Prince Albert(19)

“This is definitely more interesting than the conversations we normally have at dinner,” Alexandra interrupts, popping a forkful of food into her mouth and raising her eyebrows.

“Seriously,” Lily says, wrinkling her nose as she looks at her sister. “If I have to hear about one more American designer…”

“You’re such a snob,” Violet says. “When you really just have no concept of design.”

“Oh, why don’t you educate me, with your portfolio of work and –“

“I trust you’re settling in, Isabella?” When the King interrupts, both cousins stop squabbling and immediately go silent, their expressions pouty, like children who’ve been scolded.

“Yes, King Leopold,” I say. “Although I’m afraid I may not be able to stay for as long as I’d like.”

“Oh,” he says, and the expression of disappointment that crosses his face is so genuine-looking that for a moment I feel badly even considering leaving. “Your mother and I were hoping you’d be staying the entire summer. I know that I’d like the opportunity to get to know you. As would Alexandra and Albert.”

“Yes,” Albie says. “I’d personally enjoy getting the opportunity to welcome you to the family.”

I can’t believe his brazenness, and I pointedly try to ignore him, focusing on my mother and the king.

“Yes, well,” Sofia says. “We’ll have to discuss the specifics of her summer plans in more detail another time. I’m sure that Isabella intends to stay for quite a while.”

“I’m considering it,” I say, irritated with my mother for speaking for me.

“Isabella mentioned she’d misplaced her passport,” Albie says. “I asked Ben to see if the household staff were able to find it.”

“Oh?” my mother asks innocently. “Well, how dreadful. We’ll have to make sure that’s remedied. And in the meantime, I’m sure we’ll be happy to show you why we all love Protrovia. Maybe Alexandra or Albert would take you on a tour of the palace and the castle grounds.”

“I know I’d be delighted to show her everything,” Albie says, raising a tumbler of amber-colored liquid to his lips.

The edges of his lips curl up, his expression a promise of the things he wants to show me.





CHAPTER NINE

Albie



Belle excused herself from dinner early, feigning a headache and jet lag, obviously lying her sweet little ass off and trying to avoid a personal tour of the palace by yours truly.

I’ll give credit where credit is due – she made it nearly ninety minutes in the middle of the cousins and my grandmother Margaret, who’s still mentally stuck someplace around the turn of the century.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I slide open the screen to reveal a message.



You can’t keep avoiding me, Albie. I gave you enough time to play around after you got back. Call me.



I’m about to text back reflexively, a message to tell Erika to go fuck herself, just like the two other times I’d told her before. Erika is an ex-girlfriend, a friend of the family and a reminder that several years ago, for a couple of months, I was stupid enough to actually try out the whole having-a-relationship bullshit. The only reason Erika was with me was because of my position, the proximity to the throne.

Instead, I hit the delete button, and block her number.

I need to get laid, but not by Erika.

And not by Belle either, not if I know what’s good for me.

Of course, when have I ever done what’s good for me?

I’m in the middle of texting a friend who’s always up for a night of partying and hitting on women, when she knocks on the door.

I know it’s her by the knock. It’s tentative and hesitating, not like Ben the valet or my sister Alex, who would already be in the middle of yelling, “Albie, you disgusting pig, open up!” before she even finished knocking.

No, it’s definitely Belle.

So that’s why I don’t bother to put on a shirt.

I pull open the door and revel in the fact that her eyes immediately focus on my chest. And I try to hide my smile as she unsuccessfully attempts to look anywhere else.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

“I – um – can come back later,” she says. “You’re obviously in the middle of getting changed.”

“I’d could make you come now,” I whisper, leaning forward conspiratorially.

“I stopped by because I wanted to tell you that I’m not interested,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Oh?” I ask, leaning against the frame of the door. “You’re not interested in what, exactly, luv?”