I study the photo for a moment, then search the first school again. After I’ve gone through every university on the list twice more, I close the computer and lean back against the chaise. Now that I’ve fully dried off from my dip in the pool, the heat feels stifling rather than pleasant. I stand up and gather my things to head inside.

Back in my bedroom, I walk into the white tiled en suite. I yank off the bikini, drop it on the floor, and step inside the shower under the lukewarm spray. School logos and locations scroll through my head as I shampoo my long hair.

After I finish showering, I dress in jeans and a linen blouse and head downstairs to my father’s study. I knock on the dark wooden door, and push it open when I hear him call “come in.”

I step into the wooden paneled room. The soaring windows behind my father’s desk flood the study with morning light and reveal an empty space.

“Papa?” I ask, taking a few steps forward.

“Up here, Vivvi.”

I glance up to see my father standing along the edge of the iron railing above me, two books in hand. “I’ll be right down.”

I walk past the fireplace, where we typically play chess, and take a seat in one of the plush leather armchairs across from his imposing mahogany desk. I watch closely as he makes his way to the top of the spiral staircase tucked in the far corner of his study. Although there’s a library in the opposite wing of the palace, my father prefers to have his favorites close by, so he had a second story constructed so that he could simply walk up the stairs once his collection outgrew the bookshelves already installed.

When I was younger, I would sneak up there and sit on the steel balcony that runs around the perimeter of the room, where I could lean against the packed shelves of leather-bound books and eavesdrop on my father’s conversations with advisors and members of the Royal Council. I imagined them being about secret missions and confidential information. Most of the time, they were about ribbon cuttings and budgets.

“Had a hankering for some Tolstoy,” my father explains, holding up the thicker of the two books when he reaches the bottom of the stairs. “You’re a bit early for chess. We’ll have to skip the bourbon and whiskey, or your mother won’t be pleased.” He winks.

I roll my eyes. “We can save the chess for later. I just wanted to let you know I’ve decided which school I’d like to attend this fall.”

“Oh?” my father replies, taking a seat on the opposite side of the desk. “Which one did you pick?”

“Lincoln University. It’s in the United States, in Michigan.”

My father smiles. “I had a feeling about that one.”

“What?” I laugh. “I had a hard time choosing!”

“I know you, Vivvi. You like to be challenged. Lincoln is the largest school on the list, and one of the only ones outside Europe. It almost wasn’t included.”