“Something nonalcoholic if you have it.”
He found a container of orange juice and poured her a glass. She sipped at it, her eyes smiling at him over the edge of the glass. Expecting a whole new round of verbal fencing, Nic was surprised when she said, “You mentioned that your sister paints here. Could I see her studio?”
“Sure.”
He led the way onto the terrace and around the villa in the opposite direction of the guesthouse. A small building with broad windows facing north sat on a little rise overlooking the harbor mouth. Nic unlocked the door and gestured for Brooke to go inside.
“Oh, these are all wonderful,” she said the minute she walked in.
Though Brooke was always generous with her praise, Nic thought she was going a little overboard in talking about Ariana’s work. Nic was proud of what his sister had accomplished with her paintings but didn’t really get her modern style. She had often accused him of being stuck in the Middle Ages in terms of his taste. Brooke, on the other hand, seemed to get exactly what his sister was trying to do.
He enjoyed watching her stroll through his sister’s art studio and study each canvas in turn, treating every painting like a masterpiece. By the time Brooke returned to where he stood just inside the door, her delighted grin had Nic smiling, as well. The next time he saw Ariana, he would be sure to tell her what an accomplished artist she was.
“I never looked at Ariana’s art that way before,” Nic said as he relocked the studio and escorted Brooke back toward the main house. “Thank you for opening my eyes.”
She looked caught off guard by his compliment. “You’re welcome.”
At that moment Nic realized how rarely he’d ever offered Brooke any encouragement or a reason to believe he appreciated her. How had she stayed so relentlessly positive as he’d thrown one obstacle after another in her path? All she’d ever asked was for him to like her and treat her with civility. Was it her fault that she agitated his emotions and incited his hormones?
“What are you thinking about?” she asked as they stepped back into the main house. She gathered her hair into a twist and secured it into a topknot.
“Regrets. I spent so much time keeping you at bay.”
Again he’d startled her. “You did, but to be fair, I am a little overwhelming.”
“And very distracting. I had a hard time concentrating when you were around.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?”
“I had a call from my brother while you were resting and I have to leave for Sherdana the day after tomorrow.”
“So soon?” Her lips curved downward.
Nic wanted to put his arms around her, but it would do neither of them any good to deepen their connection when the time to part was so near. “Apparently my mother has planned several events she’d like me to attend in the next week, culminating in Gabriel and Olivia’s wedding.”
“But I thought they were already married.”
“They are. Actually...” Nic stared out the window at Kioni in the distance. “He brought her to Ithaca for a surprise wedding ceremony.”
“That’s very romantic.”
“And unlike Gabriel to put his desires before the needs of the country. But he’s crazy about Olivia and couldn’t bear to live without her.”
Something about Brooke’s silence caught his attention. She was staring at the floor lost in thought. “So why are they getting married again?”
“The crown prince’s wedding is pretty momentous and my parents decided it was better to have a second ceremony than to rob the citizens of the celebration. There will be parties every night leading up to the big event, both at the palace and venues around our capital city of Carone.”
“Tell me about the parties at the palace. They must be formal affairs.” Brooke’s smile bloomed. “Do you have to dance?”
“Only when I can’t avoid it.”
“So you know how.”
“It’s part of every prince’s training,” he intoned, mimicking his dance teacher’s severe manner. “I don’t have Gabriel’s technique or Christian’s flair, but I don’t step on my partner’s toes anymore.”
“After dinner tonight you are going to dance with me.” She held up a hand when he began to protest. “Don’t argue. I remember on three separate occasions when you told me you had no idea how to dance.”
“No,” he corrected her. “I told you I don’t dance. There’s a difference.”