When I sign the last letter, I return to everyday life with a sigh. Standing, I stack all the letters neatly. Although I don’t jog them; people that write me want their letters neat, without bent corners.
I do my best to give it to them.
When Margot speaks, I startle. I had forgotten that she was even here.
“What happens now?”
My head jerks to face her. I run a hand through my dark hair, standing up. “What?”
She nods to my work. “The letters. What happens to them?”
That gives me pause. “I don’t know. I just leave them here when I am finished. They appear and disappear routinely.” I frown. “I suppose someone in the press office comes to collect them.” I shrug. “Why?”
Margot gives me a careful look. “Just trying to get a sense of what happens. There are probably a hundred thousand little tasks that get done without you ever knowing it.”
My brow furrows. “I suppose so.”
She flips her notebook closed. “So where do you go to now?”
I check my watch. “Oliver should be here any second to tell me I have to get ready to go. I think today I go to an art exhibit followed by a primary school.”
Eyeing her, I start to roll down my sleeves. “Fetch me my tie from over by the door, will you?”
Her expression grows stormy. “Is there something keeping you from doing it?”
I raise my eyebrows. “No. You are just closer, that’s all.”
She folds her arms across her chest, cocking her hip. “Do it yourself.”
I roll my eyes and saunter over to the tie, which has been placed on a coatrack with extreme caution by some unseen hand. As I put the tie on, I cast my eye over Margot’s defiant stance.
My lips curve upward. “You’re cute when you’re being mutinous.”
Her cheeks color, giving me a certain kind of satisfaction. She scowls. “You’re a pig.”
Chuckling, I nod. “I couldn’t agree with you more. I’m right, though.”
All that earns me is a glare.
Oliver’s soft knock sounds at the door. I swing the door open, surprising him. He stands up a little straighter, his white hair and black suit looking dapper as always.
“Deres Højhed,” he says, bowing stiffly. He always calls meyour highness, even when I ask him not to. It’s just his way. “Your car is waiting.”
I start out the door behind him, only stopping about halfway down the hall. I look back with a frown. “Oliver? Hold on a second, would you?”
I walk back to the doorway that I just left, finding Margot standing at my desk. She’s not touching anything. But she is staring down at the stack of letters, her brow furrowed.
“Hey,” I bark.
She looks up, eyes wide. Her pink tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip. “Yes?”
I cock my head. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Oh.” She frowns. “Yes. I just thought?— “
I turn, leaving her to hurry after me, her explanation falling on deaf ears. She has to practically run to keep up with my natural stride. I see her looking at me, trying to figure me out again. I’ve done something that she didn’t expect and now she’s trying to pin her understanding of me down again.
I hurry downstairs and up to the back seat of the waiting Audi limousine. It’s considered polite to help a woman into the back of a car first. I stop and stand stiffly by the back door, motioning her in. It’s more of an automatic gesture than anything else, but Margot’s face flushes as she accepts and climbs in first.
