Page 48 of The Prince Who Loved Me

“I think you’ll survive. I thought you might be the couple Paul is showing around the grounds.” She held out the broom. “Want to be made useful?”

“Not for all the hair on your boyfriend’s back.”

The front door opened and Paul walked in followed by the couple from the front lawn. The man looked around with appreciation, but the woman focused on Sebastien. He turned to leave, but she clapped her hands and let out a squeal high enough to hurt his ears. “I knew it! I knew it was you! You’rePrince Sebastien, from that tiny country! You even have streak of pencil lead on your arm. OMG I have to get a selfie.”

Sebastien looked behind him like he expected to see another person in the lobby, thankful he had chosen to wear a pair of jeans and a t-shirt instead of some high-end designer. Massimo shifted as if ready to body check the woman if she dared approach.

Then Sebastien pointed to himself and shifted his accent to a twang he hoped was similar to how the South was depicted on TV and in movies. He’d been in the States long enough to get the mannerisms down, too. “You mean me, sweetheart? Don’t you pay me no mind. I get people tellin’ me I look like that boy more’n I do my own cousins. It’s the hair.” He leaned forward, approaching the woman with his head at her face level. “See?”

Paul stared at Sebastien, his head cocked to the side. “So weird. I never noticed before, but if I squint my eyes, I can see some resemblance. Like you’re a distant relative.”

“No, I’m sure it’s you,” the woman insisted.

“Shelly, you’re mistaken,” her groom said.

“I better git goin’. Gotta catch the game.” Surely there was a game being played somewhere. “Nice meetin’ you, ma’am.” He bounded up the stairs before she could question him further.

“Let me show you the ballroom.” Paul maneuvered the couple down the hallway, giving Sebastien time to escape. “If you choose to have an outdoor wedding, the ballroom is the backup plan in case it rains.”

Once Sebastien got upstairs, he took out the three sketchbooks he’d filled since arriving at Fountenoy Hall nine months ago while he waited out the celebrity spotter. Not surprising, Brandi’s beautiful and beautifully expressive face filled many of the pages, each one capturing her in different thoughts. Some happy, where her heart-shaped face lit up like the stars. Others more solemn, where her lips held the smallestof frowns, the mischievous ones where her usual eyes glowed and sparkled.

All of them one hundred percent her.

There weren’t enough unique drawings, though, not for an exhibition. He put in a call to the palace social secretary to send his stored artwork to Fountenoy Hall. When the pieces arrived, he’d see what was good enough to show.

It’s not like he was seriously thinking about it. Most of the accolades his art received was because of his name. He’d be laughed out of a show with real artists. He needed an inventory, that was all.

Tasks done, he texted Wendy to ask if the prospective clients were gone. When she answered in the affirmative, he headed back downstairs, anxious to find Brandi. Her car was in the back lot, but she wasn’t in the kitchen or anywhere else downstairs.

You around?he texted.I’m back.

He stared at the display, waiting for a response. None was forthcoming.

This wasn’t going to be how he spent his evening. The light outside was fading, but he could get some good sketches in before it went dark.

The orchard was always a good place to draw. He’d been noting its growth progression since June, from when the trees were full of peaches to the harvest, from branches with no fruit to branches with no leaves. Now tiny buds were sprouting up. It was about time for Sebastien to draw the latest picture. He’d have about half an hour before the sun set.

He crested the hill leading to the orchard and stopped when the familiarthwackof a bat and ball reached his ears. Since Wendy was inside and Jordan was in Macon, that meant Brandi was out here alone. Heat filled his body at the thought of her, but soon turned cold. Was she out here for solitude?Practice? To think about him?

And should he intrude?

He continued, and there she was at the orchard entrance, her back toward him. Seeing her filled him with need and hunger. Just to be with her, to see her smile or laugh at a joke, to talk to her about anything and everything.

She tossed a ball in the air and pounded it so hard it sailed through the trees. A half-empty bucket sat on the ground, with a handful of balls littering the grass beside her. Sebastien forced himself to be casual and strode down the hill.

She turned to catch a ball she’d tossed at a bad angle, but stopped when she saw him. The ball hit the ground.

He fixed a careless smile on his face. “Hey.”

“Hey.” She turned back around, then tossed another ball high in the air. Then another one. She missed the third one, and she flung the bat to the side. It hit the ground and bounced up before settling next to a tree.

“What’s wrong?” Sebastien kept his voice comforting and quiet. His heart urged him to approach her, to hold her like he would have only a week ago, but his mind told him to hold on.

She didn’t turn around, didn’t move, didn’t say anything.

He hated this new territory where he didn’t know how to comfort her. Because he had to open his stupid mouth and pour out his heart. “Do you want me to go?”

“No.” Her voice wavered, and she fell apart. She turned around, her sobs renting the air between them.