Where had that description come from? He thought of the glamorous women he’d had in his life, how appalled they’d be if they could hear the perfect adjective applied to this woman, and once more he couldn’t help smiling.

‘Yep, we’re a world away from your world,’ she said brusquely.

What the…? ‘Will you stop that?’

‘What?’ she asked, all innocence.

‘Mind reading.’

‘Not if it works. It’s fun.’ She rose and started clearing dishes. He noted the limp again but, almost as he noted it, it ceased. Zoe was visibly wilting. ‘Zoe, poppet, you go take a nap. Unless…’ She paused. ‘Unless Stefanos wants us to drive him into town now.’

‘I need to talk to you,’ he said.

‘There you go,’ she said equably. ‘I mind read that too. So, Zoe, pop into bed and we’ll take Stefanos home when you wake up.’

‘You won’t get angry again?’ Zoe asked her, casting an anxious look across at him.

And he got that too. This child’s mental state was fragile. She did not need angry voices. She did not need anyone arguing about her future.

This place was perfect for an injured child to heal, he thought. A tropical paradise.

He had another paradise for her, though. He watched with concern as Elsa kissed her soundly, promised her no anger and sent her off to bed.

There was no choice. He just had to make this…nanny…accept it.

She washed.

He wiped.

She protested, but he was on the back foot already-the idea of watching while she worked would make the chasm deeper.

They didn’t speak. Maybe the idea of having a prince doing her wiping was intimidating, he thought wryly, and here it was again. Her response before he could voice his thought.

‘An apron beats tassels for this job any day. I need a camera,’ she said, handing him a sudsy breadboard to wipe. ‘No one will believe this.’