Page 30 of The Thing About My Prince
An antique desk in the corner with the most unergonomic writing chair in existence gives me a backache just looking at it.
This place is exactly what I’d imagine an old regal residence that gets toured by the public to be. But since Oliver refers to it as “home”, I had thought it might feel like one. My heart goes out to him that it doesn’t.
And now, on top of all the awkward weirdness with his parents and the staff guy who seems to rule over them, there’s a whole new situation to tackle…
When I was panicking that I might be sent off to the other side of the building with limited opportunity to do the one thing I’ve come here to do—interview Oliver as much aspossible—I guess I hadn’t totally thought through the whole sharing-a-room thing.
Because, of course, it has only one bed.
And there, smack dab in the center of the wall opposite me, is that very bed.
And it’s no ordinary bed.
It’s an antique, fit-for-a-prince, elaborate four-poster.
But it’s not exactly king-size.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LEXI
Oliver points at the gold chaise longue at the foot of the dreaded bed. “I’ll sleep on?—”
“Sh.” I cut off Oliver with a raise of my palm.
This place—the castle, the parents, the snippy superior private secretary—is a giant red flag with flashing lights on it. Pair it with Oliver’s stories of the press finding out all kinds of personal things about him and, well, let’s say this doesn’t smell good. And I’m not referring to the general aroma of nineteenth-century furnishings.
“This is an amazing room.” I make my voice crisp and loud and clear. “Such beautiful things in it.”
“I guess.” Oliver looks at me like I’m losing my mind and sits down on the chaise.
I wander over to the left wall and the long dresser that has four columns of drawers. It’s littered with a series of lidded pots in a variety of sizes, some mismatched bowls, a row of little wooden animals you’d expect to see on an African safari, and other ornaments I can’t imagine Oliver would have chosen himself.
“Has all this stuff always been in this room?” I ask. “Like, since you were a kid?”
“This wasn’t my room when I was a kid. I was given this one when I came back from university and was moved into an adult room.” He makes air quotes aroundadult. “It’s the way things are done here.”
I pick up a white pot with a painted green vine winding its way around it. “So none of this stuff is yours?’
“None of the furniture or the knickknacks, no. They’ve all been at Glenwither for forever. I mean…” He gestures at the four-poster and rolls his eyes. “I realize you’ve not known me long, but it’s not exactlyme, is it?”
“None of it is.” And I’m not only talking about the furniture. I’m talking about the whole thing. The castle, the people in it. None of this fits with the person I might barely know but feel I instantly got a good handle on.
I take the lid off the pot and peer inside, then flip it over to check the bottom.
“What on earth are you doing?” he asks as I put down the pot and move on to the bowl next to it.
I press my finger to my lips to persuade him to speak quietly. “Does the decor ever change? Is there like a collection they rotate things around from? What I’m asking is, is there anything new in here since your last visit?”
“Why are you so inter?—”
I silence him with my palm this time and go back to my loud, clear voice. “It’s fascinating to me. All these really…old things.”
Oliver sits straighter and gazes around the room with a sigh, clearly humoring me. “I don’t know. Don’t pay much attention to this stuff. Or any attention at all, to be honest.”
I work my way along the dresser, checking the bases and the insides of every little trinket.
“Oh, now you mention it.” He gets up and walks over to the nightstand that’s between the bed and a door that’spresumably to the bathroom. “Don’t think I’ve seen this before.”
