Sabrina looked past Marla to the three dresses that were hung along the wall. Her eyes widened as she took notice of the beautifully colored silk that each of them was made of. They weren't just dresses. They were gowns. One of them was royal blue, another was a pale honey color, and the last was bright white. Each was floor length and looked like something fit to wear on the red carpet.
The blue had a slightly poofed skirt, where the honey was slim and would hug every curve. The white dress was her favorite, with clean lines and just a hint of sparkle.
“They're lovely,” Sabrina said, with a warm smile.
A knock near the bedroom door caused Sabrina to turn around. An older gentleman in a formal dark gray suit stood in the doorway.
“My apologies for interrupting, Ma'am,” he said, his voice low and scratchy, but somehow soothing to Sabrina. “I trust you must be our young prince's Sabrina?”
Sabrina smiled wide and nodded. “Unless there's another Sabrina I don't know about.”
The man chuckled. “Not that I'm aware of, Ma'am. I'm Winston, the head butler here at Orsino Palace. Welcome to the Island.”
“Thank you, Winston,” Sabrina said. “This place is amazing.”
As soon as she said it, she realized how stupid it sounded.
Of course it's amazing, she thought. It's a palace on an island. Dammit, Sabrina. Don't sound like a tourist.
Winston just kept the warm smile on his face, though. “If you're ready, my dear, I can show you a few things on the main floor.”
Sabrina turned toward Marla. “Do you mind?”
Marla looked over and said, “Of course not, m'lady. I'm sure I'll see you soon, though. I'm always around the Palace, doing this or that.”
“Sounds good, thank you,” Sabrina said, as she turned and followed Winston back down the stairs toward the entryway.
Winston led her down one of the hallways and stopped at a row of pictures that were hung along the wall. He turned to face her before speaking. “Ms. Sabrina, pardon me for asking, but I'm curious as to where you are from. I can hear your accent, but I can't quite place it. American, I know, but there's something a little different about it.”
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“I'm from Memphis, Tennessee,” Sabrina said, suddenly realizing how heavy her accent probably sounded to everyone there. “It's in the South. We have a different accent than people from other parts of the United States.”
“Indeed,” Winston said. “I've never been to the States myself, but we do get visitors sometimes. But you're the first from Memphis, at least as far as I know.”
“It's a nice place, but nothing like Orsino Island,” Sabrina said. “I'd almost say it's the complete opposite, actually.”
Winston nodded as he listened. The lines around his eyes showed his age, but gave him a distinguished and wise appearance. Sabrina felt safe with him, as he didn't seem to judge her.
“Maybe one day I'll get to visit,” he said, with a chuckle. “If I ever retire, that is.”
Her heart reached out to him. She and Winston probably weren't so different. They both knew what it was to work hard for a living. The way he smiled reminded her of her father.
“At any rate,” he continued. “The reason I took you down here was to show you these pictures. This way, you will be able to recognize them later tonight. This first one here is of King Carlo, father of Prince Marco.”
Sabrina looked at the picture of the man and instantly saw the resemblance to her lover. He had the same nose and sharp eyes. In the picture, the King was seated on a golden throne with a red velvet seat. He was wearing a dark blue robe, with intricate yellow designs sewn into it. The King's hair was white, but just as thick as his young son's. It took her a moment, but she recognized one of the photos from her interview as him.
“He looks a lot like Marco,” Sabrina whispered, just loud enough for Winston to hear.
“And he's just as charming,” Winston said, with a wink. “But, like they say, the apple never falls far from the tree.”
“Very true,” she said, as she followed Winston a few steps further down the hall.
They approached the next picture and when Sabrina saw it, she did a double-take. She recognized the woman immediately.
“This photo is of the graceful Queen Magdalena,” Winston said. “I'll presume you don't know the history, but the Queen is not Prince Marco's mother. She was wed to King Carlo many years ago and has reigned as Queen over our wonderful country ever since. She is a powerful woman.”
That's the woman I saw upstairs, Sabrina thought. That's the lady that was running down the hall and into the bedroom with the shirtless man.