dealing with here? Her question doesn’t convey any hint of nastiness or derision; she’s genuinely confused as to why someone would hire me for this job. If anything, that just makes it worse.
“You know what, I have to go,” I say, the exhaustion coming through clear as day in my tone. “It’s late and I need sleep before tomorrow. But it’s been really nice talking to you and not getting your support. I’ll call you soon.”
I end the call before my mother can say anything else and toss my phone back down on the nightstand.
I turn over to my side and thump my fist
