I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Just brainstorming,” I reiterate. “Just… in case.”
A dimple flashes in Pippa’s cheek. “What if you made like… a grand romantic gesture?”
I scoff. “Like showing up at the airport at the last moment? Isn’t the guy supposed to do that?”
Pippa shrugs a shoulder. “Maybe for other people, yeah. But you? You’re Margot Keane. You’re a rebel. You live by your own rules. And if you want to make a grand gesture, then by god, you can do it!”
I stare at Pippa for a second. “I just realized that you actually believe in me. You are a really good friend, you know that?”
She beams at me. “Duh. I’ve always believed in you, Mags.”
I hug her, sudden and hard. She makes a funny noise at first, but then she relaxes and claps me on the back. When I pull back, Pippa arches a brow.
“So. Shall we make a list of romantic grand gesture ideas?”
I shake my head slowly. “No.”
Her eyebrows rise. “No?”
“I just realized that we work at the main newspaper in the country. Millions of people see whatever gets onto our front page.”
Pippa looks shocked for a second. “Are you suggesting what I think you are?”
I squint at her. “Maybe. I mean, my words will almost definitely reach Stellan. And if it works, I am sure thePolitikeneditors will forgive me.” I wrinkle my nose. “Right?”
She looks a little unsure. “If it doesn’t work, Margot… if you publish a personal letter addressed to Stellan in a public paper…”
I wince. “I would have to leave the country.”
“Yeah, that would be the least of your worries.”
“So… I’ll have to make my letter really good,” I say, taking a deep breath. “Oh god. Am I really going to do this? Agh! Where would I even begin?”
Pippa’s lips curve upward and she slides me a knowing glance. “Start at the beginning.”
She picks up the leather satchel, opening it to reveal the laptop inside. Then she stands, tucking her glorious red hair behind her ears.
“I should get back to my own work,” she says with a sigh. “Good luck. Call me when you need help.”
“Thank you, Pippa.” I crack open the laptop and open a blank word processing document. “Start at the beginning. I can do that…”
Typing out the first line, I start the scariest letter I will probably ever write.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Stellan
My father clears his throat and adjusts his seat at the table. We’re having breakfast on the vast veranda of Gråsten Palace, where he and my mother are currently staying.
He pushes his mostly full plate away. I want to ply him with a million questions about how he is feeling, but I have a feeling that he won’t like that. It’s normally fairly awkward between us, but today… it’s tense.
“So. Have you heard anything conclusive from the doctors?”
My father scratches his dark beard. “No.”
I sigh silently. “May I speak openly?”
“I wish you would.” He looks off into the distance at the verdant gardens below the terrace. I can’t read him; I think I know exactly where I inherited my remoteness.
