Prince Albert (A Step-Brother Romance #4)

She disappears into the closet, leaving me standing there with my heart in my throat. When my mother said she'd set up some charity work for me, that I could go to visit a children's hospital in town or a refugee organization, I didn't consider the fact that it would involve the media. That is exactly the opposite of what I'm interested in.

The stylist returns with a pearl necklace in her hand. "This will do," she says. "Would you like me to help you with it?"

I nod mutely as she slips it around my neck, then steps back and nods her approval. "One other thing," she says, reaching for her handbag. She pulls out a file and hands it to me. "Your mother asked that I pass along the itinerary information to you. Your security detail will accompany you, but unfortunately, she will not. Something came up. She requested that I pass along her regrets."

"What?" I squeak. My mother sent the stylist to drop the bombshell that there will likely be photographers at the children’s hospital and that – oh, by the way, no big deal – I’ll be attending by myself?

I clench my hands, digging my fingernails into my palm. Damn it.

"Is there anything else, Miss Kensington?" the stylist asks. She's already on the move, headed toward the door with her large tote bag over her shoulder.

I clear my throat. "No. Thank you."

I wait until she's gone to groan my frustration, as I grab my clutch purse, momentarily considering faking sick to get out of this afternoon. But only for a split second – I’m going to a children’s hospital, after all.

I’ll be able to get through a little bit of media time, I mentally reassure myself. The palace public relations team has read me the riot act, already preparing me for what to say and what not to say when it comes to the media. If I can simply remember to breathe and smile and wave, everything will be okay. I’ll just pretend not to hear any questions that reporters ask.

It’ll work, I tell myself.

Totally.

I feel like I’m going to vomit.

Outside, I walk with Simon to the car. Simon seems to be made entirely of stone, his face expressionless. He makes no attempt at chitchat or small talk as we walk, something that at least the other bodyguards try to do.

Being accompanied by Simon only makes my anxiety worse.

I’m filled with dread. The only times I've been outside the palace or summerhouse have been accompanied, and now I'm walking into a potential media situation.

I tell myself not to panic as Simon opens the car door for me.

"Need a lift?" Albie grins at me from inside the car.

"Are you following me?" I try to inject some annoyance into my voice, but I can't. I'm too relieved to see him.

Albie doesn't answer until the car starts moving. "If you like, I can have them stop."

"No," I say, exhaling heavily. "Where are you going?"

"To the children's hospital," he says.

"You're going with me?"

Albie shrugs. "Noah mentioned you had this today and that your mother couldn’t attend," he says. "Sick kids are the prince's purview too, you know."

"You do charity work?" I ask, looking at him.

"Occasionally," he says. “I do have the capacity to think of someone besides myself.”

“I’d never have guessed,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Wait. Did you come along because of me?"

"You mean, because I wanted the pleasure of your presence?" he asks.

I laugh. "No. Did you come with me because you thought I couldn't handle this myself?"

"I came with you because I couldn't think of anything better to do this afternoon," he says.

"Uh-huh." I look out the window, watching the scenery whiz by along the countryside. "Well, I'm glad you decided to come, anyway."





CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Albie



I haven't been inside a hospital since my mother was sick. We had our own royal physicians, of course, and round-the-clock care for her from the best oncologists and physicians in Europe.

But once, toward the end, things got really bad, and she was brought to the military hospital in our capitol for treatment. There are all of these protocols for something like that, an entire wing at the hospital cleared for a member of the royal family, windows covered in brown paper in the hallways as a precaution in case of assassination attempt.

During a moment of lucidity, my mother laughed at the irony of security trying to prevent her assassination, given her terminal illness.

That was the only time I’ve been in a hospital.

I can still remember how it smelled – antiseptic and stale, the rooms pumped full of so much air conditioning that it almost felt colder inside the hospital room than outside in the chilly winter air.

I can’t forget the intermittent beeping and whirring of the machines.

For a moment, standing just inside the pediatric oncology ward, I think that coming here with Belle was a mistake.

When I see the kids in various stages of cancer treatment, all I can think about is my mother's death.

Belle is beside me. She meets my gaze and I think she knows what’s going through my head.