PRINCE CHARMING: A Stepbrother Secret Baby Romance(6)
“Anything else, Your Highness?”
“Yes. You are to be an example to Olivia of how royalty behaves. Do not disappoint me. You think I’m being hard on you now? I can be much worse. Now go. You have business to attend to.”
Quincy bowed his head reluctantly, turned, and left his father to deal with other issues. The folders under his arm burned against his side. He wanted to throw them out and never look at them, but he knew that wouldn’t solve the problem. His father would hound him about it until he picked someone, and if he didn’t, the king would just step in and do it for him.
He should feel lucky he was at least being given an option—not that it made him feel any better. There was nothing to do now but head back to his rooms and start perusing the files of the selected women.
His steps slowed as a much better idea crossed his mind. He wanted to get to know this soon-to-be sister of his, and what better time than now? He hurried to his rooms, set the folders down, and headed down the hall to check in on Olivia. There was just something about her… When their hands touched, a bit of electricity shot between them. He wanted to know all about this woman and what made her tick. What set her off so he could find new ways to drive her crazy. Anything to distract him from finding a future wife.
When he reached her door, he found it open and peered inside. “Knock, knock?”
“Yes?” She came out from the bathroom and paused when she saw him. Immediately, she sank into a curtsy, dropping the makeup bag in her hands.
“You don’t have to do that with me,” he told her with a smile. “Only if we’re in public, really.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled and bent down to pick up the mess. He hurried over to help her, letting his hand brush over hers once again and smirking when the same electric shock went through him. Olivia flinched, and he knew she’d felt it too. “I’m still new to this, you know.”
“Yes, I do know, which is why I’m here.” They stood together, and she quietly thanked him for his help. “I’m to show you the ins and outs of being a royal member of this family. Starting now.”
She glanced at the bed, and he followed her gaze to her half-unpacked suitcase. “Now?”
“Of course,” he said and saw the fight within her shimmering sea-blue eyes—just like the waves, turning darker for a moment before she sighed.
“Should I change? I just got comfortable. Thought I’d be able to relax my first night here.”
He took a step back, scratching his chin as he circled her. She’d changed out of the conservative black skirt and blouse into something that fit her perfectly and brought up a dozen questions he had about her. Her jeans were rough around the edges, torn here and there and covered with paint. So many colors he couldn’t even count them all. Her top was also dabbed with paint splotches, turning her black tank top into a piece of art itself.
Before, the blouse had hidden most of her curves, but he was able to see just what type of woman she was. The painted denim hugged her hips and thighs, and the tank showed him the outline of her chest… not large, but a decent size nonetheless. Her skin was tanned, too. Not naturally like his, but from days spent outside in the Midwestern sun.
“So is that a yes change or no change?” she asked, clearing her throat as he came back around the front and looked her up and down again.
“I think you can have one night to settle in. The king will understand,” he said finally. “Shall I help you unpack? Why didn’t you have your servants do it for you?’
“I sent them away,” she told him and padded barefoot to her suitcase on the bed.
“And why would you do that? They’re always so helpful.”
She laughed. “A bit too helpful. I don’t need strange people touching my underwear.”
He shrugged and went to the bed, plopping down on it as she started to pull more clothes out. Their eyes met, and she shook her head at him. “What? Don’t you like having a prince in your bed?”
“On my bed,” she corrected as her eyes darted over his body and back to the suitcase. “Whatever. I’m a guest in your home, so you can do what you want.” He watched her pull out a few more pairs of jeans and tanks along with a canvas bag she tried to tuck out of the way, but he asked what it was. “Nothing really. Just something I have to do for my classes.”
“Ah, school. And what are you studying?” She looked hesitant and muttered under her breath. “Rule number one. A prince or princess does not mutter or mumble,” he informed her, trying to sound as snobbish as possible. “Come on, it can’t be that bad. Tell me. How else am I supposed to get to know my future stepsister?”
He could tell she still wasn’t sure and was about to give up when she handed him a sketchbook that she had pulled from the bottom of her suitcase. He took it and sat up, flipping through the pages. He had to stop and really look at each sketch.
“What? Not to your liking?”
Quincy shook his head. “These are incredible,” he whispered, stunned by her artistry. “You did all of these?”
She nodded and sat beside him. Quincy stared at each sketch for at least a minute, taking in every little detail from the landscapes to the drawings of houses and a bustling street. There were several of people, one he recognized as Melinda, her mother. The images of flowers, the way she could shadow so well, made Quincy feel as if he could never see anything to compare them to. But as he flipped through, the images became a bit darker, a bit sadder, until he came to the last page and she tried to quickly pull it away.