Quincy didn’t enter his rooms until later that night after making it through the rest of dinner, dessert, and a few very annoying looks from his father at the mention of weddings happening later that year. Melinda had, of course, been talking about hers, but his father had hinted at Quincy’s several different times.
It was going to be a ridiculously long summer of Quincy trying to dodge the possible bachelorettes his father would invite to the island, and, even worse, the ones that lived on the isle. He was sure they would attend every function possible to get a glimpse of the single prince up for marriage.
Pascal had greeted him at the door, but he’d waved his servant away. He was not in the mood for idle chitchat or having someone tell him over and over again that the sooner he decided on a woman and got a wife, the sooner the king would leave him alone… for a while. Then the king would be demanding grandchildren to ensure his line. And one day very soon, Quincy would be expected to become the King of the Isle Bijoux.
“There is no way I can be a king yet,” he muttered to the night air as he stepped out onto his balcony. “No way in hell. Not yet.”
Things had been happening very quickly lately, and Quincy had a hard time keeping up. He enjoyed his late nights at the club, drinking and flirting with the local girls. He never brought any of them home, but having the freedom to go out and do that was what Quincy was worried about losing. Being the king meant being responsible for the entire island and everyone on it. He leaned on the railing of the balcony and breathed in the salty air as it blew through the courtyard. It was humid again, but he was accustomed to it. The air did not bother him.
He watched as the servants finished their duties for the day and wandered to their quarters within the palace walls. All of this was his. All these people. He heard someone curse and glanced to the right to see his soon-to-be-stepsister out on the balcony. Olivia.
An easel was set up in front of her, and she sat on a tall stool in front of a large canvas. The canvas itself looked like an array of colors, but from this distance, he couldn’t make out what she worked on. Quincy took a bottle of wine from his personal stash and headed out of his room to the balcony. He’d figured out how to climb from one balcony to the next when he was about ten.
Quincy picked up the small leather bag he always kept handy nearby for times like these, stashed the wine in it, and climbed up on the railing. The ledge of stone that stretched around the entire courtyard was wide enough for him to fit his foot sideways, and up above, stones jutted out so he could hold them and scuttle to the next balcony. The only time he didn’t do it was when everything was slick from recent rains. One time, he’d nearly plummeted straight down, and though he might not die from the fall, a broken back or leg was not something he wanted to deal with.
He made it around the corner and to Olivia’s balcony. She had stepped inside, muttering under her breath, and he took it as his chance to hop over the railing. A moment later, she stepped back out.
“Evening, Olivia.”
“What the hell?” She jumped back as she yelled, and her eyes widened. “Prince Quincy, how did you get in here?” She glanced over her shoulder, and he followed her look to the closed door. “Where the hell did you come from?”
“I have my secrets,” he said with a shrug. “Care for some wine?”
She watched him pull the bottle out, and he motioned at the canvas before them. It was a rendering of the view they had seen from atop the cliff earlier that day. Her technique was beautiful and the colors were nearly perfect.
“You sounded frustrated. Why? This looks fantastic.”
“It looks alright,” she said as she stared at it, too. “I can’t get the colors right for the sea and the grass. I think the altitude messed with my paints.”
The way she scrunched her face up at it made Quincy smile, and he felt a flutter in his chest. “It is possible, I guess, but then I am not a painter. I am, however, a great procurer of fine wines.”
“Sure, why not?” she replied and set her brushes down. “I guess… Come in?”
He grinned as he followed her inside, remembering what happened the last time he was in her rooms. Sadly, all her clothes and undergarments appeared to have been put away. “Are you settled in well enough?” he asked as she took two glasses from the side table and handed them over.
“I guess so. I still feel like I’m on vacation, though,” she said.
“In a way you are, aren’t you? The summer is your only time here?”
She took the glass he offered and stared down into the depths of red wine. “Maybe, maybe not.”
“You think you might stay?”
“I don’t know yet. I still have a bit of schooling left to do, but my mom’s going to be here, and I’m not sure how I feel returning to the States as a princess. How would that even work?”