Bad Boy Prince: A British Royal Stepbrother Romance (2 page)

I see three more people step onto the stage with us, and my eyes widen. Her Royal Highness Princess Camille Westwood-Connley, her husband Duke Bernard Connley in tow. A shy blonde with her handsome but awkward financier husband.

And then there’s…
God, he’s here?

I try not to stare, I really do.

But Prince Magnum is here in full effect, and damn if he isn’t even hotter than he was five years ago. He’s the very picture of suave, come to life: tall, tan, and built like a tank. His blond hair is cut high on the sides, but it’s left a little long on the top.

His tux is cut to emphasize every muscular inch of his six and a half foot frame. He’s got those high, sweeping European cheekbones and the kind of sharp jawline that makes male models jealous.

And when he turns those killer ocean blue eyes on me, I flush all over.

Yep, His Royal Highness Prince Alasdair Magnum Augustus Rex Westwood is only getting
better
with age. In upper forms he was a heartbreaker; now he’s fucking
devastating
.

I have a weird flashback moment.
Me giggling and trying not to moan aloud, Rex kissing my ear. We’re in a crowded movie theatre, but he doesn’t care. His hand is up my skirt, his tongue tracing my ear, and if he doesn’t stop soon I’m going to… going to…

Back in the present, I start to blush about ten shades of red. Could there be anything less appropriate for me to remember right now? This is neither the time nor the place for thinking about how Rex used to make me come, how he used to fuck me until I saw stars.

The solution is easy enough: I think about all the bad things that happened later, what led up to my running off to the States for college. Rex was a big, big part of that whole mess.

Which is one of many reasons why I wish like hell he wasn’t standing on this stage, why I wish he would stop glancing over at me, like he’s wondering if I’m
real
.

I should never have come back to Courtland.

For a panicky second, I start to wonder if my mum is about to announce something about me and the younger prince. A surprise engagement, a royal connection to redeem the Savilles once and for all?

But… that doesn’t make any sense.

And in the next moment, mum taps the mic and chuckles, bringing all eyes back to her.

“Yes, hello everyone. His Royal Highness Prince Archibald and I have a bit of an announcement to make, everyone,” she says, giving Prince Archie an affectionate glance. I get goosebumps, watching her dote on him. It’s… unnatural.

Everyone applauds politely; I wonder whether most of the people in this room already know what the announcement is going to be.

“We are betrothed!” Mum says, and my mouth goes dry. “Just three months from now, we’ll be married here in the Palace, with full honors. Mark your calendars for the first of May, everyone! It will be an event to remember.”

I am… absolutely, completely shocked…

And everyone in the room is watching my reaction.

Great.
Thanks, Mum
.

Everyone cheers and claps, and I’m just standing there in shock.

Why? Why would she want to do that? Prince Archie is a complete asshole; mum’s said that herself, hundreds of times.

I realize that I’m glaring at my mother. Once I force myself to blank my expression, I glance over at Prince Archie’s side of the stage.

His son and daughter are both glaring at him with the same degree of rage as I was just showing moments before.
So… maybe this is a surprise to them, too?

Or maybe neither of them wants to be tied to the Savilles. I mean, who would? I don’t, and I am one.

I bite my lip and try not to look in Rex’s direction.

“Thank you, everyone. Enjoy the party!” my mother announces at last.

And then I’m free. The crowd breaks up and I can’t get off the stage fast enough, ignoring my mum calling after me. I need something. Champagne. Maybe something harder.

It’s everything I can do not to run to the closest waiter. I snag a glass of champagne and give him an exasperated smile.

“I’d like something a little stronger. Could you bring a champagne cocktail out to the terrace?” I ask, pointing to the wide double doors that lead outside.

“Ma’am,” he says, inclining his head.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

I escape onto the terrace, walking out over the mosaic floor to the white marble balcony railing. I stand there and gulp deep breaths of air until I feel calm enough to turn and survey the guests milling around inside the ballroom.

I freeze.

I see a man with dark hair and an outmoded suit, and for just a second I think…

“Daddy?” I whisper into the night air.

I
don’t know
a thing about my father’s troubles until the Crown Police show up at the door of Auberge House. They throw open the big oak front doors, the headlights of their cruisers spilling in.

The small reflective patches on the officers’ midnight blue uniform jackets keep flashing, and from my hiding spot on the second floor landing, it’s a bit like watching lightning bugs winking in a darkened summer field.

I blink, and the lovely thought is gone.

The only thing left now is the apparent truth, and it is ugly indeed.

There I am, standing on the polished wood stairs in my bare feet, looking down into the foyer as the officers put my father in handcuffs.

My teenage gawkiness and lack of dress keeps me from stepping forward and saying all the things that are on the tip of my tongue:

Where are you taking him?

When will he be back?

Do you know where my mum is, then?

He hasn’t done it, you know. He can’t have done anything so bad as this.

There’s a moment, as they’re leading Daddy out into the chilly night, where he glances up and our gazes meet.

He looks… penitent.

He looks… broken.

Daddy doesn’t even say anything, doesn’t call out to me. Instead he lets the officers jerk him toward the front door, not uttering so much as a word.

Treason, my mother tells me when she gets home from the gala she attended. Her last hurrah, she calls it.

She’s drunk, breath hot with vodka as we sit in the gleaming, newly remodeled kitchen. She’s still in her black velvet ball gown, her shoes lying on the floor behind her. She’s pulled a crate of oranges out of the refrigerator, proceeding to peel them all and break up their segments.

She doesn’t eat any of them, she’s just mournful and flustered.

Unsure how to tell me what’s happened.

“What do you mean, treason?” I ask.

I pick lint off my Babar pajamas, careful to pick up all the bits of orange that my mother keeps dropping on the floor.

“He took quite a lot of money, darling, and some of that money was wrapped up in state projects,” she says, finally jamming one of the wedges of orange into her mouth. When she bites into it, juice runs down her chin. “Drat, my makeup.”

“Mummy, when is he coming back?” I ask, trying to understand.

She laughs.

“If he comes back, it will only be until the trial begins.”

“Trial?” I ask.

My mother slams an orange peel down on the counter.

“Honestly, Katherine. Keep up. Your father did something very, very stupid, and he got caught. He’ll be lucky if he ever gets out of prison.”

You’ll never see him again, is what I hear her saying. Her attitude says, and good riddance.

My heart hammers in my chest, and then the tears come.

“Everyone has to grow up some time,” Mum sighs as she watches me fold in on myself. “Welcome to our new life in disgrace, Katherine.”

I turn to flee, and she doesn’t try to stop me.

My heart hammers as I run and run…

I
press
my hand to my heart, willing it to slow its frantic pace.

Of
course
it isn’t my father. It will never be him, ever again. After the scandal erupted, he sent Mum and I away ‘for a vacation’. Then he filled his vintage Jaguar with exhaust fumes, got in, and drank whiskey until he fell asleep and stopped breathing.

My father always was a man with a plan…

Anyway, I’m entirely certain that he’s dead. I was the one who found him, after all.

These little visions I get, they’re just a quirk of mine. I once asked Mum if she ever has those moments, moments when she thinks she sees him, and she was aghast.

Just me, then.

Though this phenomenon has happened time and again, all over the world, my heart still beats wildly in my chest. I still find myself hovering between the terrace and the ballroom, looking for the man I saw. Just to be sure.

I heave a sigh and turn back toward the terrace, but fingers clamp onto my forearm like a vise.

“Kit, really,” Charles hisses. “Will you stop leaving me with all these strangers? It’s beyond rude.”

I bite my lip to hold in my sigh. I forget that Charles and I haven’t been announced officially, so he doesn’t know anyone in Courtland society and they won’t talk to someone without notable rank.

“Sorry,” I apologize. I’m forever apologizing to Charles, it seems. “Come outside with me, will you?”

It’s not an easy path from our current spot to the terrace. I’m stopped several times by old family friends, and I have to smile and make nice for a minute each time.

I am careful just to introduce Charles as my escort, nothing more. Boyfriends don’t exist in Valencia City, just escorts, fiancés, and husbands.

At last, we make it outside into the crisp night air. There are a few people gathered on the terrace, clustered here and there with their heads together, no doubt gossiping.

There’s plenty of scandal and intrigue to go around, so why not?

I lead Charles over to a quiet spot and lean against the stone balcony, downing most of my champagne in one go. Charles watches me, intent.

“What just happened back there?” he asks. “Did you just become a princess?”

I snort inelegantly. I hold my fingers up to tick off the list of inheritants to Courtland’s throne.

“Uh, no. The royal line proceeds by gender and by the age of the parent… it’s really confusing. There’s the King and Queen, then Prince Mercier, then Prince Archie. The next generation down is Prince Bramford, then Re— er, Prince Alasdair,” I say, correcting myself at the last second. Rex is too familiar, I don’t want Charles catching my bad habits. “Then Princess Camille. Unless Camille has a son, who would then bump Alasdair down.”

“I see,” Charles says, but clearly he doesn’t.

The waiter brings my champagne cocktail, and I sip it gladly. I wrinkle my nose, trying to figure out how to explain.

“So there have to be at least four royal heirs. There can be way more, once a new generation starts having children, but there are always at least four. Prince Bramford’s heirs come first, if they’re male, then Prince Alasdair. Unless Princess Camille has sons first, because she’s the oldest of the three…” I wave my hand. “It’s complicated. Nobody really understands it. But no, I’m definitely not a princess.”

“No, I guess you’re just the ugly stepsister, huh?” Charles jokes.

I sputter, and have to spit a mouthful of my drink onto the ground to avoid spitting it everywhere.

Stepsister. I’m going to be Rex’s stepsister?

Then,
oh god, I’ve fucked my future stepbrother?

“Katherine, calm down, it was just a joke,” Charles sighs, pulling out his pocket square. He unfolds it and hands it over with an impatient expression.

I glare at him as I use the linen to pat my mouth, careful not to smudge my Dior lipstick.

“I just hadn’t thought of it that way,” I say with a frown.

Who could have dreamed that I’d one day be related to the only guy I’ve ever slept with… not to mention the biggest asshole I’ve ever met… and the only one I’ve ever felt deeply, madly in love with?

Jesus, I really need to stop thinking about Rex in those terms. Except the asshole part, he’s absolutely earned that.

“Surely your mom told you something about this before tonight?” Charles asks, looking suspicious.

“Not a word,” I say with a shrug. “It a complete surprise to me, on several levels. I was under the impression that she loathed the Prince.”

Charles gives me this sort of disbelieving expression, and I shake my head.

“Not everyone comes from the perfect American dream family like you do, Charles. I told you how fucked up royalty can be; you knew all of this before you ever stepped foot on Courtland soil. Quit looking so shocked.”

“No need to scold me like a child,” Charles snaps.

I knock back the rest of my cocktail and straighten my spine. I have a lot on my mind right now, and no room for Charles’s pouting.

“We have to go back inside,” I tell Charles. “Stiff upper lip and all that.”

“I want to meet the Prince,” Charles says as we step back inside.

“I assure you, you do not.”

Charles scowls at me, but we’re around people now and he can’t argue without drawing attention. Instead he takes the pocket square I thrust at him, sticks it in his pocket, and brushes off his jacket.

Heaven forbid Charles not look perfect all the time
, I think, but I won’t let myself roll my eyes.

I’m nearly as bad as him, feeling the weight of the room’s gaze on my bare shoulders. Before I can get too anxious, I’m sucked into the social swirl. I don’t have to work too hard, just giving the same few answers over and over.

Doing quite well, thank you for asking.

Yes, I ran away to the States, ha ha ha. Yes, I did miss Courtland.

Yes, college at Brown University. Yes, I liked it.

I’m back in Courtland for good, yes.

This is Charles Ford, my escort for the evening.

Not engaged, no. Ha ha. I did like American men, yes.

And so on, different versions of that until I find myself getting a bit hoarse. I also keep downing champagne, but I can’t seem to get drunk. Not drunk enough for all of
this
, anyway.

After what feels like a damn lifetime of polite chit chat, Charles tugs at my elbow.
I haven’t seen him in almost an hour
, I realize belatedly.
Why is it so damned hard for me to notice my own fiancé-to-be??

He doesn’t give me a hard time for forgetting him, though. He glances around, seeming almost nervous, and jerks his head toward the exit.

“It’s almost ten. We should get going,” he says.

I arch a brow.

“Are you going to turn into a pumpkin, Cinderella?”

He smirks, but he also shuffles his feet, the very
picture
of discomfort.

“I’m still iffy about the time change,” he says with a shrug.

It’s a lie, and a bad one, but I want to leave just as badly as he does. I’ve managed to avoid my mum, Prince Archie, and Archie’s heirs, but at this point the crowd is starting to thin out and I’m really pushing my luck.

“Fine. Let’s go before my mum sees us trying to escape,” I say.

We make it all the way to the door before things go absolutely sideways.

“Charles Ford, I know you’re not trying to LEAVE!” comes a woman’s screech, cracking across the ballroom and killing every mote of conversation.

Charles and I turn as one. People step back, like a scene in a movie, and a curvy brunette stands there, pointing straight at Charles.

“Charles, what the hell,” I whisper.

He looks straight
terrified
, which makes my stomach sink.

Clad in a sapphire ball gown that pushes her cleavage up to the heavens, the brunette storms over to us. I know her a little, maybe. Dinah something?

She’s holding a tablet computer in one hand and still pointing at Charles as she steps right up to the both of us, a sneer on her face.

“You think you can just knock me up and then dump me for
her
?” Dinah snarls, pointing at me.

Every single pair of eyes in the room is glued on us. I can feel their excitement growing. This room is full of circling sharks, and they smell the blood in the water.

“What the hell is happening?” I ask, glancing nervously between them. “Charles?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know her,” he says, touching his throat. “Ma’am, you’re making a scene. We don’t know each other.”

“Sorry, is it Dinah?” I cut in.

“You,” she says, pointing her finger in my face. “You can’t even control your man? Letting him wander? You don’t
deserve
him. You’re both
trash
!”

My mouth opens in a horrified o. Footmen appear out of nowhere, taking Dinah by the arms.

“I have proof!” she cries, thrusting the tablet into my hands. “You’ll see! It’s his baby, it’s his! Fucking American coward!”

My hands shake as I grip the tablet, turning to watch as the footmen wrestle her out of the ballroom. I look at the crowd; everyone is staring right at me, hungry. They’re all desperate to see what’s on the tablet, I can tell.

“Katherine,” Charles says, reaching for the tablet.

“Don’t touch me,” I tell him, pulling back.

I can feel myself start to sag. My mouth is wobbly, my eyes burning. My face is hot; actually, my whole body is flushed with embarrassment. I wish that there would be an earthquake or a tsunami, something that would rip the palace in two, let the floor open up and swallow me whole.

Not again
, I think.
I can’t feel like this, not again
.

I wish I didn’t
exist
.

Oh, god. I’m going to cry in front of all these people. Please, god, no!

An arm wraps around my shoulders and I look up into Rex’s concerned face, his gorgeous navy eyes burning into my face.

“It’s you,” I mumble up at Rex.

A dimple flashes in his cheek, that strange humor of his.

I can’t handle this
. Everyone’s watching me, and now Rex is here, looking at me like that… It’s just too much for my poor heart to take at once.

A fat tear slips from the corner of my eye and slides down my cheek. I look down again, shaking my head.

All I can think is:
I can’t believe I’m back here again. I can’t believe that I’m about to be the subject of gossip and scorn again, after all my hard work to distance myself from my father’s legacy
.

“Come this way, Kit,” Rex says. “You’re making a scene.”

He gives me a little push. Suddenly I’m not rooted in place anymore, I’m in motion.

Hand on my lower back, Rex steers me out of the ballroom. In my peripheral vision, I can see that people are already starting to follow me into the hall.

Like people watching the princess run barefoot from the ball, all the bystanders are drawn to my tragedy like a moth to a flame.

“Katherine! Katherine, wait! Don’t—” Charles says, somewhere behind me. He goes quiet, but I can’t see what’s happening back there. Too busy putting one foot in front of the other, trying not to cry.

I suck in a breath and it hitches in my chest. I am genuinely about to go to pieces. Rex’s hand is warm and firm against my back, which somehow makes me feel even
worse
.

“Here, Kit,” Rex says, pulling me over to a door. He’s all steel command right now. Something he learned in military service, perhaps?

He opens the door and ushers me in, then closes it behind me. It’s some kind of storage room, filled with chairs and empty flower vases.

“Sit.” Rex pulls out a chair and puts me in it.

I drop the tablet onto my lap and press my hands to my eyes.

“Jesus, why is this happening to me?” I ask, my voice cracking.

I try to take deep breaths, try to calm down. The last thing I want in my life right now is to cry in front of Rex.

Rex blows out a breath of his own and sits down in the chair beside mine. We’re crushed together in the tiny closet, and he’s far too close to me. He produces a cigar and proceeds to light it, puffing thoughtfully.

“Rex, you can’t smoke in here,” I say, wrinkling my nose.

“I think I can,” he says with a shrug. “I am, in any case.”

Spoiled, privileged brat
.

I roll my eyes, trying not to look at the tablet in my lap. Some part of me already knows what’s on it, and I’m not quite ready to confirm my fears yet.

“Take a deep breath. You need to collect yourself,” he says.

I glare at him.

“Why are you here? Why are you… helping me, or whatever?” I ask.

He hesitates a beat, then shrugs.

“We’re family now, aren’t we?”

I can’t hold back the shudder that accompanies that word,
family
.

I’ve done things with Rex that family members should
not
do together.

I get a flash of our time in upper forms. Me straddling Rex in a chair, my Cotillion gown pushed up around my hips, my hands gripping his shaggy hair as I cry out his name.

Yeah, stuff like
that
. I need to get my mind out of the damn gutter.

“This isn’t quite the reunion I imagined we’d have,” he says, kicking his feet up and sucking on the cigar, before blowing a series of smoke rings.

“What other kind could there be,” I say, shaking my head. “Flowers and champagne?”

Rex’s brows rise.

“You’re awfully bitter for having been the one to run away,” he says.

His tone and expression are utterly casual, like he couldn’t give less of a shit what we’re talking about, but he’s tense. Angry.

I’m not the only one who regrets the whole affair, then.

Good. I hope he suffered, even a little bit.

“So, your American,” Rex says. “Is he worth keeping around?”

I frown.

“What do you mean?”

“Like… is he giving you something worth the embarrassment he’s causing you now? Is he fucking you properly, at least?”

I’m pretty sure I couldn’t look more shocked and scandalized at once if I tried.

“Shut up,” I say, looking away to hide the heat in my cheeks.