Prince Albert: A Billionaire Stepbrother Romance Read online

  “Because you’d rather puke into a bag than spend an afternoon listening to your grandmother lecture you about how inappropriate you hair color is?”

  “Wait. You’re the one flying this thing?” I ask.

  “What did you think I did in the army, luv?” Albie yells. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”

  “Never,” I say.

  “That’s good to hear,” he yells. “If you’re good, I might even refrain from doing any tactical flight maneuvers.”

  I’ve never actually been in a helicopter, but I don’t tell Albie that. A few of my high school friends had parents with private planes, so I’ve been on those – but a helicopter is different. We’re strapped in, our headsets on, while Albie runs a dozen checks, fiddling with buttons and dials on the dashboard in the front. Beside me, Alexandra flips through her phone nonchalantly, like she does this kind of thing every day. Of course, she probably does.

  The two suits with us are their personal bodyguards – one each, for Albie and Alexandra. Apparently, I’ll get assigned a security detail soon enough if I stick around, but since I only just arrived at the palace, I’m in some kind of transitional phase.

  I wonder why the hell we needed to sneak around inside the palace, when the bodyguards already knew where we were going. But I don’t have time to think about that before we’re up in the air and I’m distracted by everything else.

  Alexandra texts on her phone, hardly paying attention to the scenery below us, but I’m transfixed. Albie speaks into the microphone, giving me a history of Protrovia as he flies over the city, pointing out particular buildings as he flies over the capitol city.

  “Protrovia dates back to fifteen thirty-two,” he says, as we veer left out of the capitol. He gives us a brief history of the country, but I'm too distracted to listen, transfixed with the view I have of the buildings below.

  “Albie is such a nerd,” Alexandra says into her microphone. “He’s like, obsessed with our family history and shit.”

  “I guess if the whole future-king thing doesn’t work out, you can always get a job as a tour guide,” I say.

  “It’s good to have options in life,” Albie says.

  We fly out over the countryside, and Albie still points out important places, but I find it hard to pay attention to what he’s saying, simply because the scenery is breathtaking -- rolling fields the color of emeralds, dotted with cottages and farmhouses. At some point in the flight, even Alexandra puts down her cell phone and looks outside.

  I’m not sure how long we’re in the air, before Albie tells us we’re going to land. “This is the summer house,” he says, as an estate, spread across acres of land, comes into view.

  “Isn’t it summer now?” I ask.

  “We’ll be there in a few weeks,” Alexandra says. “Once the royal couple makes their engagement announcement. The engagement party will be at the palace, and then we’ll retreat to the countryside. Fewer public appearances and all that. Way more boring, too.” I can’t see her expression, but if I had to guess, she’d be rolling her eyes.

  No sooner does the helicopter touch down on the pad then a red convertible speeds up, driven by a guy in sunglasses I can tell is gorgeous even from where I’m sitting. Beside me, Alex scrambles out of her seatbelt. “Tell dad I’ll be back in a few days,” she yells at Albie.

  “I’m not covering for you, shithead,” he says.

  One of the bodyguards mutters under his breath, “Your sister,” and curses into his microphone before ripping it off his head. He follows Alex out of the helicopter, and I see her arguing with him outside, flipping him the bird as she hops into a convertible that pulls away.

  So much for the summerhouse being boring, I guess.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Albie

  My sister’s bodyguard, Max, darts down the drive. I know he’s smart enough to have a vehicle here on standby, one of the dark-tinted black SUVs the security detail drives that are supposed to be inconspicuous but stick out anymore like a sore thumb.

  My bodyguard, Noah, shakes his head. “Do you know where she’s going, sir?” he asks.

  He insists on calling me “sir,” despite the fact that he’s been my security detail forever. And despite the fact that I’ve asked him a hundred times to call me by my name. Noah knows more about me than anyone, and he also knows I’m not about to rat out my sister, even if she’s off running around with a spoiled asshole like Finn Asher.

  Belle stands beside me, her hair tousled from the wind, looking sexy and disheveled and basically confused as hell. “Is everything okay?” she asks.

  “I have no idea where she’s headed, Noah,” I lie, shrugging. “Besides, I’m sure Max is on it.”

  As if on cue, the bodyguard peels past us in an SUV, kicking dust up behind his wheels as he flies down the driveway after Alex and Finn.

  Noah narrows his eyes as he looks at me. “Yes, I’m sure he’s on it, sir.”

  “We’re going to tour the grounds, Noah,” I say. “I’m sure we don’t need an escort.”

  He gives me a stern look before issuing a “yes, sir” in response, walking ahead of us. The estate is fully staffed, with its own security detail.

  “You should go have a beer or something, Noah,” I call to his retreating figure, and he flips me off behind his head.

  Beside me, Belle laughs. “Do your bodyguards usually give you the finger?” she asks.

  “Only Noah,” I tell her. “He’s been with me for along time. He’s probably the closest thing I have to a best friend.”

  “A best friend that calls you sir?” she asks.

  “He does it because he knows it pisses me off,” I say. “He only does it when he’s annoyed with me.”

  “So he calls you ‘sir’ pretty much all the time, then?”

  “You're so quick-witted," I say, rolling my eyes. "Do people tell you that all the time?"

  “Constantly,” she says, sticking her tongue out at me. It’s a childish response, but it makes me laugh. We walk in silence across the expanse of lawn from the helicopter pad toward the summerhouse, and from the corner of my eye, I can see Belle breathing in deeply, visibly relaxing as we walk.

  I don't know quite why, but it makes me satisfied to see her happy here.

  "So, do you always fly your wives out to your estates?" she asks.

  "You're the first, actually," I say.

  "So I'm special, then," she says. "I feel flattered."

  "Well, we were married by Fake Elvis, so that automatically puts you leaps and bounds ahead of my other marriages," I joke.

  "I'm overjoyed," she says sarcastically, then falls silent as we walk across the lawn. I point out various places on the estate – the stables, gardens, and the lake to the south, just barely visible on the horizon.

  "When Alex and I were kids, my father used to take us out there to fish on Sunday mornings in the summer, early," I say. "No matter how busy he was. We'd get up at six in the morning, and return a few hours later and wake up my mother."

  "Your father seems like a good man," she says. "Like...a normal guy, almost."

  "He's the people's king," I say. "It's what they call him.”

  "Was it weird, growing up like this?" she asks.

  I shrug. "I don't know," I say. "Was it weird growing up the way you did?"

  "Touché," she says.

  "I don't know any other way of life," I tell her.

  Inside the castle, I show her my favorite places, the things that are a part of my family history -- the Chinese pottery that I broke when Alex and I were running through the house when I was nine, thousands of years old and super-glued back together; and the place where my sister and I shimmied off a low overhang from one of the windows when I was twelve and Alex broke her arm. It was the first time I'd gotten in real trouble, grounded from everything.

  Belle and I stand on the roof, looking out over the expanse of the estate, the lawn so vivid it's nearly emerald-colored. Everything out here, in the coun