The Prince I Love to Hate: A Steamy Romantic Comedy (The Heir Affair Book 1), Iris Morland [best reads of all time TXT] 📗

Olivier’s expression was so cold, so distant, that it was like a knife to my heart. “Then I suppose this is goodbye. I’ve already booked a flight back to Salasia.”

Now the tears couldn’t be held back. My bottom lip trembled. I wiped the tears away and raised my chin. “Goodbye, then.”

Olivier held out his hand. After a long moment, I took it. He raised it to his lips and kissed the back of it.

By that evening, he was gone.

Chapter Twenty-One

I spent the next two weeks at the estate. I spent a lot of time in bed and the rest of the time either in the library or wandering along the beach.

One day I went to the spot where I’d first met Olivier when he’d been playing gardener, but the plants in question had been moved elsewhere. It was just as well. I didn’t need any more reminders that he existed.

“He sounds like a bloody idiot,” Liam had said to me multiple times now. “Not worth your time. He can go rot.”

Mari, Liam’s wife, had taken a more measured approach. “It sounds like he cares for you, and he was clearly in shock. Plus, if what your dad said is true…” She’d given Liam That Look, and he’d just grunted.

Liam hadn’t been overly thrilled with the news of our sharing DNA with the Salasian royal family. He’d at first said that Da had just been spinning tales to mess with everyone. But when I did some more research here at the estate, I discovered that Da hadn’t been pulling our legs at all.

Da was the cousin of the current reigning prince, Olivier’s father. Well, his adoptive father. As far as Olivier’s parentage, that was apparently still murky.

Liam, being the ever so helpful big brother, had ribbed me hard for kissing my almost-cousin. “Never took you for a girl like that,” he’d said as he’d laughed at me.

“We’re not cousins! I keep telling you that!”

“Doesn’t make it any less hilarious, baby sister.”

“Besides, even if we were related, we’re second cousins. It’s not that bad.”

Okay, it would’ve been pretty awkward. This wasn’t the nineteenth century where marrying your cousin—or having a serious make-out with some cunnilingus with one—was kosher.

Most of all, Liam had urged me to come back home. “There’s nothing there for you now. Da isn’t going to change. Your prince is gone. Come back to Seattle and we’ll figure things out.”

I was tempted. I wanted to go home; I wanted to use ugly American dollars and to go to a grocery store that had one entire aisle dedicated to cereals. I wanted to accidentally make eye contact with a fellow Seattleite and then awkwardly look away, acting like it’d never happened. I even wanted to go to Pike Place Market during the summer and get mowed down by tourists as they almost got hit in the face with a giant, flying fish.

But I had unfinished business. Namely, I’d never told Olivier about Da being the heir to the throne. I’d called Olivier and had texted him too many times to count. I’d left him cajoling voicemails. I’d sent him frustrated texts. The seemingly millionth time I’d tried contacting him, the number had come back as disconnected.

He’d fucking blocked me. I couldn’t believe it. After everything that had happened, he had the audacity to ignore me.

I didn’t stop to think that flying to Salasia would be a bad idea. I’d bought the ticket before I’d let myself have second thoughts. On the flight, I pondered how I’d even get Olivier to speak with me. Did I just storm into the castle—did they live in a castle? or a palace?—and demand that he talk to me?

Instead, I stalked social media. I figured out where Olivier’s favorite cafes, restaurants, and bars were. It didn’t take long before I discovered that he would buy a cappuccino every morning from a cafe that overlooked the Mediterranean Ocean. Sometimes another person got it for him. But on Sundays, he bought it himself.

The locals were used to him, for the most part. Sitting outside of the cafe, the smell of the sea and of fresh coffee in the air, I waited for him to exit. He wore a ball cap this time, so I guessed he didn’t want to be recognized. But I’d recognize him anywhere.

As he walked to his car—he’d driven himself—I headed straight for him. “Olivier!” I yelled. I took off my sunglasses so he could get a good look at my angry face.

He swiveled toward the sound of my voice. His eyes widened, but then he just sipped his cappuccino as he looked down his nose at me.

“You found me,” he said, too pleasantly.

“Shouldn’t you have a bodyguard? I could kill you right now.”

He sipped his coffee. “Well? Are you here to assassinate me?”

I scowled. “No. I just wanted to talk.” I crossed my arms. “You wouldn’t answer my calls.”

Sighing, he went to open the passenger door. “Get in. We’ll talk at home.”

Home, of course, meant Salasia Palace. I had to keep my jaw from dropping as Olivier took me to his office within the palace’s walls. The walls were draped with gilding and artwork, the halls alone so huge that you could’ve fit a thousand people in them.

A few servants gave us strange looks, but for the most part, they were too well-trained to wonder why some girl wearing dirty Converse was following the prince to his office.

Olivier gestured at me to sit before sitting behind his desk. The room itself was almost cozy compared to the rest of the palace. The window behind Olivier had a view of the capital, the sky a beautiful, bright blue. The room itself smelled like leather and expensive things. I perched on the edge of my chair, afraid to touch anything.

“I have something to tell you,” I said. I swallowed. “I meant to tell you that day you left, and that’s