Don't panic. Don't panic.
Breathe.
Noah speaks into a microphone on his wrist. "Throne room is clear. I've accounted for the Prince and Miss Kensington."
Out in the hallway, Albie speaks to Noah. "About that remote…"
My heart sinks. Surely Albie isn't this reckless. I think I might faint.
"I know it was your sister who reported the remote, sir," he says. "But we still need to follow protocol. Of course we're keeping everything quiet, under the circumstances, since it's your father's engagement party."
I swallow hard. "Do my mother and the King know about the…bomb scare?"
"Of course," Noah says. "They've been apprised of the situation. If we think the threat is legitimate, we'll initiate the Chess Protocol."
"I'm afraid to ask what that means."
"Protect the King," Albie says. "In the event of an emergency."
Of course. They'll initiate the Chess Protocol.
To protect the royal family from the security risk associated with my renegade vibrator.
It would almost be funny, if this scenario didn't involve my imminent public humiliation.
"About that remote…" Albie says.
Don't vomit, I tell myself.
Noah sighs. "If you're about to tell me this was you, Albie…"
Albie shrugs. "I'd rather not say, with her here."
"What?" I squeak. "What aren't you going to say in front of me?"
"It's personal," Albie says, raising his eyebrows and giving me a look. "And my personal life really isn't any of your business, don't you think?"
"I see," I say, not seeing at all. I wouldn't put it past Albie to brag to Noah about hooking up with me. Who knows how close the two of them really are? Maybe Albie brags about all of his exploits. The thought makes me dizzy. "Am I free to go, then?"
"Of course," Noah says. "But stay in the wing near the ballroom, please. We haven't swept the residences yet."
I dart into the closest bathroom I can find to clean myself up, certain that my indiscretion is written all over my face. But instead, when I look in the mirror I see a slight hint of pink on my cheeks. The flush makes me look well rested, which is better than looking well fucked, I supposed.
And I was fucked well, wasn't I?
My fingers linger on my lips, the sensation of his bruising kisses still there even now. I can still feel him throbbing between my legs, sense his hands on my breasts.
I need to get out of here before my mind lingers too long on things it shouldn't.
I open the door and walk straight into her.
Albie's ex-girlfriend.
"Well, now," she says, her perfectly pouty lips curling up into a snide smile. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure of being introduced."
"Isabella Kensington."
"Erika Matheson," she says with a sniff, her eyes traveling up the length of my body as she clearly judges me. "So you're the new stepsister."
If I didn't hate her before, I hate her now, as she looks at me with disdain.
"Yes," I say. "Forgive me. How do you know the royal family?" I blink innocently, pretending to have no idea who she is.
She smiles, the expression cold. "Albert and I will be having one of these parties in the not-too-distant future," she says.
Maybe the ex-girlfriend isn't so much an ex, after all. The thought makes me feel queasy. Did I just help Albie cheat on his fiancé?
"Oh." I force out the word. "Are you and the Prince engaged?"
"Not yet," she says, examining her perfectly manicured hand like she isn't sure whether or not she's wearing an engagement ring. "But we will be. It's a foregone conclusion."
"I see," I say.
I need to get out of here.
But my feet seem to be rooted in the ground, held there by an invisible force. I scan the hallway, looking for someone to rescue me from this conversation I don't want to have.
My mother is the one who does the rescuing, accompanied by two ladies-in-waiting. Those are their actual titles, too. They're really personal assistants, but retain the ridiculous antiquated titles, for no other reason than that it's apparently what tradition dictates.
"Mother," I say brightly, breathing a sigh of relief. "You know Erika Matheson."
"I do," she says. "You're Prince Albert's girlfriend, aren't you?"
Girlfriend. Not ex-girlfriend.
"Of course," Erika says, smiling warmly at my mother.
Now I really hate her.
And Albie. Let's not forget about him. I definitely hate Albie, who seems to have forgotten to mention that Erika is still under the impression they're dating.
I glare at Erika and she apparently takes the hint. "It was lovely speaking with you, Isabella but I really should be going."