Royally Not Ready(37)

“Do I really need to know the type of steel that was used to make the very first needle Queen Regina used?”

“Queen Regana.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You said Regina.”

I awkwardly smile. “Pretty sure I said Regana.”

“You said . . . Regina.”

“Are you sure about that?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. “Because they do sound similar, and you look tired, you could have misheard me.”

“You fucking said Regina.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say, holding up my hands. “No need to get heated. It’s a simple mistake, hearing one word when someone really said the other. Doesn’t mean you need to start swearing.”

His nostrils flare.

His teeth crunch together.

And I actually spot a vein in his neck that looks like it’s at DEFCON 1 levels of exploding.

Oh dear, maybe I pushed him too far.

But for the record, angry Keller is very, very . . . very hot. I think that’s why I keep pushing his buttons because he becomes all growly and agitated and flexy with his muscles. Positively yummy.

“Lilly, I’m going to fucking lose it on you.”

“Because you think I said Regana?”

His eyes snap to mine as his mouth thins out. “You fucking said . . . Regina!” His black boot sails up into his wooden chair, careening it at supersonic speed right into the stone wall and breaking it into two pieces, before he storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him, only for it to flap open.

“Uh . . . does that mean we’re done for the day?”





“Marbles. Wait, no, uh, Yeezel. No, no, hold on. It has to be Jeremy. Is it Jeremy? It’s Jeremy, isn’t it? It’s got to be Jeremy.”

Keller leans back in his new chair, a replacement for the one broken in yesterday’s fiasco, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “If you stopped fucking speaking for one goddamn second, I’d be able to tell you the cat’s name was Whiskers.”

“Whiskers?” I say in an outburst. “Where’s the originality in that?”

“And you think Jeremy is original?”

“Uh . . . yeah,” I say, flitting my hand at him. “Everyone knows naming an animal a regular person name holds more humor in it than something like Whiskers.”

“Can we get back on topic?”

“We’re still on topic. You were talking about the cat who had babies in the ballroom during a state dinner. Frankly, it’s the most interesting story you’ve told since we started this lecture-fest five days ago.”

He releases a heavy sigh. “I need a break.” He stands from his chair and walks over to the open window. He places his hands on the windowsill, which bunches his shirt around his shoulder blades. There’s no mistaking the tension resting in those muscles.

He’s been short and clipped the entire day.

“You seem irritated with me,” I say.

“What on earth would give you that idea?” he huffs.

“Well, the sarcasm in your voice, for one, and your lack of patience, for another. But there’s something you need to know, Keller. I’m irritated with you as well.”

He turns around and leans against the sill now, arms crossed. “What could I have possibly done to irritate you?”

Well, he keeps showing up with clothes on. These lectures would be far more riveting if he was naked.

“You find it necessary to tell me every little thing about the history of Torskethorpe. I’ll tell you right now, I’ll probably remember one percent of it. Stop regaling me with the distinct color of the drapes in some old warden’s bedroom. What are you? A Stephen King novel?”

“You need to know everything.”

“Oh my God!” I rise from my chair. “Do you really think some Torskethorpian is going to come up to me on the streets, tap me on the shoulder, and say, ‘Lilly, do you happen to recall the name of Regina’s cat who had babies in the state room?’”

“REGANA!” he shouts. “Her fucking name is REGANA!”

“THAT’S WHAT I SAID!” I shout back before placing my hands under the console table and flipping it right over before storming out of the room.





“I’d like to say things got a little heated yesterday, and even though I was very frustrated, I want you to know, it wasn’t your fault. I was out of line.” I rub my hand along the console table. “I’m sorry. Do you forgive me?”

Keller is standing to the right of me, arms folded, a sneer on his brow. “Are you done apologizing to the goddamn table?”

I hold my finger up to him and lean my ear toward the wood. When I feel like I’ve been forgiven, I give a slow nod and say, “The table has chosen to give me another chance.”

“Then let’s get started.” He flops a journal on the table—my new friend—and points at it. “This is for you.”

“A present? Aw, you shouldn’t have.”

“It’s a journal so you can start writing down your thoughts.”

“Ah, right, for history.” I pick up my pen and flip the journal open to the first page. “‘Dear Jerry—’”