Prince Albert(58)

"I might take you up on that offer," I say. "Or I may have to join you."

"Is it that bad?" Raine asks. "Why not just ditch out now? Come backpack around Europe with us. Take some time off. Enjoy your life, Belle. I can hear the stress in your voice. Nothing that takes place in a palace can be that serious."

"It's not that bad."

Not that bad.

An image of Albie sitting on the throne, tuxedo pants unzipped and cock in his hand, flashes in my head.

Not that bad.

The irony of those words is not lost on me. The other night was as far from not that bad as you can get.

It was insane.

I know my romantic life has been pretty sheltered – okay, I haven't exactly had mind-blowing sex in the past. I’ve certainly never done anything remotely like what I did with Albie.

And I'm not even sure I like Albie. He's irritating. He's rich and domineering and entitled, and he's convinced that he's God's gift to women.

And he probably lied about the girlfriend being an ex, just so he could get in my pants.

That's reason enough to not like him.

"Are there any cute guys there, at least?" Raine asks. "A hot, well-built bodyguard, perhaps?"

The image of Noah, Albie's bodyguard, flashes in my head. He’s attractive, objectively-speaking. The problem is, when I think of him, I get nothing -- no heart racing, no nervousness like I'm on the brink of fainting. No sensation of heat coursing through my body, the way I do at the mere thought of Albie.

"Ok, I'll take your silence as a no, then," Raine says, laughing. "Apparently the palace doesn't employ hot bodyguards. I don't suppose they employ shirtless pool boys?"

I choke back a laugh. "No. No shirtless pool boys."

"But there’s a sexy prince in the palace."

"Sexy prince?" I ask. My voice seems to go up an octave, or maybe I'm just imagining things. "No. No. No sexy prince."

"Are you sure you're not into women?" Raine teases. "Because you're sharing a house with one of the sexiest men in the world, and you apparently just don't think he's all that."

"I hardly think he's one of the sexiest men in the world," I protest.

I'm lying through my teeth.

"No, literally," she says. "I'm pretty sure People magazine put him on their list of sexiest men in the world."

My laugh sounds more like a snort. "I'm sure that only made his ego even bigger than it already was. And since when do you read People magazine?"

"We’re backpacking – sometimes there are long train rides and I need to catch up on what’s going on in the world,” Raine says. "Besides, we’re not talking about my enjoyment of perusing gossip magazines. We’re talking about the fact that you're obviously very familiar with the prince."

"Because I know he has a big ego?" I ask.

I know what else the prince has that's big, too. Huge, in fact.

Huge and pierced.

The throbbing between my legs reminds me that my body definitely remembers what happened with him, even if I keep trying to file the memory away in some dark recess in the corners of my brain.

"There's something in your voice when you talk about him."

I clear my throat. "There's nothing in my voice," I say. "It's a non-issue. The prince is a non-entity."

"Non-entity," she says. "Yeah, right. You totally think he's hot."

"I do not."

"You think he's hot and you want to kiss him and hug him and let him put his penis in you," Raine says in a sing-song voice, laughing.

"Are you twelve?"

"My sense of humor is more like thirteen," she says. "I'm quite mature."

"There's nothing going on between me and Albie," I say.

Nothing.

That even sounds like a lie to me.

"Albie, huh?" she says. "You have a nickname for him?"

"Other than asshole, no," I say. "Albie is not a nickname. Everyone calls him that. No one calls him Albert. Except his parents."

"Uh-huh, sure. So it's not your little pet name for him?"

"Oh my God, Raine. No. He's going to be my stepbrother." I force an extra level of disgust into my voice, even though I shouldn't have to force it. I should feel disgust at the very thought, right?

Raine laughs. "Whatever," she says. "All of the royal families marry each other, anyway, don’t they? Cousins or siblings and all that stuff."

"Maybe a hundred years ago. And marriage?" I squeak. "No one is talking marriage. Are you high?"

"Definitely," she says, laughing. "But it also sounds like I'm hitting a nerve."

"Nerve?" I ask, my voice unnaturally bright. "Nope. No nerve. Definitely not a nerve."