I look down at the paper in my hand and read those four words again.
You’re on my mind.
Yesterday, in the conservatory, he was distant and distracted. He intently watched me while I painted him and never once mentioned what was happening. I think about Sunday night, when he cooked me dinner and unbuttoned my dress and made me feel like what we had meant something. Maybe it didn’t. Maybe I was his last little hurrah before he settled down.
“Of course,” I whisper. “Ialmostfell for a fuckboy.”
The pen in my hand feels heavy. I was two seconds away from flirting, but instead, I write something entirely different. This isn’t a game.
This ends now.
I reset the board piece by piece, placing each one in its starting position until it looks like nothing happened. When I tuck my note beneath his king, my hands are steady even though I’m shaking on the inside. I should channel this frustration into my work and prove I came here for the art, not the crown prince with the sad eyes and secret loft.
That afternoon, I find myself walking toward the trail that twists toward the north wing of the palace.
The circular drive and courtyard are utter chaos. Black cars withsmall diplomatic flags are lined up in a procession while staff in pristine uniforms rush between them, directing traffic and collecting luggage. I stay hidden behind trees, watching Prince Louis greet them individually. He’s smiling, but it’s his fake one that doesn’t meet his eyes.
One luxury car door opens after another. The women who emerge are tall and beautiful. They move with grace that only comes from a lifetime of royal lessons. Their clothes are expensive, and their smiles are polished. He’d look incredible standing next to any of them.
A blonde in a cream pantsuit steps out, pulling Louis into a hug, where she slides his hand down lower onto her back. Behind her, a gorgeous brunette with perfect posture pauses to smooth her skirt before gliding toward him. I see her nibble on his ear, and it makes him blush. A redhead laughs at something her assistant said, and the sound carries across the courtyard like wind chimes.
At a glance, he looks excited. When the women walk away, I can tell he’s over it.
Seven women disappear inside the palace. I wait for jealousy or rage or heartbreak to hit me. Instead, I feel drained, like I’ve been swimming against a current that would always take me under.
At least I tried. These women were raised to be queens. I was raised to be difficult.
I should go home.
It’s the first time I’ve felt that way since I arrived. On the way back, I slide into the gardens because the alternative is staring at Louis’s half-finished portrait. The roses are blooming along the southern wall, and I walk the gravel paths without direction, needing to clear my mind.
“Addison?”
I turn to find Delphine walking toward me in a neon-orange sundress that makes her look like bottled sunshine. She falls into step beside me and loops her arm through mine like we’ve been friends for years.
“I thought that was you. What are you doing out here?”
I tilt my head at her. “What are you doing out here? There’s guilt written on your face.”
She pulls her hand from behind her back and shows me a bottle of tequila. “Want some?”
I lift a brow. “You are a bad little princess.”
She shrugs and moves the bottle to her lips. “I assume you’ve seen the circus,” she says, chugging it, then passing it to me.
“Hard to miss.” I take a swig and immediately start coughing.
“Shit. You’re going to be so drunk,” she whispers, snickering.
I roll my eyes and hand it back to her. “Good. I need to calm down.”
She takes my other hand and leads me farther down the path as we drink. Eventually, we end up on a bench that overlooks a cliff. I close my eyes, taking in the sea salt air and smiling.
“Thanks. I needed this.”
“Me too,” she says. “Sometimes, I come out here to escape life.”
I meet her eyes. “Is it really that bad?”
