“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 thelarger 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 Mötley Crüe and Guns N’ Roses?” I asked incredulously.
“Notlike Guns N’ Roses. But yes, like Mötley 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’thaveto become king, do you?”
“Rosie is so young, I couldn’t do that to her. By law, she’dhave 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.”
“You’re right. Hmm…well. When I was in undergrad, I waited tables at this local restaurant. The manager was awful—he was mean to the back-of-house staff and super inappropriate with the servers, all of whom were pretty girls. If anyone tried to push back, he would lie and get them fired and blast their name all over town so they would struggle to get another restaurant job. The owner was a nice guy, but he wasn’t in often, and the manager would put on a total good-guy act when he was. After about six months of working there, I found one of my coworkers crying in the walk-in; apparently, he had grabbed her ass and told her that if she didn’t start wearing tighter shirts, he’d be skimming her tips. She was afraid to report him because she was a single mom who really needed the job.
“Well, I’d had enough. I created a burner email account and tipped off the owner anonymously. I didn’t know if it would work or not, but it turns out that it did. He did a bit of an ‘undercover boss’ move and sent his sister in as a new server. Within a few hours, the manager had groped her, and she caught him spitting into an appetizer. He was fired that night. They never figured out who sent the email, and I never told anyone.”
“Wow, don’t mess with Birdie. Got it.”
“You only have to worry if you make my friends cry,” I said with a wink.
“Duly noted.” Oliver stood, holding out his hand to help me up. “Shall we make our way out to the grounds?”
