Royally Not Ready(9)

“Yes,” he answers as he turns back to his book.

“What kind of stuff do you do outside? Stand on the grass and just yell at people?”

Brimar chuckles again but quickly covers up his laugh when Keller shoots him another look.

Leaning across the small aisle, I ask, “Is he always like this? Agitated?”

“Don’t answer that,” Keller says.

“I’m going to take that as a yes,” I say. “Hmm, maybe it’s the book you’re reading. Is it a suspense? Maybe a murder mystery? Are you feeling stabby?”

He rests his head back and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“You realize this frustration is self-induced,” I continue. “All you had to do was talk to me, and now we’re at this point, where you’re about to explode, and I can’t stop thinking the worst about you. How about this—how about we just start from the beginning, okay?” I lend out my hand. “Hi, I’m Lilly Campbell. I own a bikini truck with my best friend, Timmy Tuna, and I’m currently on my way to some faraway mythical country called Torske, uh, thrope”—nailed it—“where I’m about to meet my estranged grandparents, who, according to a Google confirmation, happen to be royalty. I’m nervous, but excited. Okay, your turn.”

Those dangerous eyes stare back at me, unwavering as they peruse my face. My cheeks, my chin, my mouth—he gives me such a thorough exam that I feel the need to suck my cheeks in, give him different angles to ogle at.

Finally, he says, “I’m Keller Fitzwilliam. I’ve been working for the palace since I can remember. My loyalty and allegiance rest with them. The book I’m reading is a collection of poetry. And when I’m not working, I spend my time hiking, because the country you’re about to visit is stunning. It’s impossible not to spend your spare time outside.” He opens his book again and lifts one brow at me when he says, “Is that good enough for you?”

I wet my lips. “There are a few things in your statement I would like to explore, but for now, it works.” I offer him a smile and then sink into my chair where I close my eyes.

“If you really want to sleep, there’s a bed in the back.”

“Really?” I ask, my eyes shooting open. “Well, don’t mind if I do.”





“Lilly.”

“Mmm, muffins,” I mumble, curling into the softest pillow I’ve ever felt. No doubt, it was made by angels, stuffed with clouds, and sealed with a kiss.

“Miss Campbell, we have arrived.”

“Huh?” I lift my head, my hair drooping over my face as I look around. “What do you mean? In Torskethorpe? But, isn’t there a landing protocol? Like, fasten your seatbelts?”

“That’s commercial, this is private. We make the rules.”

I drag my fingers across my face, pushing my hair out of the way, and find Keller standing tall, suit jacket on, waiting impatiently for me at the door.

“Oh, well . . . I should get up, then.” I fling the covers off me and roll to the edge of the bed, where I collect myself. I stretch my arms over my head and let out a yawn. “You should bag up these sheets and sell them, because, wow, I zonked out.” I slip on my shoes and then stand from the bed. Smiling at the grump, I hold out my arms and ask, “How do I look?”

“Rumpled,” he answers.

I glance down at my romper and attempt to straighten it. “Well, we can’t all be Instagram ready, now, can we?”

He doesn’t say anything, instead, he steps back and moves toward the front of the plane with a simple, beckoning head nod.

A man of few words.

I gather my purse I left by my chair and head toward the plane door but stop short before stepping outside.

“Holy mother of fuck!” I yell as I claw the side of the door.

“What?” Keller asks, startled.

“It’s fucking freezing! What the hell, it’s summer!”

“Yes, but you’re in a subarctic country. Eighty percent of the terrain is glaciers.”

I curl around my bag and say, “That would have been nice to know when packing.”

There’s a waiting car with the door open that I’m assuming is for us. My eyes make contact with where my body needs to be, and before I take another breath, I fly down the stairs, past Keller, and I sprint across the tarmac like I’m tiptoeing across fiery coals, and fling myself into the waiting car, head first.

“Blast the heat,” I say as I shiver in the corner.

Keller joins me, takes a seat, and then turns toward me while I feel around the shared bench seat.

“What are you doing?” he asks, irritated.

“My nipples. I think they fell off. Do you see them?”

“Jesus . . . Christ,” he mumbles before strapping his seatbelt on.

Jesus Christ is right. We’re going to need some help from the Almighty above if this is what summer is like.





“Wait, is Torskethorpe like Alaska? Where the sun is up all the time during the summer?”

“Yes,” he answers as I plaster myself against the window.

“Can you see the northern lights?”

“Yes.”

“Are there volcanoes?”

“Yes.”