Prince Albert (A Step-Brother Romance #4)

Then she squats down to talk to a little girl, who laughs as Belle reaches out and takes her hand and walks toward a group of kids. And I'm jerked out of my self-pity by a little boy who wants to know if I really live in a palace, and whether or not I own any race cars.

We spend a couple of hours reading stories and answering questions about royal life (“Do you have a crown?” “Do you have glass slippers?” “Do you sleep on a dozen mattresses?” directed at Belle, who furrows her forehead for a moment before realizing that it’s a reference to the Princess and the Pea fairytale).

Seeing Belle with the children makes me feel good, even though the setting brings up bad memories. “You’re a natural with the kids,” I tell her as we walk out the door.

Outside, she immediately tenses when a small group of photographers rush toward us, their cameras clicking away. I pause, whispering to Belle to wave, and she stands beside me, smiles, and waves.

Once inside the car, she slumps back against the seat. "Thank you," she says, her voice wavering. She clasps her hands together, her fingernails digging into the back of her hand.

"I told you that you wouldn't have to answer questions," I say. "Just smile and wave."

"No," she says, turning to face me. "Thank you for that, too. But, I mean, thank you for going there. It couldn't have been easy for you, with the way your mother died. You were really good with the kids."

I nod. Belle seems to have an uncanny way of anticipating how I feel about things. I'm not sure whether to be unsettled by that or pleased with it.

When she reaches for my hand, her face forward and not saying a word, I don't even flinch.

Contentment used to be a strange feeling. Yet, with Belle, it’s somehow starting to become a familiar one.





CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Belle



“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to make it today, Belle,” my mother says, setting down her fork. “There was an error in the schedule.”

“Wedding cake disaster?” I ask, only slightly sarcastic, as I sip my cup of tea.

“Oh, did your stylist already tell you?” she asks. “The chef had flown in from Paris for the afternoon, and it was last-minute, so…”

“It ended up being fine,” I say, cutting her off. Of course it was a wedding cake disaster. “Albie went with me.”

“Oh, Albie, you’re a darling.” My mother sips her wine and beams at King Leo. “We did decide on a wedding cake.”

“Awesome,” Alexandra says drolly, rolling her eyes. “As much as I’d love to stay and chat, I’m going to London with my friends tomorrow, so I’ll need to pack.”

“Alexandra,” Leo says sharply. “The trip can still be revoked.”

“Great,” she says, tipping back her glass of wine. “Then I’ll sit here and hang out. These family dinners are becoming the highlight of my day.”

A flash of emotion crosses my mother’s face, something akin to embarrassment, and she squeezes Leo’s forearm. “Perhaps she could join us for breakfast in the morning,” she says.

Leo clears his throat. “Fine,” he says, waving at her. “Go. Pack for London.”

Alexandra leaves the table in a huff, and Albie and I exchange glances.

Albie shrugs, looking down at his cell phone like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. My phone is on silent, but I know Albie is texting me. When I glance up at my mother and the king, they’re in their own little world, holding hands and making gooey eyes at each other. My mother looks at him with adoration.

Okay, so maybe I’m starting to be convinced that she does love him, after all.



Excuse yourself from dinner and go to your room.



I text back, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.



Bossy, much?



I look down again.



I have plans for you that I know you’ll like.



The message sends a rush of heat between my legs. I clear my throat. “I think I’m going to actually skip dinner tonight as well,” I say. “Going to the hospital today was much more tiring than I thought it would be.”

The king looks at Albie, his eyebrows raised. “Et tu, Albert?”

Albie grins, shrugging. “I told some of my friends I’d hang out with them.”

King Leo sighs. “Fine. Off you go, all of you,” he says. “Have fun.”

Back at my room, Martin stands in the hallway, his hands folded in front of him, looking straight ahead at nothing. “Don’t you get bored, doing this?” I ask.

“Of course not, Miss Kensington.” He doesn’t move an inch.

“Well, I’ll be in my room all night,” I say. “I have a headache. I’m going to sleep early.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You know, just in case you want to get a coffee or take a break.”

“It would be extremely negligent to leave my post, Miss Kensington,” he says, his expression unchanging.

I roll my eyes, opening the door to my bedroom. Albie gets Noah, who flips him off, but I get stuck with the most humorless bodyguard on the security team. I wonder if I can request a new version that comes with a sense of humor.

Albie knocks quietly on the wall by the secret passageway, and I let him in. “Keep your voice down,” I whisper. “Simon is outside.”