Chapter 13 #2
I took a shaky breath as the car stopped in front of the palace.
I felt more jittery than I had in days, thanks to that article.
I had successfully avoided Bronson before leaving the manor, although Vince had caught me on my way out the door.
He had tried to be reassuring, repeating much of what Sonya had said, but his lack of eye contact told me that he was a bit shaken, too.
“Don’t worry, Birdie. We’ll figure it out,” he had said, squeezing my upper arm in a brotherly way.
I turned now to see Prince Oliver waiting at the bottom of the marble steps, hands in the pockets of his charcoal-gray peacoat. He was wearing dark wash jeans paired with a light gray sweater, looking more comfortable and casual than I had seen him since New York.
Carter opened the door for me, a custom I still wasn’t quite used to. I stepped out of the car and was surprised to see the prince smiling broadly at me.
“Good morning, Birdie,” he said warmly, closing the distance between us and kissing me on the cheek.
“Good morning, Your Highness,” I replied.
“Please, call me Oliver,” he said quietly. “I know Bronson probably gave you a lesson on proper titles, but it feels strange for you to call me ‘prince’ or ‘Your Highness’—I’d much rather just be ‘Oliver’ to you.”
“Well then: Good morning, Oliver.” I gave him a nervous smile as I bit my bottom lip and fiddled with the buttons on my white wool coat.
Concern filled his eyes. “Are you all right?”
I cleared my throat. “Um…not really. Did you see the article?”
A look of understanding crossed his face. “Oh, of course. I should have known you would have seen it by now. Here, come inside and we’ll talk.” He ushered me up the steps and into the palace, his hand at the small of my back.
Once inside, Oliver helped me remove my coat, handing it to a short, stocky man who appeared from around a corner. “Thank you, Preston. We’ll come find you to retrieve that before Ms. Hamilton leaves.” He turned back to me. “There’s a sitting room just down the corridor where we can talk.”
I followed as he led me down the hall into a spacious, yet cozy, room filled with plush couches and bookshelves.
A grand piano sat in the corner, sheet music spread across the music desk.
Sunlight poured in through a set of windows into which was set a window seat.
I wanted to curl up like a cat in one of the sunbeams and nap the day away.
“Please, have a seat,” the prince said, motioning to one of the couches.
Oliver was handsome, there was no denying that, but he also carried himself with poise and presence. Behind the kind blue eyes, he held the power of a king; he was not someone you wanted to disappoint or disgrace, though I was afraid that I already had.
I sat, turning to face him as he lowered himself into the adjacent armchair. “Oliver, I’m so sorry. You have every right to be upset, and I understand if you and your family want me to leave—”
“Leave? What? No! Birdie, I am upset, but not at you,” he interjected, running his hands through his hair.
“You’re not?”
“Of course not. None of this is your fault. And I certainly don’t want you to leave—unless you want to go.” He reached over, resting his hand gently on top of mine. “I would never want you to stay if you didn’t want to.”
“I don’t want to leave.”
Oliver grinned sheepishly, squeezing my hand gently before removing his.
“Well, I’m glad for that. The only one I’m upset with here is Alistair Davies.
He had no right to write those things about you or any of the other women.
And I spoke with Vince first thing this morning.
He explained what happened to you at customs.” He blushed furiously.
I felt my cheeks redden as well. “Either Davies or his supposed source purposefully mischaracterized the situation to slander you.”
“I appreciate your understanding,” I said, my nerves finally lessening. “But what about your parents?”
The corner of Oliver’s mouth quirked upward.
“My parents know well what it is like to be under the press’s microscope.
I can assure you there have been plenty of unflattering pieces written about them in the past thirty years.
They know better than to judge someone based on a single news article.
I have already spoken with them about dealing with Davies, and they have given me their full support in however I choose to deal with him.
I’ll be making sure the rest of the women who were maligned in his article know this as well. ”
I sighed, taking my first full, deep breath since Sonya had shown me the article. “Thank you.”
“It is my pleasure. Now,” he said, bracing his hands on his knees as he stood, “you’re here for me to give you a tour of the palace and grounds. Where would you like to start?”
The morning was spent in pleasant conversation as Oliver showed me the sprawling palace. He was easy to talk to and demonstrated a level of thoughtfulness I hadn’t expected, anticipating my desire to see as much of the palace’s art as possible and planning his tour accordingly.
“I just can’t imagine growing up surrounded by so much beautiful artwork,” I said, pausing in front of a Vermeer in the larger of the palace’s two galleries. “Look at his use of light, isn’t it incredible?”
Oliver stood beside me, his hands clasped loosely behind him as he admired the painting.
“I must admit, I don’t think I appreciated these paintings all that much as a child.
I spent so much of my time in the nursery with my brother and our nanny or outside on the grounds.
I considered the ballrooms and galleries and staterooms to be stuffy and boring—you know, for the adults and their endless dinners and galas.
It’s only now, as an adult myself, that I am starting to truly appreciate the history housed within these walls.
” He bowed his head. “I suppose that must sound terribly out of touch.”
I cocked my head to the right as I moved on to admire a mountain landscape that the description said was of an area in the north of Wexstone.
“I don’t think so,” I replied. “I mean, I get how someone might think that, but I don’t.
Like, I think I took growing up around a dance studio for granted—it was what was normal for me, so I didn’t really think a lot about it until it was gone. ”
We were both quiet for a moment. “Thank you,” Oliver said softly.
“For what?”
“For seeing my humanity.”
I swallowed. Had so few people seen the human being inside the royal exterior? You were guilty of the same until recently, I reminded myself. I vowed not to make that mistake again.
“Okay, Your Highness,” I said, knocking my shoulder playfully into his upper arm, “tell me a secret. What’s something no one knows?”
Oliver eyed me as we continued through the gallery. “I’ll tell you,” he said apprehensively, “but you have to promise to share one, too.”
“All right. And your secret is safe with me. Pinky promise.” I held out my right hand, pinky finger extended.
Oliver laughed, hooking his pinky around mine. “Pinky promise.” He turned to face me, placing his palms together just in front of his chin and took a deep inhale. “I love eighties hair bands.” He exhaled.
I took in his chiseled features, his clean haircut, his preppy clothes. “Hair bands…like Motley Crüe and Guns N’ Roses?” I asked incredulously.
“Not like Guns N’ Roses. But yes, like Motley Crüe.
And Poison, and Whitesnake, and Twisted Sister.
Mum made each of us kids pick a musical instrument to play.
I chose guitar so I could play hair metal in secret.
I also have an extensive collection of hair metal T-shirts that I wear when I’m alone. ”
I shook my head. “Well, I certainly would not have guessed that one,” I said, laughing.
“Rosie knows about it, and of course Knox does as well. My security team has caught on—just doing their jobs, really—but I’ve managed to keep it from Xavier.
He would never let me live it down. In another life, I might have been a rock musician.
” He shrugged. “But instead, I’m about to be king, so I suppose I’ll have to stick to rocking out when I’m alone. ”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you want to be king?”
“You didn’t hold back with that one, did you?
” He chuckled as he ran his hand over his jaw.
“Honestly, I never thought much about it. It was always assumed it would be Xavier. When he abdicated, it shocked everyone—no one more so than me. But to answer your question: I don’t know.
I don’t think it’s about what I want anymore, to be honest.”
“But you don’t have to become king, do you?”
“Rosie is so young, I couldn’t do that to her. By law, she’d have to find a husband once she turned eighteen—I can’t imagine asking that of her.” He sat on a bench in front of a portrait of the royal family in 1832. I took a seat beside him, our thighs grazing. “It’s my responsibility now.”
I didn’t know what to say. I admired the sacrifice he was willing to make for his sister but wondered what it was costing him.
“By my calculation,” Oliver said, his tone brightening, “you still owe me a secret.”