“It is not.” Keller opens his book again.
“Okay, then how come I can’t swear?”
“Why don’t you just go to sleep? You have bags under your eyes, and you’re going to want to look fresh when you get off the plane.”
Bags under my eyes? What a dick!
You know what? I take back what I thought about his man-cleavage. I think it’s repulsive.
* * *
“Seriously, why can’t I swear?”
Keller slams his book down and growls. Actually growls.
Okay, maybe I’ve asked him the same question for the last two hours, but it’s starting to drive me nuts.
Thick brows pulled together, the veins in his neck harden as he says in a very controlled voice, “Leave the questions for when we arrive.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not at liberty to discuss anything with you,” he snaps.
“Sheesh, you don’t have to yell.”
“I’m not yelling,” he yells. “I’m just—” Through clenched teeth, in an even voice, he says, “I’m trying to tell you that it’s not my place to say anything until we arrive. So, sit back, close your eyes, and be quiet.”
I cross my arms and study him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such an angry human. “Have you had enough Vitamin D?” I ask him. “It seems like you’re really angry. Maybe a little more sunshine. Nature might do you some good. Do you go outside?”
“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.”
