Prince Albert (A Step-Brother Romance #4)

The thought terrifies me.

“Are you sure, Belle?” Raine asks. “Are you certain you want to run away from this? From him?”

No.

I could go back. Right now, I could turn around and walk back inside the house and tell Albie I don't care about any of it.

I could do the brave thing. I could tell everyone to fuck off.

I could tell Albie I want to be with him.

But I’m just not that brave.

"Just drive," I say.





CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Albie



"What do you mean, she's gone?" I ask. I pull out my phone and text Belle, but I hear the buzz of the phone in the room, and Noah holds it up. "Is that hers?"

"It's hers, sir," he says. "She left it in her room. I took the liberty of retrieving it before the head of security got to her bedroom, since I thought there might be things on her phone you might not want made public."

"She's gone," I say again, stupidly. I can't get it through my head.

"Yes."

"She took everything with her?"

"She took a bag," Noah says. "She evaded Martin and walked out of the gate."

She's gone.

"She left a note, sir," he says, handing me the folded sheet of paper. I open it.



I'm sorry, Albie. I just...can't stay.

Love,

Belle.



I crumple it up into a ball in my hand and look at him. "Where?"

"With Raine," he says. "One of her friends from Africa."

"I know who Raine is," I snap.

"Royal Intelligence will get a lock on Raine's phone, I'm sure. Do you want to know where Belle and Raine are when they do?"

Do I want to know where she is?

She's the one who left, who ran from all of this.

She left her phone behind. She doesn't want to be found.

"Yes," I say, blurting out my response before I even think about it.

She doesn't want me to find her.

I should just let her walk away.

"No," I say. "Never mind. No, I don't want to know."

Noah looks at me for a long minute before speaking. "Sir," he starts, then shakes his head. "Oh, fuck it. I'm going to say my piece. Prince Albert. I've known you for a long time, and I've seen you with a lot of women. I mean, seriously. A lot of women."

"Noah," I warn.

"My point is this," he says. "I've seen you with a lot of women, but none like Belle. She loves you and you love her. It's apparent to anyone who sees you together, and if it isn't apparent, well, then they're fucking blind."

"She should have fucking stayed," I say, more anger in my words than I expected.

"She's scared," Noah says, his voice softening.

So am I. But I didn't run away.

I can't believe she just left. Without so much as a goodbye.

I'm angry at her for leaving, but I'm more angry at our parents – especially Sofia – for deciding that the best response would be for the PR team to descend on Belle like a swarm of locusts. And I'm angry at myself for telling my father about the Vegas marriage.

I don't even wait until dinner to see my father and Sofia. Instead, I go straight to the King's wing of the house, where he and Sofia sit inside the living room of their suite, Sofia on an armchair surrounded by a copy of every newspaper and magazine available, splayed out on a coffee table.

Our faces are plastered across the front page of all of them, a million different headlines, all of them promising tales of scandal.

"Albert," Sofia says. "There you are. I knew you'd see reason. See, Leo? We've been discussing a plan for PR."

"You know she's gone," I say. "You drove her away. With all of your concern about image and PR and bringing in Erika – Belle left."

"I'm sorry about Erika," she says. "I didn't think it would be such a big deal."

"You didn't think it would be such a big deal?" I ask, shaking my head in disbelief.

"At the engagement party, I'd heard you and Erika had…" Her voice trails off, and her cheeks redden. They actually redden. Maybe the woman doesn't have ice in her veins after all.

"That we'd fucked?" I ask, not caring about the use of vulgarity in front of the soon-to-be-Queen or my father. "No, Sofia, it wasn't Erika I screwed at the engagement party. It was your daughter."

"Albert!" my father booms, his voice echoing in the room. "That will be quite enough."

"I don't think so," I say. "I married Belle. And it wasn't anything in the beginning, but now it is. Was. Maybe it's past tense; I don't know. All I know is that I don't care about all of this. I don't care whether you approve or not."

"The wedding is weeks away," Sofia protests. "It's obscene, right before the –"

"You know what?" I don't even know what I'm saying before I say it. None of this is planned or thought out. It should be. It would be more mature that way, more reasonable. "Screw the wedding. And -- "

A single knock interrupts what I'm about to say, the 'screw the throne' rant I'm about to dive headfirst into, and Alex bursts into the room. "Get out, Alex," I say.

“I’m sleeping with Max.”