***
More clouds had moved in overhead as the prince and princess made their way into the city, but Quincy hardly noticed them. He was too busy studying Olivia’s reactions to everything he pointed out as they walked. The city was breathtaking. Even he couldn’t complain about what his father had accomplished during these last few decades as king. Before, buildings had been dull, plain stone and crumbling from age, but everything was now brightly painted and restored to better than its former glory.
It was like walking through a vibrant painting filled with living colors. Tropical fauna grew everywhere there wasn’t a building, making it feel as if the city was truly part of the jungle it had been built in. The flowers that bloomed were large, and Olivia was constantly reaching out to feel the petals and smell their sweet scents. Vines grew along the stones, reaching the rooftops and climbing up and over. Trees lined the streets, offering shade to those beneath their palm leaves and speckling the cobbled streets with sunlight.
“This is amazing,” Olivia whispered again. “These buildings are fantastic! Look at this architecture and the archways, the exposed stones. I’ve never seen anything like it!”
Quincy’s face lifted in a smile. At least she’d been able to make his day better after the tense conversation with his father that morning. Lamont had asked if he’d had a chance to look through the folders of potential wives, but he hadn’t even touched it. Finding a wife was the last thing he wanted to do, and while he was busy with Olivia, he would keep putting it off. Seeing to his soon-to-be sister was just as important in his mind.
“There is another part of town I think you will truly enjoy,” he said and tugged at her hand. “This way. Even the streets are painted down there. It’s like you’re walking into the heart of the isle.”
He caught her sideways glance and the way her smile widened. “You really do love this place.”
“I never said I didn’t.”
“No, I guess it’s just the marriage thing that bugs you,” she said quietly.
Quincy didn’t answer. This woman was more perceptive than he originally thought, and he wasn’t sure he liked it right then. “I love my home and my people,” he told her. “But an arranged marriage feels wrong to me. I haven’t really lived yet, and to marry someone I don’t know?” He squeezed her hand, forgetting that he’d been holding it in the first place, and they came a sudden stop.
Their eyes met, and they stared at each other, not paying any attention to their guards or servants or passersby on the street. All Quincy saw were her eyes and the questioning look in them before he forced himself to let go of her hand.
“The way we talk,” he said, clearing his throat and continuing walking, “that’s how I want it to be with whomever I marry. How can I know that will work if I can’t spend time with the woman beforehand?”
Olivia nodded, and he saw her tuck a stray curl behind her ear as a small smile touched her lips. “Then I guess you need to start dating your potential wives. Spend time with them like you are with me.” His steps slowed, and he looked at her. “That’s not what I meant! I mean… not like with me, but like how we’re doing right now,” she said quickly, muttering until his laughter stopped her.
“I know what you meant, Olivia. I can only hope one of those women is not as shallow as they all look.” If only one of those women was you. The thought crossed his mind so suddenly, he paused. Then Quincy resumed walking, as if he hadn’t realized something great and terrible at the same time.
“Here it is,” he said hurriedly, to push those dangerous thoughts away.
They passed under another archway over the street with metal gates simply for decoration. The courtyard they entered was one of the best places in the city. It was where Quincy would often go despite his father’s assumption that he only hung out at clubs. He turned to see Olivia’s reaction and was not disappointed. Her eyes moved across the street painted in various shades of tans and whites that trailed into blues to look like the ocean that surrounded the island. The walls that lined the sides showed scenes of palm trees and large pink and purple hibiscus flowers, vines trailing up with small white blooms. Off in the distance was the best painting of all. The water crashed against the rocks which were set against a jaw-dropping saffron and vermillion sunset so well-painted that it looked real.
“Who did all this?” Olivia asked quietly beside him. She turned in a circle, taking it all in.
“A local artist my father found about a decade ago. He did most of the city and died last year, but we do a good job of keeping everything looking fresh.”