Prince Albert (A Step-Brother Romance #4)

“Can you be happy for me?”


“I love you,” she says. "And I can."

It’s not perfect, but it’s enough.





CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Albie



"It's official," I whisper, her hand in mine as we waltz around the dance floor in the ballroom in sync with the music from the orchestra. "Now we're related."

Belle glares at me. "Stop saying that."

I affect an exasperated sigh. "I hate when my wife tells me what to do."

"You have to stop calling me that," she says, trying to sound disapproving, but I know she's not. The corners of her mouth turn up. "The marriage was annulled, remember?"

As if I could forget. The royal lawyers went ballistic over our drunken Vegas marriage, immediately initiating the annulment, since we'd both admitted publicly that we were intoxicated.

So we're no longer married.

And now our parents are.

"Maybe I'm a little disappointed that you're no longer my wife," I whisper in her ear. She moves against me with the music, her body suddenly much too close for a waltz, less than appropriate for our parents' wedding. Especially a royal wedding.

It would be a lot more inappropriate to have a huge hard on while dancing with Belle at the wedding reception.

Belle just laughs. "I'm sure you'll find a way to manage," she says.

"I can think of a way you might help me manage," I say, my hand sliding up the middle of her back.

Belle moves away from me in tune with the music. "Nice try," she says laughing, as I pull her back. "At our parents' wedding?"

"If I recall correctly, the first time I made you come was at our parents' engagement party," I whisper into her ear. "You should be glad I didn't make you wear a vibrator tonight."

"You can't make me do anything," Belle says, laughing.

"I'll bet I can make you come," I whisper, pulling her close to me again. "Let's get out of here."

"Everyone will notice," she whispers.

"We've been on national interviews," I say. "And all over the internet. I'm pretty sure that everyone already knows we’re together.”

“You’re wicked,” she says, a smile on her lips.

“No, luv,” I say, pulling her close against me as the music shifts to a slower song. “Wicked would be if I told you what exactly I was thinking of doing to you right now.”

Alex comes into view beside us, slow-dancing with Max. “Get a room, you two,” she whispers.

“That’s what I’m trying to convince her to do, but she won’t listen,” I say.

Belle slaps me playfully on the arm. “It’s a breach of etiquette to leave,” she insists.

“There is no end to the number of etiquette rules we’ve broken, luv,” I say, laughing. “I’m with you. Alex is openly slow-dancing with her bodyguard. I think etiquette has gone out the window.”

“This family practically deserves a reality show,” she says.

“A Royal Scandal,” I suggest. “Happily Ever After with the Royal Family.”

“Don’t get any ideas.”

“All of my ideas right now involve you wearing considerably fewer articles of clothing.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“And I’m all yours, luv.”

“Lucky me,” she says, sarcastically.

I spin her around, my hand on her back, pulling her tightly against me. “No,” I say. “Lucky us.”

“That is the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard.”





CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Belle

One Year Later



I’m standing at the altar in Protrovia’s most historic and lavish church, in front of fifteen hundred people. There are throngs of people outside in the streets.

I should be practically doubled over now, crippled with panic doing this in front of everyone.

But Albie stands beside me, and I can’t keep my eyes off of him. He’s wearing full military dress, Navy blue with gold trim, saber at his side. He’s never looked more like a true royal than right now.

Classy, distinguished, mature.

He squeezes my hand, and leans over to whisper to me. “I just want you to remember that I love you,” he says.

“What did you do?” I whisper back.

“Quiet,” he says. “We’re at an important event.”

I glance to the side to see Alex, my maid of honor, smiling. Then I hear the titters of people in the crowd, white noise that ripples through the church.

I look up.

They’re laughing because Albie has done something totally unprecedented. I can’t imagine this has ever happened, in the history of royal weddings, around the world. I don’t know how many people he had to bribe to make it happen.

It’s not the priest standing in front of us right now, the one who was supposed to officiate the ceremony – the one who officially marries members of the royal family, important people.

Nope.

It’s Fake Elvis.

Fake Elvis is standing in the middle of this church, ready to marry Prince Albert and Princess Isabella of Protrovia.

Wearing a white and gold jumpsuit with so much bling it rivals any of the wedding party.

I turn to Albie, my eyes wide. “You did not get fake Elvis to officiate,” I whisper in disbelief.