Prince Albert(83)

I slide my legs over, about to stand up when my mother stops me by waving a newspaper through the air.

“You think I care about your and Derek's little fight?” she asks, her voice shrill. “This, Isabella. This is what is plastered all over the headlines this morning. This is what’s all over the internet. Read it.”

"What is it?"

Then she holds it up in front of my face.



PRINCE'S SECRET SHOCKER: IT’S A FAMILY AFFAIR!

MARRIED…TO HIS NEW SISTER! THE STORY THE ROYAL FAMILY DOESN'T WANT YOU TO READ!



I rip the paper from her hands, my stomach queasy as I skim the article, bits and pieces of phrases jumping off the page at me. A source close to the palace confirms that Isabella Kensington and Prince Albert have been sneaking around the palace for months now…married in a Las Vegas ceremony at a wedding chapel, by an Elvis impersonator…

My heart sinks.

Oh God.

"It's true, Isabella," she says, ripping the newspaper out of my hands and throwing it on the ground like it's contaminated. "Don't try to tell me it's not. Royal Intelligence did their own digging around."

Fantastic.

"It was a joke."

"You didn't see fit to mention any of this when you showed up here?" Sofia asks, her voice shrill, nearly a squeak at this point. "You didn't think that perhaps you might have wanted to mention that you'd met Albert before – that you married him in Vegas? And what kind of person – a Kensington – gets married in a wedding chapel in Vegas?"

"It was a joke," I repeat, my voice flat. “I’m sure it’s not even legal. We were going to get an annulment.”

All I can think about is the fact that all of this – the sham marriage, my relationship with Albie – will be plastered across every tabloid magazine, every gossip blog, every evening celebrity news show throughout Europe. Every sin either of us have ever committed in our entire lives will be dragged up and rehashed in the public eye until people are satisfied that we've been sufficiently humiliated.

Our relationship will be laid bare.

I'll be laid bare.

I can't handle it.

"This isn't a joke, Isabella," Sofia hisses. "Whether it was legal or not is irrelevant. You think that these kinds of things are unimportant, frivolities that are beneath you. It's that easy for you to destroy my relationship with Leopold."

"I didn't destroy anything – we didn't destroy anything," I protest.

"We," she says, her hand going to her mouth. "It's we, isn't it. The wedding wasn’t a joke. The two of you are together.”

"No," I say, my voice loud. "The wedding was a joke. That's all it was. I didn't know he was a prince."

She's doesn't even register my protest. "There will be a meeting, Isabella," she says. "A family meeting. A plan. This entire thing is finished. It will all be swept under the rug. You'll need to do an interview, both of you – the PR team will decide all of that, of course. Denial – that’s the best strategy here, I think.”

I can't hear anything she's saying, except bits and pieces of words: PR team…interview…family meeting.

All of it will be focused on Albie and I and our drunken marriage.

And our current relationship.

The tabloids will paint it into something dirty, something disgusting and reprehensible. There will be more headlines like the one on the paper she's holding. I can already picture them:



PRINCE AND SISTER: EXCLUSIVE DETAILS ABOUT TABOO ROYAL RELATIONSHIP



I think I'm going to be sick.

I run headlong for the bathroom. My mother's voice still echoes through the room as she talks more to herself than to me, strategizing aloud. I heave up the contents of my stomach.

Panic clutches at my chest like a vise, gripping my heart as I kneel on the floor. I try to gulp oxygen into my lungs, but I can't seem to breathe.

I can't do this. I can't be the center of a media scandal.

I can't have my relationship with Albie laid out before the whole world like it's something tawdry.

I haven't even sorted out how I feel about Albie, whether it’s just fantastic sex, or whether the way he makes me feel means it’s everything.

And I can’t figure that out with the entire world watching us.

I just can’t.





CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Albie



“I had to talk to you, before all of…whatever the hell is going to happen today." Every word I utter seems to be punctuated by the pounding base drum playing in my head right now, but all I can think about is what's going through Belle's mind as she stands in front of me.

Belle looks…tired. And worried.

"You have to go," she says, her voice strained. "Christine or someone else from the PR team is going to be here in my room any second now."