Margot didn't wear a proscribed gown. Why would I have to?”
She huffs. “A lot of women would kill for the opportunity that you are turning your nose up at. Lars is my grandson, and he's strong stock. I know that I didn't have much of a choice over this engagement, but I'll be damned if I will be cut out of planning the wedding.”
My mouth opens. I don't quite know what to say. “I was under the impression that you were planning the wedding entirely, and I was only expected to pick out what I'm wearing. I didn't even get a say on what day my wedding date will be.”
I can feel my face growing hot, feel something like rage creeping up in my tone. Queen Ida looks at me, gives another little half smirk, and looks back at the gown. “You'll wear the dress. And while we're on the topic of things you need to do, I think that you and I should sit down and talk about how it is appropriate to comport one's self when you're representing the royal family. Because I for one don't want to be embarrassed any further.”
My hands curl into this. I narrow my eyes at Queen Ida, feeling myself start to shake. “Does Lars even know that you are talking to me right now?”
“Should he?” she shoots back.
It takes everything in me to keep from lashing out. Instead, I press my fingernails into the palm of each hand, speaking slowly and clearly. “I'm not sure what kind of game you're playing. I'm not even sure if you are playing on the same field as I am. But this need for control that you have, this bizarre compulsion that you feel, it won't go on. Not with me. I won't have it.”
My voice rises until I'm almost but not quite yelling by the end of the sentence. An elegant little smirk appears on her face. “I think you will do just exactly what I ask you to do.”
I turn, elbowing my way past her and heading for the door. “This is outrageous. I'm just going to pretend like this little tete-a-tete never happened. You would be wise to do the same.”
Momse clears her throat. “Where are you going?”
I don't even look back at her. “I'm going to find my fiancé and tell him that I'm not feeling well.” I fling the door open, taking a step outside.
That's when she drops the bomb.
“I wouldn't do that if I were you, Sylvie.”
I freeze mid-step. Turning around slowly, my brow hunches I squint at her. “What?”
She gives me a smirk. “You heard me. What, did you think that I didn't know who you really are?” She laughs. “Like I would just let anybody be friends with one of my grandsons. Fat chance.”
My face is so hot, I'm sure that I must be flushed all over. I take a step back towards her, dropping my voice. “I don't know what you think you know, but I'm sure that you are mistaken.”
She rolls her eyes. Please. “Maybe you haven't been listening for all these months. Apparently my envoy wasn't clear enough for you.”
I give her a puzzled look. “What?”
She folds her arms across her chest. “Mrs. Olson said that you had the nerve to kick her out of a wedding dress shop last week. And I am here to tell you personally, that won't do. You are going to smile and play along and marry my grandson. You’re going to have his kids and go on vacations and do all the royal handwaving that I ask of you. And you do it without being asked. Because I know your dirty little secret, Sylvie.”
She looks a little proud of herself as she says it. “I also know all about Stella.”
At this point, I'm so dumbstruck that I don't even know what I could possibly say. Anything that floats to the top of my mind seems like a bad idea because I would have to acknowledge that I am in fact Sylvie Martin. And something tells me that I definitely don't want to show this woman my belly.
“Pippa?” I turn my head to see Lars zooming over to me, concern for me weighing his brow. Are you okay?
I turn away from Queen Ida, automatically pulled toward the one person I feel the safest with in the world. I tried to force a smile on my lips but I know I have failed by looking at his puzzled expression.
“I'm not feeling