Page 34 of Royally Arranged

“Don’t forget, I’m your mother. I know you better than anyone. And you like that girl.”

The urge to argue bubbled up. Her chin was jutting forward—she always did that when she was feeling cocky. She had every reason to be. My mother was right. I did like Nova, and thinking about her genuine laughter as it tickled from her throat ... of how perfectly her waist dipped into her deliciously round ass ... it left me distracted.

“The situation could be worse,” I admitted. “So when is this photo shoot happening again?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll try to find something nice for you to wear.”

“Make sure it brings out my eyes.”

Swirling on her heel, she sent her shawl gliding through the air. Clutching it back in place, she walked toward the patio doors. “I’m going to go check out the kitchen, are you coming with me?”

“Not yet. I could use a little fresh air.”

She left me there. Folding my arms behind my back, I strolled through the hedges. It was like a small maze created from roses and ivy. Not so big that I could get lost, but enough that I could feel like I was alone.

Wandering aimlessly, I gazed up at faded ivory statues of cherubs. An angel with wide wings guarded a waterless fountain. My phone buzzed in my pocket, startling me. I checked it, scowling at the pointless spam email alert. I’d thought it was a message.

Frowning, I ran my thumb on the corner of my phone. Opening my text app, I was halfway to typing a message to ... well, I didn’t even know who. It wasn’t like I was really close to my brothers or my sisters. Not enough that I could send them a message telling them what I was feeling. As it was, I wasn’t so sure myself.

Sighing, I fingered the screen, making little circles. Leaning against the hedges, I inhaled the heady scent of roses. I hadn’t seen Nova since the luncheon four days ago. I didn’t know where she was staying, and I hadn’t felt like I could ask anyone for her information without looking desperate. If not tonight, I’d see her tomorrow at the engagement shoot. I just had to be patient.

Voices crept into my ears. I leaned away from the hedges, peering through leaves. I caught the telltale profile of my father, then the deep voice of Glen as they moved through the grass nearby. They must have come outside looking for somewhere more private to talk.

“It’s bad,” Glen said. “I don’t know if you understand how much your brother left this country in ruins.”

“I got a sense for it just from looking around,” my father mumbled. “But tell me what you can. I’m not allowed to touch any official documents or even the ledger until Thorne is crowned.”

“Hester spent money greasing the palms of corrupt officials so he could keep even more coin for himself. And the queen, my God! Between her and her brother-in-law, the amount of loans they’ve taken from the Royal Bank is astronomical. And I call them loans, but there’s no intent to pay them back.”

They discussed more of the country’s struggling condition. I’d heard some of this at the hotel, but at the time I’d felt too awkward to get involved. Now this talk about the country falling apart served to terrify me. I didn’t know anything about the laws here ... the ins and outs. How was I going to rule Torino?I should step out and just ask them for advice.

“Fixing this place is going to take everything we have,” my father said, sighing. His voice was gravel and sand. “We’ll have to arrange multiple meetings daily once the coronation is complete.”

There was a pregnant pause. “Do you think your son can handle it?” Glen asked.

All the blood in my body tingled—it swam through my skull. The thorny bushes scraped my cheek as I desperately pressed closer so I could hear my dad’s answer.

“Being king requires work ethic, dedication, and passion.” The grass crunched under Maverick’s heavy heels; he was walking away. “Hawthorne has none of those things.”

A blossom of pain grew in my heart. They were still talking, but their voices were fading. If I’d been farther away ... if they’d left sooner ... I wouldn’t have heard what my father thought about my capabilities. What he thought aboutme.

I’d always suspected it.

That wasn’t enough to prepare me for his brutal honesty.

I didn’t remember walking back to the castle, but I must have, because all around me were the pale stone walls of the foyer. In my fog I ascended one of the two long staircases that flanked the entryway. Resting my arms on the banister, I observed the porters rushing around with boxes. My suitcases were being unloaded right now, no doubt.

Up here no one noticed me. I was free to watch maids gossip to each other. I saw someone drop a suitcase so hard ithadto have broken anything fragile inside, look around guiltily, then act like nothing had happened.

Across from me, over the big doors, was a huge oil painting. It spanned most of the wall—ten feet across or more. The colors were hauntingly dark, showing a man with a russet beard and mounds of sideburns. With all that hair, he made me think of a grizzly bear that had stolen a white suit and squeezed itself into it. On his head rested a crown as stiff and severe as his stone-hard expression.

He was standing beside a woman whose brunette curls were piled higher than a twelve-tier cake. In front of them, toy soldiers in red dress shirts and blue slacks, their shoes glistening like obsidian, were two young boys. Probably no more than eight or ten, half the size of the gigantic hunting dogs in the painting with them. Both boys had bright sapphire eyes.

A fingertip of intuition scratched up my brain stem.That’s Dad and his brother, isn’t it?I squinted at the older couple with new appreciation.Then that must be their father and mother.Hansel ... and Luca, the woman my middle name was birthed from.

I could see the resemblance between them and Maverick easily. They all shared the same intense features. Had my father been humorless even as a child?Well, that’s not hard to believe.Thinking about him made my hackles rise.He thinks I’m a failure.He always had. Why did it scald me hotter now than ever before?

Through the open doors below, a long shadow spread on the red carpet. It heralded the swaying skirt and easy grace of Nova Valentine. From where I was, I could see the part in her hair—somehow paler than the rest of her skin. It stood out from her auburn hair, guiding my eyes down like an arrow to her nose, her collarbone, and ultimately the hint of cleavage.

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