She watched the stare-down between father and son, wondering just how much crap Quincy had given his father over the years. He was definitely not the prince she expected to meet when she got off the plane, but maybe that was a good thing. The last thing she wanted was to be stuck with a boring, goodie-two-shoes man.
As she stifled a yawn, Lamont smiled and laid down his fork. “Olivia, you may feel free to turn in for the night. It’s been a long day.”
“I don’t mind,” she said. “I don’t want to be rude.”
“Please, I insist. We shall see you first thing in the morning.”
Olivia stood, grateful for a reason to leave the table. She kissed her mother’s head before saying good night to the king and prince. She left the dining room and made her way through the palace and back up to her room. It was still early in the evening, and though she was exhausted, she knew she wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep so easily.
She wandered around the halls, admiring the masonry of the old palace. The stone was old but well-maintained and cool to the touch. Wooden beams rose up the walls and to the ceiling overhead, carved and decorated with images of palm leaves. Everywhere she looked, there was such wonderful artistic detail. She wanted to get her sketchbook and sit there for hours, taking it all in. The courtyard was one place she wanted to see up close, but it was dark and she had a feeling the sunlight increased its beauty. That would be a sight she’d save for tomorrow morning.
The way to her room was lined with portraits of old monarchs—kings and queens, their children, even a few horses and dogs. One day, her face would be hung up there as well, which was insane. To think future generations would walk down this hall and see Olivia’s and her mother’s faces.
“I guess stranger things have happened,” she muttered to herself.
On her way to her room, she passed another door. The servants had told her Prince Quincy’s rooms were beside hers around the turn. Glancing up and down the hall to make sure she was alone, Olivia went to the doors and turned the handles. They swung open quietly, and she stood on the threshold. Curiosity finally got the better of her and she stepped inside, leaving the doors opened behind her.
“Payback for the panties.” She looked around his rooms and wondered what embarrassing things the prince might be hiding.
His rooms were relatively clean, which he probably didn’t do himself. She’d never get used to having servants picking up after her and waiting on her hand and foot. It was weird. Her mom seemed to enjoy it, but not Olivia. There were too many people.
She ran her hands along the bookshelf that stretched the length of the far wall, reading titles she recognized and wondered if he’d ever cracked the books open. A bowl of fresh mangos sat on a nearby table and beside that, a stack of folders tossed carelessly down so their papers were spilling out. She knew she shouldn’t, but a bit of a photograph stuck out and she saw half of a woman’s face. Olivia flipped open the first one and stared at the image. The woman was young, and when she moved the photo aside, a full background on her filled the paper. Princess. The woman was a princess from a small European nation.
Olivia frowned as her hands twitched, not sure why it bothered her. She flipped open the second one and the third. Wealthy families, elite social members, another princess. Why did he have all these folders?
Then it hit her, and she backed away from the table. Possible wives. Of course he would have to marry someone in his league. It made sense, but from the looks of it, it wasn’t going to be his choice. She’d seen a bit of pent up frustration earlier when he’d walked into her rooms. Was it because of this?
Knowing he could return any second, she tucked the folders back where they had been and hurried out of his rooms. The doors closed just as silently as they’d opened, and Olivia walked quickly to her room. The whole time, she couldn’t stop her hands from twitching at her sides. She needed to draw something, or to paint. There was too much going on inside her mind to deal with unless she could let it out the only way she knew how.
Thankfully, she’d brought a few small canvases, and when she reached her room, she pulled one out of a black carrying case and retrieved the paints from her suitcase.
Why did it bother her so much to think of him with another woman? He was going to be her stepbrother, for God’s sake! But though she knew it to be wrong, a voice in the back of her mind said there was nothing wrong with that. No blood relation. No reason she couldn’t feel what she felt every time he walked in a room. It was only their first day together. How the hell was she going to survive him for an entire summer?
***