Prince Albert: A Billionaire Stepbrother Romance Read online

“But I didn’t want to break up,” Derek says. “And, you know, being European royalty will be a real asset when you’re part of my campaign someday. Think of it. You could be the wife of a Governor. President, even.”

  I stare at him in disbelief, mentally congratulating myself on having not slugged him yet. He looks at me with the kind of earnest self-righteousness that can only come from being both stupid and spoiled.

  “You mean that I could still be your wife?” I ask, my voice rising an octave. “You’ll have me, even after all of this?”

  “We could be a team,” he says. “You and I. With your beauty and my brains, we’d be unstoppable.”

  I stare at him, his words echoing in my head. Was he always this much of a tool, or did he actually get dumber in the past two years?

  “You’re a moron.”

  “Don’t make this mistake, Isabella,” he says. “Do you really want to give up all of this?”

  “All of what? You?” I ask. “Don’t make me retch.”

  Derek’s face changes, his expression no longer contrite. Now he just looks at me sneering. “You always did think you were too good for me,” he says. “With all of your saving the world crap.”

  “I am too good for you, Derek.”

  “You stupid cunt,” he says, his face screwed up, inner ugliness transforming his appearance. He brushes past me, knocking into my shoulder as he walks by.

  “What the hell did you just call her?”

  I hear Albie’s voice behind me, and whirl around. “Albie, don’t –“

  “I called her a cunt,” Derek says. “Because that’s what she is.”

  “Albie, it’s not worth it –“ I start.

  Too late.

  Albie punches Derek in the face, and he stumbles back, his hand over his nose, crashing into the end table and sending that porcelain figurine to the ground, where it shatters into pieces.

  “You stupid fuck,” Derek says, lunging at him.

  “Stop, Derek!” I scream, but he ignores me, rushing straight for Albie and driving his head into his stomach. They fall to the ground in a tangle of limbs, and Derek’s fist connects with Albie’s face before Albie manages to roll on top of him and hit him again.

  I’m yelling at both of them to stop, and everything is chaos as our bodyguards run into the room and pull Albie off Derek. Noah stands in front of Albie, blocking him from trying to land another punch, and Albie pushes him back. “Get out of my way, Noah,” he says. “I will beat his ass. I don’t care who’s here to watch it.”

  Derek struggles, shouting obscenities at Albie, even as Simon and Max restrain him. “This is none of your business, you prick,” he says, his mouth a bloody mess.

  “Please! Just stop!” I yell, running toward Albie. His eye is already bruised underneath, a cut over his eyebrow where Derek punched him. “Are you okay?”

  “You’re fucking him!” Derek shouts, his rage apparent. “I knew it! You’re pissed off because I was screwing Adriana, and you’re over here fucking that spoiled prick!”

  “Get him the hell out of here before I hit him again,” Albie says.

  I can hear people outside the room. I know the commotion is attracting attention. But all I can focus on is Derek’s accusation.

  You’re fucking him.

  “Shut up,” I say. “Everyone shut up.”

  I hear Derek laugh as the bodyguards drag him out of the room. “I knew it. Your own stepbrother. You stupid bitch.”

  I know that they’re taking Derek out of the room, and I think Noah says something to me. I can hear Albie’s voice, calling my name.

  But all I can hear in my head is Derek’s accusation.

  You’re fucking him.

  Your own stepbrother.

  And then my mother is there, and the King. I can hear them talking, but it’s like I’m underwater, their voices are distorted and muted. I’m here and they’re far away.

  Far, far away.

  Then everything goes dark.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Albie

  “Won’t you please excuse us for a moment?” my father asks. He stands with his back turned toward me on the other side of the library, the first room far away enough from the ballroom to be assured of privacy. The royal physician hovers over me, pulling at my forehead as he does a cursory examination.

  “I’m fine,” I say, an edge in my voice. “Is Belle all right? She fainted.”

  “She’ll be okay,” Doctor Evanston says. “You’re going to need a few stitches above your eyebrow. I can do it, but to minimize scarring, I think we should call in a plastic surgeon.”

  “Plastic surgeon,” my father scoffs. “Is my son going to bleed to death in the next few minutes?”

  “Of course not, Your Royal –“

  “Then won’t you please give us a few minutes.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  The door shuts, leaving my father and I alone in the room. I know what he’s going to say. I can already anticipate it.

  I should be embarrassed, ashamed of myself for displaying utter and complete lack of royal bearing.

  I should be worried about Belle’s ex-fiancé’s accusation that Belle and I are together.

  I should be concerned about what my father will think. Or what Belle’s mother will think. Or what the public will think.

  But I don’t fucking care.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” my father asks. He doesn’t look at me.

  “I was thinking that Belle’s ex is an asshole who deserved to be punched in the mouth for the shit he was saying about her.”

  My father turns around slowly. “You are not eighteen,” he bellows. “You’re not a child. And you’re not a normal person. How long is it going to take you before you understand that? You’re a prince. Getting into a bar room brawl in the middle of a charity event is not something that a member of the royal family of Protrovia does. It’s not something the Crown Prince of Protrovia does!”

  “Sorry to disappoint,” I say sarcastically.

  “What in the world would possess you to do such a thing?” he asks. “All of the things you’ve done, the tabloid headlines and filth they’ve printed in the papers – I thought you’d left that all behind when you joined the Army.”

  “He called her a cunt,” I spit. My father flinches at the crudeness of the word. I wonder if anyone’s ever said the word cunt in front of the King of Protrovia before. I guess there’s a first time for everything in life, isn’t there?

  Some part of me, a warped part, finds that amusing.

  I think I might be a little delirious.

  “I don’t care what he called her,” my father says. “Did you even stop to think for a moment before you hit him? Prince Albert of Protrovia assaults a guest of the royal family – it’ll be all over the newspapers tomorrow.”

  “I’m sorry it’ll distract from the PR pieces about the wedding,” I say.

  “I thought the Army changed you,” he continues. “I thought it instilled some sense of responsibility in you. But I can see that nothing’s changed at all. You’re still the same immature, irresponsible boy who has no appreciation for consequences – no appreciation for tradition and family and –“

  I stand up, the blood rushing to my head. “What the hell would you have done, if some guy were saying things about mom?” I yell. “I’m supposed to stand there, while some asshole talks about Belle that way?”

  “It’s not the same thing,” he roars. “You’re not married to Isabella. She’s barely family, not even your stepsist –“

  “She’s my wife!” I yell, rising to my feet, my hands balled into fists at my side. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins, anger surging through me, and I don’t realize what I’ve said until I hear the words, practically echoing in the space between us.

  She’s my wife.

  Shit.

  This is a bell that can’t be un-rung.

  My father stands there unmoving, just looking at me. For a minute, I th