“But you need to learn this information, Lilly,” he says, more deflated than anything.
“Well, teach me in a more fun way. This jail-like cell you have me captured in is making this experience unbearable. Can we at least walk around? Study in the living room? Make a cake and talk about history? Drive around? Something, please?”
“We’re not at liberty to drive around just yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Because why?” I press.
He paces the space, hands behind his back. “Because I said so.”
“Ah, I see. So because you said so, I should just be okay with that?” I stand as well and approach him. When I’m about a foot away, I poke him in the chest and say, “Well, I’m not okay with it. I’d like to know why we can’t go about visiting the country. Don’t you want me to fall in love with it? I mean, this castle is nice and all,” I lie, because it’s actually dreadful, “but you talked about glaciers and volcanoes. I want to see them.”
“You can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because you need to stay hidden,” he shouts, causing me to step back. He grumbles something and then says, “The royal line of succession has been a joke. Four children born into the monarchy, none of them able to take the throne—granted, your mother is a different story—but still, we’re at the precipice of losing everything, and the last thing this country needs is to consider your reign a joke.”
“A joke?” My forehead crinkles as I fold my arms. “Why would it be a joke?”
“You’re an American. You know nothing about the country. You don’t know any of the traditions. And if I were to present you in front of the country right now, they would laugh at you, rather than welcome you. We don’t need you being spotted. We don’t need the rumors.”
“Wow,” I say, taking a step back. “Well, maybe if you did something more than drone on about the history of needlepoint—”
“Hardanger.”
“Whatever!” I throw my hands up in the air. “If you taught me actual useful things, things of real-life importance, I wouldn’t be such a joke.”
“What I’m teaching you is important. You need to know this. You need to know it all so you can make a decision.”
“Well, how’s this for a decision—I’m done for the day,” I say, moving past him and toward the door, but just as I reach it, Keller places his hand on the wood, preventing me from opening it.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he says in a menacing tone.
I look up at him, note that his chest is vibrating.
“I suggest you move unless you want me screaming bloody murder.”
“We need to work.”
“And you need to figure out a better way of teaching me, because I am not sitting in this room with you one more day, droning on about flower crowns and how to properly curtsy.” I move his hand from the door, open it up, and storm out.
“Are you okay?” Lara asks, taking a seat next to me on the couch.
“Sort of,” I answer, knowing the boys went out for their second jog of the day. Keller mumbled something about needing to run off some frustration.
I took care of my frustration by dipping my nose in the kitchen and sniffing around for something sweet. Imagine my disappointment when I came up completely short. Freaking health nuts with their morning workouts and their healthy soups. I clung to a loaf of bread and took three large bites before sticking it back in the breadbasket.
“It’s only been a week of this training, but it feels like a never-ending form of persecution. And the strange thing is, I know Keller can be more fun, I’ve seen it. But when we get in that room, it’s like he shuts down and becomes a robot.”
The front door opens, bringing in a whip of wind that floats through the living room before the door quickly shuts. Keller stands in the entryway, sweat dripping down his brow, heaving heavily, looking as if he just ran a marathon rather than went out for a casual jog. When he looks in our direction, our eyes connect, and something magnetic forces me to keep my eyes on him.
Call it our mirrored frustration.
Call it the crazy pull I feel between us, but his eyes remain on mine as well while he continues to breathe heavily.
Proud chest, sweat dripping down his neck to the collar of his shirt, rosy cheeks from the stark winds . . . he’s still so freaking yummy to look at, even though he’s absolute torture to be around.