Chapter One
Sam’s POV
I ducked backstage, still riding the high of adrenaline after the show. My cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. A standing ovation? In Oslo? I didn’t expect it, not here of all places. But apparently, there’s a big Asian community here—and they showed up in full force. “Get in!” I whispered to myself, my hands still trembling a little from the rush.
Stella and I hadn’t dared to hope for this kind of turnout. She met me as I came offstage, eyes shining with pride. “Couple of people from a local magazine want to do a quick interview,” she said, steering me towards the dressing room. Stella—my best friend, PR lifeline, and personal bulldozer—had been traveling Europe with me every weekend for these gigs. She was the reason half of this madness even made sense.
Jack, the promoter, popped in next with his usual whirlwind energy and gave me a bear hug. “Bloody brilliant show,” he grinned. “Listen—there’s a party at a club in town tonight. Everyone who’s anyone will be there. You two should definitely come.”
My instinct was to decline. Loud clubs, crowded rooms, schmoozing—I usually only enjoy those things from behind a camera or screen. But Stella was already doing that thing where her eyes widened like a cartoon deer. “I think he’s going to be there,” she whispered with a dramatic flick of her eyes.
I raised an eyebrow. “Who?” Before she could answer, the dressing room filled with a small swarm of people. Local celebrities, influencers, some musicians—I’d roasted half of them on stage and now they were hugging me and telling me how much they loved it. Go figure.
Apparently, they’d seen my YouTube clips and wanted to be roasted. Some I recognized from Stella’s dossier of Oslo’s pop culture circuit, which she’d shoved into my inbox like a military operation. I’d studied their online clips like I was cramming for an exam, and now here they were in the flesh, asking me to say hi to their followers on video.
I smiled, nodded, posed, redid a few takes when someone’s hair was out of place, and kept my charm turned up. But the surrealism of it all wasn’t fading. This was my fifth European capital in a matter of months. Meanwhile, back home, I still had a regular 9-to-5, with Monday mornings that felt like death.
Jack disappeared for a bit, and I used the moment to catch my breath. The room buzzed with a language I didn’t understand—probably Norwegian—but the vibe was upbeat. Then Jack came rushing back in, this time looking like someone had just whispered national secrets in his ear. “Sam… Sam…” he hissed, eyes darting around nervously. “Uhm… the Crown Prince wants to meet you.”
I blinked at him. “What?”
“He’s here with his daughter. She’s a fan. They’re in another room down the hall and they’ve asked to meet you.”
I stared, confused. “Wait, Prince William is here? With Charlotte? Isn’t she a bit young for my kind of comedy? And why would he come to Oslo to see me?!”
Jack looked like he was on the brink of a nervous breakdown. “Not your Crown Prince,” he whispered urgently. “Our Crown Prince—Prince Haakon. He’s here with Princess Ingrid. She’s a fan. He’s… well, he wants to meet you too.” He looked constipated, like this conversation was giving him heartburn. I blinked again, slowly registering what he’d just said.
“Oh, you have a monarch here? That’s cool. Let’s go then—wait…” I paused mid-step, suddenly aware of how I looked. “Do I even look presentable? How do I address them? Do I bow? Curtsy? Wait, why the hell didn’t anyone tell me they were in the crowd earlier? I would’ve cut down on the profanity!” I could feel the panic creeping in. My pulse was speeding.
Jack raised a hand to calm me, like he was dealing with a skittish cat. “They’re normal people, Sam. Just say hello. Hi. No curtsying, no theatrics. They’ll ask the questions—you answer. Be yourself. You look fine.”
I tried a quick curtsy anyway, just in case, but Jack shook his head. “Seriously. Just walk in. And we didn’t tell you because we knew you’d overthink it.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Wait—Stella knew?!”
He gave me a sheepish nod. That traitor. I immediately began scanning the room for her and spotted her conveniently busy on the far side. “Stella,” I called, motioning for her to come along but she shook her head and said she had to keep an eye on the magazine reporters hovering near the entrance. Apparently, they were here digging for gossip on anyone remotely famous. Typical.
It was getting stuffy in here. A mix of perfume and nerves. I wasn’t sure if it was the sudden shift in the air or the disappointment crawling into my chest—but I had hoped he would’ve shown up. Even after the way I roasted him but no sign of him. Okay, fine. Maybe I was harsh. But sunglasses indoors? With the spotlight on the stage? Even in the dark? Come on. And of course, he didn’t take them off until I publicly called him out. Maybe I embarrassed him. Maybe I crossed a line.
Right. Onward to meet the future King of Norway. We walked down a quieter hallway, the buzz of the main room fading behind us. Two security guards stood flanking a heavy-looking door. Jack spoke to them—nothing dramatic, just some quiet words and they let us through.
Inside, the atmosphere shifted immediately. Subtle. More watchful. There were more guards—two standing close to Prince Haakon—and a few others scattered throughout the room, each of them scanning, clocking, calculating. I recognised the vibe. High-alert but calm. A controlled room. I took one step forward and immediately felt movement in my peripheral vision—one of the guards approached.
“Security check,” he said flatly. I didn’t resist. Let him do his job but in the back of my mind, a quiet, sharp voice spoke up.
This should’ve been done before I entered the room.
If I’d wanted to harm the prince or his daughter, this would’ve been too late. Way too late. They wouldn’t have made it to the door. But I said nothing. I just raised my arms and let him do the pat-down. “Have a good feel, my friend,” I said, giving the security guard a cheeky wink as he patted me down. He chuckled and winked back, then moved on to search Jack.
The prince waved us in. Jack introduced me to him and his daughter, and we exchanged pleasantries. It was all very formal, very polished—the kind of conversation that felt like walking a tightrope in heels. The princess was sweet. She asked for a selfie and a short video for her socials, and I smiled through it, letting her take as many shots as she liked while keeping my expression politely neutral.
But I couldn’t shake the unease buzzing in the back of my mind. Why the hell were we being searched after we’d already entered the damn room? I leaned toward Jack and murmured, “It’s still bugging me that they searched me after I got inside. Isn’t that… backwards?”
Jack gave me a bemused look. “It’s not your problem. It’s theirs.”
“I’m not saying they should stop the searches,” I whispered, “but what if I had a gun and just… took out the guards? Or went full rampage on the guests?”
That’s when a voice, deep and warm with just the right amount of gravel, cut through the air like silk over steel. “I would have stopped you.”
I turned towards it—already half flushed from the idea of sounding cocky in front of a stranger—and instantly forgot how to breathe.
Oh.
Oh.
He was there. Close. Close enough that I could smell the clean, warm scent of his skin—something piney and expensive, like winter forest and leather. His clothes fit him like it had been stitched directly onto his body, highlighting broad shoulders and a chest I knew could probably press me up against a wall without even trying. And those eyes—green, fierce, and way too focused on me.
I stared. My mouth opened and closed like I was buffering. “Not if I was James Bond,” I quipped, weakly, trying to pull something clever out of my ass, but it came out more breathy than badass.
He smiled. God, help me. That smile. It hit me like a blow to the stomach—sharp and disarming, dangerous in the most beautiful way. “Hi,” he said.
Just hi. And somehow that little word had me melting in my heels. I nodded, mute. Again.
“Good show,” he added, eyes dragging over me, lingering just a second too long. I nodded again. Like an idiot. My body felt way too warm all of a sudden, like the air in the room had thickened, and I wasn’t sure if it was nerves or his presence but I felt like I’d just run up a flight of stairs in stilettos. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. My mouth. My everything. I wanted the ground to swallow me up and spit me back out somewhere far, far away where green-eyed demigods didn’t just materialise out of nowhere and ruin my composure.
Jack came to my rescue—thank God—with a casual grin. “Hey, Sam. This is Gabriel Andersen. You know, the influencer, extreme sports and all that sort.”
Oh, I knew. I swallowed and attempted to smile, pretending I had no clue who the hell Gabriel Andersen was. “Oh, right. Hi, how… how are you?” I hoped I sounded breezy. Casual. Normal. But my voice cracked halfway through like I’d just hit puberty again.
The truth? I’d watched almost every one of his videos. The skydives. The ice climbs. The near-death mountain stunts. I could practically list his sponsors. And yes, okay, I may have replayed certain shirtless training montages more times than I’d admit to anyone—including God. And now he was right here. Talking to me. Smiling at me. Smelling like sin and snowstorms. And I was standing here trying not to think about his abs. Or his jaw. Or his voice. Or the fact that I was mentally undressing him like a horny teenage disaster.
He grinned, and God help me, I nearly forgot how to stand. “I’m good, thanks. And thank you for calling me out on my sunglasses—I really needed that.”
I smiled, then nodded.
Just nodded. Say something, you pillock! Stop nodding like a malfunctioning bobblehead! But my brain had short-circuited the moment he smiled. It wasn’t just the grin—it was the way it curved a little more on one side, like he knew it messed with people. Like he knew exactly what it was doing to me.
“So… uhmm… what are you doing after this?” he asked casually.
My heart hiccupped. I looked up—stupid move. Eye contact. Fatal.
Fuck me. Those eyes. That exact shade of wicked green that made me want to sin. I could swim in them. Drown, really—and I don’t even know how to swim. That’s how bad it was. I’d die happily in there, lungs full of Gabriel Andersen and not even sorry.
And he wants to know what I’m doing later?
Answer him, you idiot!
“I—uh—I have a couple of interviews to do, and then Jack invited us to a place…” I trailed off, mentally flailing, turning to Jack for backup. Please save me. Please speak. Please make sense of the English language because I clearly can’t.
“Yeah,” Jack jumped in smoothly. “It’s nearby your hotel, in fact. I’ll get you back to Stella, you can do your interviews, and then come over to the club. Gabriel, his friends, and a few others will be there too. I’ll message the details to Stella now.”
A club? With him there? Breathe, Sam. In. Out. Don’t pass out like a Victorian virgin.
Gabriel’s smile deepened—like he knew he was making my stomach somersault. “You go do your thing, and I’ll see you there. We’ll talk more.”
And then he was gone—his friends pulling him away with annoying, smug laughter, and I just stood there waving like a dork.
We’ll talk more. To me. To me!
Meeeeeeee. My insides were cartwheeling. I tried to be cool, I swear I did. I managed a casual “bye,” but on the inside I was squealing like a teenager at a boyband meet-and-greet.
Pull it together. He probably says that to everyone. He probably smiles like that at everyone. Stella warned me—warned me—that he was a flirt. A charmer. Casually dated half the continent.
Still…
I wish that eye would just wander straight to me. And stay.
Jack glanced at me, one brow arched. “Do you like him?”
I snorted, casually. Cool as a damn cucumber. “He’s alright. Handsome.” Just alright? Handsome? Liar. Dirty liar. You’ve already imagined what his hands would feel like under your shirt.
Jack gave me a knowing look but didn’t push it. He just grinned and waved me toward the door. “Let’s get you back to the other room, James Bond.”
I groaned. “Oh no, please don’t start.” The crowd had mostly cleared from my room by the time we returned. Jack said something quietly to Stella, and she immediately burst out laughing.
Perfect. Just what I needed. Embarrassment and witnesses.
“Hello again, James Bond,” she teased.
I rolled my eyes, trying not to smile. “You weren’t there, Stella. It just didn’t sit right with me.”
“Why didn’t you say something then?” Stella asked, arms folded like I’d personally offended her.
“I don’t know. Jack said something about them knowing better.” I shrugged, but the irritation was starting to itch under my skin. That whole search scenario didn’t sit right with me.
Stella raised a brow. “Why does he seem to think you have a thing for Gabriel?”
God, she was relentless.
“I tried to be cool,” I muttered, flopping onto the nearest chair. “But I just… I couldn’t be. He’s so handsome, Stella. And those eyes? I melted. I legit turned into a useless little puddle.”
She smirked. “Jack said you were blushing. Said when Gabriel was leaving, you looked at him like he was the last candy in the store.”
“More like a Hershey’s pie,” I said with a dramatic sigh. I shook my head, already regretting how obvious I’d been. What was wrong with me?
She rolled her eyes, unimpressed with my metaphor, and steered me toward the reporters like she had more important things to deal with than my schoolgirl crush.
The interviews were the usual rinse and repeat—how are you enjoying the city, what’s your favourite food, how do you come up with your ideas. All smile-and-wave stuff. But by the end of it, my energy had flatlined. The adrenaline buzz was gone, and exhaustion hit me like a train. I’d been running on fumes for months—juggling the 9-to-5 during the week and performing in a new city nearly every weekend. There hadn’t been time to not be tired.
As soon as the last mic disappeared and the final camera light blinked off, I turned to Stella. She caught the look in my eyes immediately. “Nope,” she said, already shaking her head. “You are not bailing. We’re going to the club. First, we head to the hotel, change. You need strong coffee—or hell, maybe an espresso IV—and then we’re going.”
“Stellaaa,” I groaned, dragging my feet like a sulking child. “I’m burned out. I just need one night off. Just one.”
“That’s not my fault,” she snapped, hands on hips now. “I told you months ago to pick one—either the full-time job or this. I also said stop booking every single weekend like you’re trying to speed-run your entire career. And what did you say? ‘Let’s just get it over with.’ Those were your exact words.”
She wasn’t wrong, but did she have to quote me?
“We’re going,” she said with finality. “And you’re going to talk to Gabriel Andersen like an actual human being and not like some malfunctioning robot.”
I grumbled and dragged myself towards the exit. We’d done the club thing before—usually involved Stella getting gloriously drunk and me standing in the corner, acting like her babysitter and backup escape plan. Tonight wouldn’t be any different. Gabriel was just her excuse to meet hot women from Oslo. She probably didn’t even care if I came.
Back at the hotel, I changed on autopilot. I deliberately picked the most boring outfit I’d packed—black jeans, an oversized jumper. I wasn’t in the mood to impress anyone. Least of all some ridiculously good-looking man who could probably have anyone he wanted. Stella knocked on my door and the second it opened, she gasped. “You are nowhere near ready.”
I crossed my arms. “I am ready. And if we’re really going to this shitbang, then this is what I’m wearing.”
She looked like a glitter bomb had gone off—in the best possible way. Short, sparkly dress, flawless makeup, heels like weapons. And me? I looked like someone who’d just been ghosted by life itself.
Perfect.
