The next week is blissfully uneventful. I address Palace business during the day, and spend my nights with Olivia—which are so much more than blissful.

While I work, she relaxes like I want her to. She walks the grounds and has found a friend in Franny. They’ve had lunch together a few times, which doesn’t exactly thrill me, but at the very least, I know she’s safe with Simon’s wife.

Franny, and her forked tongue, will protect Olivia from the Lucy-types looking to wound her with their half-truths.

On the rare occasions my brother is sober, he becomes increasingly agitated—like he’s unable to sit still, to stand his own company, or any sound that resembles silence. Finally, he decides to throw a welcome home party for himself.

I’m in my bathroom preparing for his royal yacht party, just showered with a towel around my hips, scraping the last of the shaving cream off my jaw, when Olivia appears in the doorway.

I thought she was lovely from the first moment I saw her. But here, now—her bare, soft skin wrapped in a pink silk robe, her face glowing with well-rested happiness…she’s magnificent.

“So…do you guys have like a gift shop or a convenience store around here?”

I laugh. “A gift shop?”

She holds up a light blue disposable razor. “I’m out of razors. This one’s so dull I could run it over my tongue without drawing blood.”

“Let’s not test that theory. I like your tongue too much.” I wipe my chin with a towel. “I can have the staff bring one to your room.”

The devil on my shoulder—and the angel too—smack me upside the head. And they whisper a much better idea.

“Or…I could help you out.”

Her brows draw together. “Help me out? I can’t use your razor.”

“No, definitely not—you’d cut yourself to ribbons.” I finger the sharp, heavy straight blade. “What I mean is…I could shave for you.”

Her eyes darken, the way they do when she’s right on the edge—right before she comes. And she moves closer to me.

“Do you…want to do that?”

My gaze drags down, down, over every sumptuous inch of her body.

“Oh, yes.”