PRINCE CHARMING: A Secret Baby Stepbrother Romance (3 page)

“I thought it was the twenty-first century. Why do I still have to have an arranged marriage?”

“The year doesn’t matter when you’re royalty. This is your duty, and I expect you to do it.”

Quincy crossed his arms tightly over his chest, flashing the tattoos his father disapproved of, especially the one on his hand of a skull with tropical flowers coming out and beneath it. “And if I refuse?”

Lamont leaned on his desk, making sure he looked his son in the eye. “Then you will not only fail your king and country, but you will shame the memory of your mother. Quin, I love you, son, but it’s time to step up and become the prince you must be for our country.”

“By marrying someone I don’t like?”

“I have selected a few for you to look at. You have met all of them at least once,” Lamont commented and reached into his desk drawer. He pulled out several folders and handed them over. “I expect you to make a decision and invite that woman to my wedding in three months.”

Quincy stared up at him, wide-eyed. “Seriously?”

“Yes. I am no longer at an age to have children, and neither is Melinda. For this line to carry on, you must marry and bear sons. I’m sorry, but this is what it means to be a prince. Now then, to other business.”

“Sure, just like that,” Quincy snapped as he tucked the folders under his arm and stood. “I know what my duties are, Father. I will see to it that Olivia is given a rundown of what is expected of her. Will you force her into marriage as well?”

Lamont didn’t speak but handed over another sheet of paper. “This is the list of events over the next few months. You both are expected to attend. Show her what she will be required to do.” His father sat back down at his desk and started to read over more papers, leaving his son to stand there.

“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.
“Don’t look at that one.”

“Why not?” he asked and stood so he was out of her reach.

“Just don’t.” She tried to grab it, but he moved too fast and stared down at the last image.

It was a self-portrait, but the woman standing before him and the woman in the image were two very different people. He was so stunned by the sadness in her eyes that he forgot to hold onto the sketchbook. She snatched it out of his hands and put it back in her suitcase, underneath everything else still in there.

“What happened?” he asked her quietly.

She tucked her hair behind her ears and shrugged. “Nothing really. Just went through a bit of a dark period in my life. Doesn’t everyone?”

“I guess so. I’m just glad you’re a happier person now.” As he said it he wanted to take back the words. They sounded lame. “Do you just sketch or do you paint too?” he said to change the subject.

“I do. Guess you could figure that part out pretty easily.”

“Nope, not at all.”

She laughed as she glanced down at her clothes. “New place. Needed something to remind me of home I guess. I wasn’t planning on leaving my room in this, don’t worry.”

He held up his hands. “Do you see me complaining? You’re talking to the man with more tattoos than his father knows about.”

“Do they mean something?”

“Some of them do, but others… I just thought they looked cool.” He rolled up his sleeves more so she could see them all. On his left arm was a twisted vine with thorns and roses, but it was far from colorful. It was dark. He, like Olivia, had gone through his own dark period, and that vine had represented everything he hated about his life. On his right arm was a sparrow sitting on a skull with flowers all around it, inside it, and leaving a trail up to his elbow. The skull matched the one on his hand, a set he had done at the same time.

Olivia reached out and her fingers trailed over the intricate designs. Quincy stiffened at her touch, not because it wasn’t welcome, but because he didn’t want it to stop. Having her near him made his gut flutter, and his heartbeat speed up more than it ever had in the presence of a woman before.

“They are very well done.”

“You have any tattoos?” he asked as she stepped back. He caught a flash of something in her eyes, but it was gone so quickly, he wasn’t sure if he’d actually seen it or not.

“Not at the moment, no.”

“So you’re an ink virgin,” he said and watched her whole body stiffen. He bit his tongue.
She’s a real virgin, too? How the hell is that even possible,
he thought as he stared at her body.

“Guess so,” she said and took a stack of clothes to the wardrobe.

He tried not to laugh in amazement at having such a unique person living just down the hall and started to unpack the rest of her things. He flipped the suitcase top closed and unzipped the front pouch. There was a pink bag in there. He glanced over his shoulder, but she hadn’t noticed yet, so he slowly pulled it out and dug through the pink tissue paper and felt something soft and lacy.

“What are you doing? Give me that!” she yelled, but it was too late.

Quincy grabbed whatever it was and pulled it free from the bag. It dropped to the floor, and he was holding a set of black lacy panties, bra, and a sexy teddy that almost caused him to blush. He looked up to see his future stepsister charge across the room, fuming and looking ready to kill him.

Chapter 3

At her first ever dinner at the palace, Olivia wanted nothing more than to hide away in her rooms. Her face was still red from watching Quincy pull out the ridiculous lingerie that Helen had insisted on sending with her. From the smirk still on his face as he sat across from her, he was still picturing them in his hands before she’d grabbed them and yelled at him to get out. She was pretty sure she’d threatened to strangle him at some point. Probably not the best idea since he was the prince, but if it bothered him, he didn’t show it.

“Olivia,” Lamont said from the head of the small table in the dining room. “Your mother tells me your art classes are going well?”

She bowed her head a bit. “Yes, they are. I’m working on my senior portfolio now. Or I’ll be trying to. I know I have royal stuff and wedding stuff to do, but maybe I’ll be able to find some time to complete it.”

“Nonsense. You just let Quincy know when you need time, and he’ll make sure you get it. I do expect you to be at the more important functions, but even I’ll admit that the dinners with the elite of our country are not always the most entertaining.” He laughed. “Your mother would know, too.”

“Yes I would, though, it wasn’t all that bad,” Melinda said and reached out a hand for Lamont’s. “It’s where I bumped into you, after all.”

Olivia smiled at them and returned to her plate. The food was light and delicious, fish with fresh mango sauce. It was nothing like what they ate back home. She might actually be able to keep a nice figure all summer eating like this.

“Tomorrow I think I will have Quincy show you the city,” Lamont went on.

“That would be wonderful,” Olivia said. She smiled at Quincy as she aimed a kick at his leg under the table. He jumped when she made contact and coughed to cover his curse.

“Problem, son?”

“No, nothing. Just didn’t chew long enough,” he assured his father. He took a long sip of wine, watching Olivia over the top of his glass.

“Good. Then tomorrow, you two shall go to the city. I expect you to show her everything she needs to know about her new home. All the historic sites, and, for the love of God, do not take her to that nightclub you frequent.”

“Nightclub?” Olivia asked. She was surprised they had one.

Quincy smirked. “Yes. It’s a local hangout.”

“Not for a prince and a future princess. You are not to go there.”

“Of course, Father. I will not go there with Olivia.”

She watched the stare-down between father and son, wondering just how much crap Quincy had given his father over the years. He was definitely not the prince she expected to meet when she got off the plane, but maybe that was a good thing. The last thing she wanted was to be stuck with a boring, goodie-two-shoes man.