“Lilly, I suggest you sit down,” I say.
Her eyes widen as she turns toward me. “You can’t possibly believe you can detain me. I’ll have you know, that I have some serious friends in the Miami Police Department. They will take you out.”
Fuck, she’s feisty. This is why I prepared.
Hoping it wasn’t going to come to this, I take out my phone, unlock the screen, and go to my pictures. I find one of her mom and point it to her. “Does she look familiar?”
Lilly leans in, taking a closer look, and when recognition crosses her face, she slowly lowers back down to the couch as she takes the phone from me.
“Where did you find this picture?”
“It’s one of many Theo and Katla have of Margret. Flip to the right. You’ll see more.”
Her hands shake as she moves her thumb across the screen, and picture after picture, I see tears well in her eyes until they cascade down her face.
Pictures of Margret in the courtyard with her siblings.
Pictures of Margret embroidering—one of her favorite Torskethorpian traditions.
Pictures of Margret outside the palace walls, talking with the people.
They’re all there, and as I watch her flip through, I notice the shake in her hand and the tears that fall to the fabric of her dress. From the side, Brimar tosses me a pack of tissues that I gently hand to her. With a curt nod, she takes one and dabs at her eyes, only to gasp when she gets to the last picture.
“How did you get this?” she asks as she shows me a picture of her mom in a hospital bed, an infant curled in her arms, with her dad’s arm wrapped around her mom.
“Your mom sent that to Theo, her father. She would send a pack of pictures every year at Christmas. That is one of many.”
“She . . . she did?” she asks, scrolling through the pictures again. “But—I don’t understand.” She meets my gaze. “Why would she send pictures, but never talk about her family?”
“From what Theo told me, it’s because she wanted to explore the world. She wanted a simple life. She wanted to live in a place where she could create a world of her own. To my understanding, she did just that.”
Another tear falls down her cheek before she wipes it away and hands me my phone. On a deep breath, she sets her shoulders and asks, “Do you have any ID?”
“What?” I ask, confused.
“I need to see your ID or passport, something that tells me who you are.”
I fish into my pocket, pull out my wallet, and hand it to her. She flips it open and stares at my identification. She doesn’t just glance, she studies it. She then asks for Brimar’s, and he obliges. She brings them both together and compares them, giving them a thorough read-through. When she’s done, she folds up our wallets and hands them back to us. “Okay, I might not be convinced, but I am listening. So why are you here?”
“King Theodore requests your presence.”
“Requests it?” she asks. “He wants me to go up to Torky-porty?”
“Torskethorpe.”
“You should really reconsider the name. It’s quite jumbly in the mouth.”
“The island is over one thousand years old. There’s no changing it.” Why are you arguing with her? Get to the goddamn point. This has taken longer than I planned. “Tomorrow morning, we leave.”
“Uh, excuse me?” she asks.
“What do you not understand?”
“Well firstly, I don’t understand where you get off telling me what to do. And secondly, who’s to say I’m going with you?”
Fucking insolent woman.
At this point, she’s either in or she’s out. If the pictures don’t convince her, I don’t know what will. So, I stand from the couch and button my suit coat while staring down at her. “We leave at eight.” I reach into my pocket and hand her another black business card. “Here’s the address. If you’re not there by eight, we leave without you.”
She stares at the card and then waves it at me. “Did you get these printed for this one-time occasion? That’s really freaking weird.”
“Good night, Miss Campbell.”
“It’s Lilly.”
Brimar follows me as we head toward the door that leads into the main hotel.
“And don’t wait around for me, Fitzy. You don’t tell me what to do. Do you hear me? You’re not the boss of—”
The door shuts behind us, silencing her.
Brimar places his hand on my shoulder and says, no doubt with an eye roll, “Americans.” He shakes his head. “Good luck with that one.”