Prince Albert: A Billionaire Stepbrother Romance by Sabrina Paige Page A

table.  She rattles off the names and positions of the grandmother, two aunts, an uncle, and three cousins.  I nod, feigning interest in the social pleasantries but mostly just distracting myself from the incessant throbbing between my legs.
    “Oh Albert, you are always such a gentleman.”  Albie’s grandmother beams at Albie, adoration written all over her face.  She’s regal, poised from head to toe, dressed in a cream-colored suit with a single strand of pearls, her grey hair pulled up into a loose bun.
    Her words bring a fresh snort from Alexandra, and I wonder what she suspects, or if she’s just being obnoxious.
    “Yes, you’re quite considerate, Albert,” my mother says before turning to put her hand on the king’s arm.  King Leopold looks at her and smiles, obviously smitten with her.
    “Isabella, I was told you’ve spent the last few years doing charity work.”  One of the aunts, Victoria something-or-other, interrupts.
    “Oh, I adore charity work,” the blonde cousin says.  The cousins are triplets, two blondes and a brunette, with matching names: Lily, Rose, and Violet.  “I just love all of the dinner parties and fundraising.  In Paris once, we – oh, what was your cause?”
    “My cause?” I ask, looking at her blankly.
    “Your charity,” Lily says, staring at me.  “Your cause.  Hunger, shoes for poor children, whatever.”
    “I wasn’t actually hosting parties and fundraising,” I say, starting to explain what I’d been doing the last two years.
    “Oh,” Rose says, her brow furrowed.  “What kind of fundraising were you doing?”
    My mother interrupts.  “Isabella means to say that she was working with a non-profit group.”
    “Working?” the dark-haired triplet, Violet, asks.  Her nose wrinkled, she looks at me like I’m a different species.  “Working, as in a job ?”
    “I was working, yes,” I say.  This entire conversation is beginning to sound surreal.  “In Africa, actually.”
    “Isabella,” my mother says, her voice unnaturally bright.  “You must tell us all about it later, perhaps at a time other than when we’re celebrating.”
    “I would love to hear about Africa sometime, Isabella,” the King says, his voice warm.  “There’s an aid organization from Protrovia that you might have worked with.  From what your mother has told me, I believe they may have been in the same region you were.”
    “You were in Africa?” The King’s mother sniffs.  “Isn’t that rather dangerous?”
    “Actually, I –“ I start, before my mother interrupts.
    “His Royal Highness tells me you’re spending the fall semester in Paris,” my mother says, directing her attention to Lily.
    Lily rolls her eyes.  “I guess,” she says.  “Semester abroad and all that.  I’m supposed to expand my horizons.  It’s not like I haven’t been to Paris a million times before.”
    The triplets sound bored with everything – bored with this dinner, bored with the company, bored with their wealth, bored with their lives.  They’re every kid of every socialite parent I attended high school with in Manhattan.
    “I’m going to New York,” Violet interrupts, leaning forward.  “Back to design school.”
    “I don’t know what you’re going to do with fashion design,” the king’s mother says.  “In my day, women of means learned certain things.  These art degrees and –“
    “By your day, I assume you mean the eighteen hundreds.”  Violet snickers into her napkin.
    “Don’t get uppity,” Albie’s grandmother scolds.  “New York City is no place for someone of your stature.”
    “Oh, I don’t know, Lady Margaret,” my mother says, her tone frosty.  “It was good enough for a future queen, so I’m sure Violet’s American education will be more than sufficient.”
    The King clears his throat.  “I’ve heard that you’ve also done very well in school, Rose.”
    “Thank you, Your Royal Highness,” Rose sniffs, glaring at her