Page 91 of The Prince Who Loved Me

Afterward, Brandi took them on a tour, showing them the generations of pictures in the living room. “This is my aunt Caroline.” She stood under the portrait and tapped her own temple. “I can blame her for my heterochromia.”

“Wait.” Paisley pointed to Caroline’s picture. “Caroline Clayton? Never married, ran a still during Prohibition?”

“That’s her.”

“Subject ofThe Agent vs. White Lightning: Romance and Moonshine in Prohibition-Era Middle Georgia? By Rob Upshaw?”

“Yup.” Brandi grinned.

“Do you know Rob Upshaw?” Paisley’s voice rose with excitement.

“He lives here, actually, with my cousin Wendy.”

“Oh, my goodness. Rob Upshaw.” Paisley sat down on a dining room chair. “I’m in the same house as Rob Upshaw. How did I not put this together before?”

“Sounds like I need to read this book,” Charlotte said.

Brandi pointed to another picture of Caroline and her father. “See this guy in the back?”

“Don’t tell me,” Paisley gasped. “Is that?”

“Louis Upshaw himself.”

“Crazy.” Paisley blew out a breath. “Can we meet Rob, too?”

“I do have connections.”

“That would be…I don’t know. Really exciting. I wish I brought my book with me. For him to sign.” Paisley stood up and gave a quick exhale. “Okay. Fangirling over. What’s next on the tour?”

Brandi brought them through the lobby, showing off the topographical maps of the area, a letter commending her great-grandfather for his contributions of peach pits during World War 1, and formal pictures of the Claytons. Grandma Maybelle’s portrait still had a black ribbon on it and Brandi brushed it as she walked by.

“Wow,” Charlotte said as they entered the library. She made a beeline for the bookshelves and a battered copy of an old book in a protective glass box. “You have a first edition ofLes Misérables? In the original French?”

“Oui.” Brandi answered with one of the few French words she knew.

“You live in a museum.”

Brandi took in the antique furniture, the family Bibles behind a protective barrier. Her great-great grandfather over the fireplace. “I hate some parts of my ancestors’ history, but it’s still my history.” Part of her history, anyway. “It’s how I got here.”

A bell sounded as the front door opened. “If the registration desk bell rings, I may need to help,” Brandi warned her friends.

She didn’t need to worry. The argument in the lobby didn’t sound like anyone wanting to check in. And it was in French. Brandi recognized Sebastien’s voice, but not the other one.

“Ooh, someone’s dad is mad at his son’s choice of agirlfriend,” Charlotte translated. “And is disgusted by…there’s a smear of something on the son’s shirt. Like, pencil lead.”

It must be the King. Brandi’s stomach turned over, knowing they were discussing her. She should step out of the library and introduce herself, but her feet rooted to the spot. She spoke in a whisper. “What else are they saying?”

“That the son doesn’t appreciate everything he’s had in life,” Charlotte whispered back. “And the son is saying he abandoned it all for a reason. Abandoned what, I wonder?”

Every muscle in her body tensed. A close family unit had always eluded her. She was scared of being alone so she attached herself to any man that would have her. Only when her grandma died did she realize she was losing herself by doing that, not building anything sustainable.

Sebastien couldn’t abandon his family because of her.

Charlotte continued to whisper the translation, going through the bad character traits of the girlfriend and Sebastien’s quieter and quieter defense. “Poor girl sounds like she had a tough life. No father figure, no place to call home. Father is mad she doesn’t know her people.”

Only half of her people, though Brandi had many male figures in her life. In addition to Carolann’s spinning wheel of boyfriends, her grandfather and Wendy’s dad had done what they could.

She made up her mind to go out there, but the King’s tone made her freeze. Sebastien’s voice joined his dad’s. She’d never heard him that angry.