But it’s her attitude, her vibrant sass, that I know will make this task of not only training her to be the next heir—plus convincing her to drop her life and come with me—very difficult.
“Miss Campbell—”
“Ugh, call me Lilly. That Miss Campbell shit is so stuffy. And you know, it might not hurt you to introduce yourself.”
“I was getting to that.”
“Takes you long enough.”
I clench my teeth. “My name is Keller Fitzwilliam, and I’m the private secretary and advisor to King Theodore.”
“Oooo, you sound fancy. Fitzwilliam, so posh.” She looks over her shoulder. “Seriously, though, where are the cameras? Are they buried in the flowers?”
“There are no cameras. This is very serious. Please regard it as such.”
She folds her arms and stares me up and down. “Where do you get off talking to people like that?” In a snooty tone, she says, “‘Please regard it as such.’ What acting school did you go to? Your accent could use some work.”
Christ.
I push my hand through my hair, irritation now ripping through my veins. “Your mother, Margret—what do you know of her family?”
Lilly straightens up, the straps of her revealing dress pulling on her delicate shoulders. “Why do you want to know?”
“Because what I’m about to tell you pertains to that.”
“Do I have family I don’t know about?” she asks with a dreamy look in her eyes.
That dreamy look, the intrigue, the hope . . . it’s all there, which means, I’ve found my way to capture her.
“What have you been told?” I ask.
“Uh, well, that my mom fled from somewhere in the Scandinavian area and came to America, where she met my father. She never spoke about her family too much. Why, what do you know?”
She’s in for a goddamn culture shock.
“Your mother, Margret, is one of four children.”
“Four! You mean I have aunts and uncles?”
Technically, but I don’t need to go into details about them just yet.
“Yes. And you have grandparents.”
“Grandparents?” she says, her eyes welling up. “Really? Like, actual grandparents? Like two old people who sit in rockers and throw shoes at the street youth for being a nuisance to the neighborhood? Two old people who smile when they fart? Who call you honey and wear small blankets over their shoulders because they’re always cold? Two old people who talk about sciatica and send you five-dollar bills in a birthday card? That kind of grandparents?”
Not so much.
If Theo or Katla ever smiled while they farted, I wouldn’t be sure what to fucking do.
“No,” I answer honestly. “They aren’t that kind of grandparents.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders sag. “I always wanted old, cranky grandparents. When I was young, we lived across from this old couple. We weren’t friends with them, but I would sit on my porch and watch them from across the street as they yapped and yelled at the kids riding their bikes. I found it endearing. Sometimes I wished that they had been my grandparents. I even asked—”
“They are King Theodore and Queen Katla,” I say, unable to deal with her jabbering.
“Excuse me?”
“From Torskethorpe.”
“Torske-what-now?”
“Torskethorpe, a small island in the Scandinavian waters, just north of the British Isles.”
“Torskethorpe?” she asks, her nose curling up. “That, uh . . . that doesn’t really roll off the tongue well, does it?” She pauses and then says, “Wait, you said King Theodore and Queen Katla.”
“Correct.”
“Hold on.” She blinks a few times. “Are you really trying to tell me that these long-lost grandparents I’ve never heard of in my entire life just happen to be royalty of some far-off country that frankly I don’t even believe is on a map? Torksy-to-da, was it? Dude, that was not in my geography books.”
“Yes, I am.”
The corner of her lip twitches.
Her eyes flit around the empty rooftop.
She smiles.
She chuckles nervously.
And then she stands from the couch. “Okay, Fitzy—”
“My name is Keller.”
“Whatever it is, this is some fucked-up reality show.” She grabs her clutch from the coffee table and tucks it under her arm. “You must have done some serious research to prey on an innocent girl with a secret yearning to learn more about her family.” She scoffs. “Wow, you really are a little, little man. I hope karma comes back and deliberately places a painful zit on the tip of your dick.” She spins on her heel, the fabric of her dress floating against the wind, and as she takes her first step away, Brimar blocks her departure with his large body.