“Why would anything be a scandal?” I ask, trying my best to keep my voice calm despite the guilt that surges through me at the thought of the secret I share with Albie.
“Staying for the summer, getting to know the king and your new family, is what people expect, Isabella,” she says. “Any behavior different from that is going to raise red flags. It will cause more media attention than I know you’d like to have on you. Reporters will track you down wherever you go in the States. The wedding will be the media event of the year. Here, in the palace – in Protrovia – we can protect you. There is a whole PR team dedicated to managing the publicity. There are bodyguards, security. The entire thing will be controlled. Everything will be handled.”
“I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head.
“I’m disappointed, Isabella,” she says. “I’d hoped you’d realize the potential for all the good you could do in Protrovia.”
“What do you mean?”
Sofia sighs heavily. “You’ve always missed the forest for the trees,” she says. “You think that being in the thick of things, administering shots to children and wiping sweaty foreheads, is noble. It’s far more noble to be the person that provides funding for other people to do those things.”
“And that’s your goal, being Queen of Protrovia?” I don’t bother to hide the doubt in my voice. My mother has been involved with charity for years, but I’m not sure the power isn’t the most alluring part of all of this for her.
“Think of all that you could do as a princess, Isabella,” she says. “I’ve already set up work for you with refugees, with children’s organizations. You’ll have a virtually unlimited budget at your disposal compared to what you had in Africa. Think of what you can do. Think of the children who need your help.”
“I have to think about it,” I say, already feeling like the most selfish person on earth. My mother is offering me the chance to do a world of good, and I’m actually considering not taking it, just because I don’t want to spend the summer in the castle with my new stepbrother, who just happens to be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
“I know you’ll make the right decision,” she says, smiling at me. “Take some time. You’re jet-lagged. I’m sure you’re tired. Relax, and gather your wits. Then you can tell me when you’ve made the right choice.”
It’s less of a suggestion than it is an order. That much is clear.
CHAPTER FIVE
Albie
“Hey, Cinderella.” I whisper the words, even though we’re the only two people in the hallway. A housekeeper at the end of the hall runs a feather duster along the window, and a member of the security team walks with purpose. When she sees us, the housekeeper quickly darts around the corner and out of the way.
It’s silly, really, all of the pomp and circumstance that goes along with living in this place. It always made me uncomfortable, even when I was a kid.
Belle whirls around and glares at me. “Are you following me?”
“Whoa, whoa, luv.” I put my hands up in mock surrender. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. You do wear panties, don’t you? I picture a thong. Unless you go commando. That would be more fun, as well as convenient.”
She looks at me with wide eyes. “My panties are none of your business.”
“I’m right about the thongs, though, aren’t I?”
She ignores me, which is probably for the best, because that means I can use my imagination when it comes to what she’s wearing under those jeans. “Seriously,” she says. “Are you following me? How do I keep running into you? Isn’t this a giant palace?”
“It’s three hundred rooms,” I say. “Three hundred and twelve. Give or take, really. Some rooms are under renovation, and some are considered public areas for tours and things. I’ll give you a tour, if you like. The very private, very special tour.”
“That was a rhetorical question,” she says. “Stop stalking me.”
“You’re full of yourself,” I say, standing close to her. She doesn’t move, doesn’t step back an inch, and I’m so close that I can smell the faintest hint of fragrance on her skin – something soft, lightly floral – lotion, not perfume. “I’d rather you be full of me.”
She wrinkles her nose, an expression of distaste that should be annoying, but just makes me hard instead. Apparently, I find her distaste attractive.
“You’re crude for a prince,” she says.
“You’ve said that already.”