Prince Albert (A Step-Brother Romance #4)

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."

"Miss Matheson?" my mother asks. "Please consider my invitation open-ended. You're obviously important to the Prince."

"Thank you," she says, smiling smugly. "I will certainly consider it."

"What invitation?" I hiss at my mother as soon as Erika is gone.

"Oh, I invited her to the summer home when we were talking earlier this evening," Sofia says, waving dismissively. "After the incident tonight, I thought it better to keep her and the Prince under close watch, if there's something going on there. Minimize the possibility of scandal before the wedding."

"What incident?" I ask. My chest feels tight. I swear that my lungs have suddenly decreased in capacity. I can't seem to take in enough air.

My mother leans close, speaking softly. "The bomb scare earlier this evening," she whispers. "There was no bomb. The remote was apparently a…ahem…device that was used by the Prince and a romantic paramour."

A romantic paramour.

That would be me.

"What does that have to do with Erika?" I ask stupidly.

My mother looks at me, her head cocked to the side. "Don't be obtuse, Isabella," she says. "Erika was obviously personally involved. Now, I must get back to guests. Go lie down. You're looking a little peaked."





CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE



Albie



"Come on, man," Price says. "What the hell is your problem lately?"

"What?" I ask. "Nothing. No problem."

"Then you won't mind if I take home both of these girls." He nods toward the women on the other side of the room, both of whom are perched on the edge of one of the sleek black modern sofas artfully arranged to create a sitting space. The redhead waves back before crossing one long leg over the other, her foot tapping in rhythm with the bass in the club downstairs.

Redheads used to be my favorite.

Used to be.

What the fuck is wrong with me? One screw – one filthy as hell night with Little Miss Do-Gooder – and I'm completely preoccupied with her.

There's something messed up with that.

What I should do is get her out of my system. She's been avoiding me ever since the night of the engagement party, obviously regretting what happened in the throne room.

"Albie?" Price asks, irritation evident in his tome. "This is exactly my point. You're not even paying attention to me saying I'm going to screw both of these girls."

"It's fine."

"Really," he says flatly. "Since when is Prince Albert just not feelin' it?"

"Go," I say, sliding my phone out of my pocket. "Pick up all the girls you want. With my blessing. Have fun."

Price rolls his eyes. But he turns around, holding his hands up in the air. "Ladies, I'm all yours."

I open the screen on my cell phone and start typing a message.



Stop avoiding me. You know you want me.