I don't need any additional stress and finding a job as a journalist right now is definitely beyond harrowing.
With my heart still heavy, I start to get dressed to meet Margot as we have agreed. I shower quickly and then I put on a peach silk dress, layering it with a long white cardigan and chunky black heels.
I’m still fuming as I finish getting dressed. How dare Freja even make such demands of me? Someone in the royal press office needs to hear about this in the morning. I kind of hate to fight dirty, but they can exert pressure on the owners of Politken when I may or may not have any say in the matter.
I can't be bothered with my hair so I up throw it up in a messy bun and put on just enough mascara and blush to make myself presentable.
Then I look at the time and realize that I am definitely going to be late to meet Margot, even if I hurry. Pulling on my warm winter coat, I grabbed my purse and head downstairs. The cool winter air of the late afternoon catches me by surprise.
It's not that I don't know that it's cold outside, I just didn't expect it to be this cold. I pull my jacket tight around myself, thinking that maybe I should catch a cab. I only have to go about ten blocks, but if I catch a cab, I will not only be warm but I will get there faster.
In my haste, I rush by a chic blonde woman in a dark trenchcoat, bumping her shoulder carelessly. I turn to apologize, my mouth flying open. But when I turn, she is standing still, a tiny smirk on her face.
"Careful, Sylvie."
My eyes widen. My pulse starts racing.
How does she know that name?
"I'm sorry?" I say, pretending that she has the wrong person.
Hell, for all I know, she does.
She arches a delicate brow. She takes off her glove and extends her hand to me, staring at me. "We haven't had the pleasure yet, Sylvie. You can call me Mrs. Olson."
Frozen in place, I don't move to shake her hand. "You must have me mistaken for someone else."
I start to turn away, clearing my throat. Ms. Olson steps forward and grabs my elbow, turning me back around. This close, her gray eyes seem like they are filled with a laughing sort of mockery. "Oh, I don't think so. I think you are Sylvie Martin. And I think that you've been masquerading as Pippa Welch for years. Have I got it right, Sylvie?”
Trembling, I jerk out of her grasp. "I don't know who you think I am, but you had better leave me alone."
Her eyes sparkle maliciously. "Unless you want me to tell Prince Lars your secret, you will listen to me."
I shake my head, beginning to walk away. I called back, pointing a finger skyward. "Leave me alone. I mean it."
She calls after me. "You're going to get the opportunity to make yourself a bigger part of Lars’s life soon. If you're smart, you'll position yourself to be his future spouse. And when that happens? I'll be in contact."
I stop, glancing back at her. "You're crazy. You don't even know me. You definitely don't know that there's going to be any kind of quote on quote ‘opportunity coming down the line’.” I pause, dragging in a breath. “Shit. Why am I even talking you again?"
I start walking away, shaking my head. My hands are shaking with a mixture of fear and anger.
Who is this stranger? And how does this woman know who I am?
I turn the corner, but I can't miss the words that are shouted at my back. "I'll see you again very soon, Sylvie…”
I start to run.
6
Lars
I'm sitting at the end of a long, polished conference table, trying not to feel like I'm about to be punished. I lean back in the chair I was given, pushing my cheek out with my tongue.
It’s well past eight in the evening. The shadows here in Stellan’s study have lengthened. I try not to fidget or show that this little charade of calling me here so late has made me quite nervous.
Inside though, I am drawing a big blank where it comes to guessing what the purpose of this little meeting could be. At the other end of the conference room table, Stellan sits with our very nosy grandmother, Queen Ida, and an older cabinet minister.
Jorgenson. No, Svenson.
Shit, I’ve forgotten his name.
Stellan looks