Bad Boy Prince: A British Royal Stepbrother Romance

by Vivian Wood

  “What?” he asks. “You don’t like coffee anymore?”

  It was one of the things we bonded over in school. We both used to sneak off school grounds and run into one another at the closest coffee shop, both jiving for some caffeine.

  “I do. I just… I drink it black, usually.”

  Rex’s dimple flashes.

  “I seem to remember you drinking the girliest, sweetest lattes they had. Triple peppermint mocha frappa-whatsits,” he teases.

  “You remember that?” I ask, frowning when I realize that he’s fully dressed. Not just dressed, but wearing a vest, dress pants, and a button up with a tie. Damn, he does clean up nicely. “Where are you going?”

  “Not me, we. We have been summoned to the palace. I called Marj and had your suitcase brought over,” he says, glancing at me. “Much as I like you in my pajamas, Kitten.”

  “Rex…” I growl.

  “Don’t fucking call me that,” he says, doing an unflattering imitation of me. “Get dressed. Actually, take a shower, Grandmother will be livid if she gets within a foot of you. There’s vodka coming out your pores, Kitten.”

  I close my eyes and take a big sip of the coffee. It’s super sweet, but at least it’s coffee.

  When I open them again, Rex is shoving a towel into my free hand.

  “We have to be at the palace in an hour,” he says. “Get fucking moving.”

  I set my coffee on his bedside table, jump up, and grab my wheeled suitcase. As I head for the bathroom, he stops me.

  “Go to the guest bathroom,” he says, looking at me with derision. “This is my flat, not your university dorm. Jesus.”

  I flush, but I’m not about to give him the fight he’s so clearly angling for. I don’t have time for it. No one, and I mean no one, is late to see the King and Queen.

  And yet, somehow, when we step into the anteroom where we’re supposed to wait… we are late. I run a hand down my white peplum dress, the only thing in my suitcase that was presentable enough for being called to stand before Courtland’s sovereign rulers.

  It’s not my fault we’re late, not really. The water ran cold, the dress had to be de-wrinkled, my makeup took forever. Then we had to stop for gas…

  None of which the queen will care about, I’m pretty sure.

  Then there was the silence in the car. I can tell that there’s something on Rex’s mind, something other than our being summoned to the castle.

  That bit can’t be new to him; I admit that I’ve stalked him a bit online here and there, and it seems like he’s been in trouble just about every minute since I left. I imagine that his grandparents have given him more than an earful about it, not that Rex seems to have paid a lot of attention.

  Still, he snapped at me repeatedly on the way to the palace, so now we’re sitting in uncomfortable overstuffed chairs, glaring at the golden wall paper in this tiny sitting room. Waiting to be called into the queen’s sitting room.

  Sometimes it hits me suddenly: my life is really fucking weird sometimes.

  “Are you going to tell me why you’re mad?” I ask, staring straight ahead.

  “No. I’m not mad.”

  I glance at him, he’s gripping the arm of the chair so hard that I can see every vein popping out of his hand and wrist.

  “Liar.”

  He doesn’t respond. I wait, but nothing. There’s this horrible tension between us, sucking up all the air, strangling us. I wonder if it’s like an infection, that we need to purge and cleanse in order to heal.

  Then again, what do I really care? My story with Rex ended a long time ago. It’s over and done. I need to start a new chapter…

  What, with a new beau? Alone, traveling the world?

  Am I going to Eat, Pray, Love myself into being a better, happier version of me?

  I give an amused snort.

  “What?” Rex sighs.

  “Nothing. Having my own private thoughts, over here.”

  He scowls, sinking lower in his chair.

  “You are insufferable,” he tells me, completely unamused.

  I cant my head, watching him for a moment.

  “That’s what it is,” I say, my lips pulling into a frown. “You’ve lost your sense of humor.”

  “That’s not true,” he says, pressing his fingertips to the bridge of his nose.

  “It is. What little you have left is morbid.”

  He looks up at me, his sapphire eyes flaring with rage.

  “Well, Lady Katherine, maybe if your best friend had died in your arms, you’d be morbid too.”

  “Oh, Rex, I didn’t mean—”

  “Stop. Talking.”

  I pull up short at his tone.

  “You’re a dick, Alasdair Westwood.”

  He flashes those perfect teeth in a dangerous smile.

  “Now you’re getting it, Lady Katherine.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “There’s no making you happy, is there? I already knew that, though.”

  My mouth opens in outrage, but at that moment the Queen’s secretary sweeps the doors open.

  “The Queen awaits you,” he says, giving us a little bow.

  I snap my mouth closed and rise, trying not to fidget. I’ve done all I can to be impressive physically, now I need to dazzle with my personality.

  Assuming that the regents aren’t about to announce that I’m being beheaded, or something.

  Can that still happen in modern-day Courtland? I don’t think it can. I hope not, anyway.

  Rex trails behind me as I sweep into the Queen’s sitting room. To my shock, she’s dressed in a nearly informal steel-gray pantsuit, sitting and waiting…

  With my mother and Prince Archie at her side. Prince Archie is dressed in his usual drab suit, his bald head gleaming in the morning sunlight. Mum is dressed in a conservative navy skirt suit, her hair in a low knot and her makeup subdued.

  It’s a far cry from her usual vibrant sundresses and colorful accessories, that’s for sure. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen her without her trademark faux eyelashes.

  She looks like a stranger.

  I rub my bare arms as I continue into the room, already overwhelmed. The King is nowhere to be seen, presumably too busy for an audience with the likes of me and Rex.

  “Katherine,” the Queen says, giving me a downright regal nod. “Alasdair. Sit, please.”

  I know that I’m twenty four years old and by this age it shouldn’t thrill me to be so close to the Queen herself, but I can’t stop myself from grinning like an idiot as I take my seat.

  Queen Alison folds her hands in her lap and gives us a grave look.

  “You two are in serious trouble, I’m afraid.”

  I literally start to sweat. I can’t help it; this is the monarch of my country.

  I glance at Rex. He is completely impassive, and I find myself itching to strangle him.

  Bastard. How can he walk through the world so unaffected by everything around him?

  “Darling, the press caught every single thing that happened last night,” my mother says.

  She leans forward and shoves a few tabloids into my shaking hands. I look down at them, and they are pretty awful.

  Me, taking at swing at Charles. Me, red-faced and screaming, pointing my finger in a photographer’s face.

  Damn, I look drunk. Not exactly my best side.

  “And Alisdair… I don’t even know where to start,” Prince Archie growls. “After the conversation we had only yesterday…”

  The Prince holds up a huge glossy magazine that shows Rex carrying me in his arms. Our surroundings are so dark and the angle is so bad, you actually can’t tell that it’s me.

  PRINCE MAGNUM ABDUCTS MYSTERY BLONDE, the headline screams.

  I wince and glance at Rex apologetically. I fully expect him to sell me out, give me up with a bit of his usual asshole snark.

  But he doesn’t. He examines the photo and then shrugs.

  “That’s it?” Prince Archie asks. He
starts to go red at the collar, baring his teeth as he speaks. “Alasdair, I don’t think you appreciate just how bad this press is for us.”

  “For you, you mean?” Rex asks.

  He doesn’t move, doesn’t cross his arms or pout, but his voice is openly hostile. I wonder what that’s about. Prince Archie has always been a blowhard, but he and Rex used to have a kind of respect between them.

  Before I can linger on that topic, Prince Archie shoots to his feet. He comes to stand over Rex, uncomfortably close to both of us. He shoves a finger in Rex’s face and proceeds to absolutely lose his cool.

  “You are such a WORTHLESS piece of GARBAGE, you know? And of course the second SHE is back in town, you’re running around with her!”

  I am the very picture of shock when the Prince points to me, bringing me right into it all.

  “Father, don’t.” Rex’s voice is flat, and he’s ignoring the screaming and finger pointing, but I can see him starting to flush with anger.

  “I thought we SETTLED this already! You are to stay out of the FUCKING PAPERS. You are to marry a RESPECTABLE GIRL. And you are to stop being such a FUCKING PROBLEM for the family. If your mother could see you now—”

  “Don’t talk about her,” Rex growls. “You don’t talk about my mother, you prick.”

  For a second, I think Prince Archie is going to actually go apoplectic, pop a vein in his big bald head or something. I look over to my mother, trying to gauge her reaction to the Prince’s complete loss of self-control.

  She’s looking off in the distance, like suddenly this painting of King Gregor XVI is super interesting. Avoiding the whole situation, just putting it out of her mind.

  No concern that he’s actually partially screaming at her own daughter in the process…

  “GROUNDED!” he screams.

  “Now, Archie,” the Queen says, looking a little worried. “Don’t overdo it. Your heart, you know.”

  “What.” Rex sighs the word at his father, and it’s not a question.

  “You and Lady Katherine are GROUNDED. Her things will be moved into your flat at Canal Place. You two are going to stay there, together. And you’re not LEAVING, with the exception of royal events to which you have been SPECIFICALLY invited,” Prince Archie declares, turning to pace the room.

  “For how long?” Rex asks, a muscle ticcing in his jaw.

  “Three months! Until the wedding is past,” the Prince says, a satisfied gleam in his eyes.

  What? Three months, trapped in an apartment with Rex?

  No no no, that cannot happen.

  “Mum…” I say, trying to get her to jump in and intercede.

  My mother inhales, nostrils flaring, and then forces a bland smile.

  “It’s for the best, honey,” she tells me, not meeting my gaze. “It’s this, or head back across the pond to the States.”

  My face heats. I’m starting to get pissed now. The grounding is one thing; Mum refusing to stick up for me is a whole other issue.

  “What about my new job?” I ask, crossing my arms. Unlike Rex, I am more than happy to show my displeasure through childish posture and pouting.

  “Katherine,” my mother says, clearing her throat. “You’re working on a fashion line. You can have your office at Canal Place, I’m sure. The point of this isn’t to make a thousand little rules, it’s to keep you out of the press.”

  Prince Archie seems to have calmed himself somewhat by now, and he comes back around to stand behind Mum’s chair with a smarmy smile.

  “I’ve spoken with King Percival at length on this matter, and he agrees. If either of you steps out of line, you’ll be stripped of your title.”

  “You can’t!” I say, shoving out of my chair.

  It’s not as impressive when I do it, being all of five feet. Archie sneers at me, even as he presses a hand to my mother’s shoulder.

  A clear display of possessive dominance, if I’ve ever seen one.

  “I absolutely can, and certainly will,” he says grimly, crossing his arms and giving me a considering look. “Honestly, after all the trouble you’ve caused, your mother is the only reason you’re standing here right now instead of reading a letter discussing your loss of rank. I’m sorry to say that I think you run rather closer to your father’s temperament than your dear mother’s.”

  How dare he bring my father into this?

  I make a strangled sound, anger shaking me to my core. The only thing that keeps me from launching myself at Archie and trying to hurt him is Rex’s hand on my wrist.

  Rex reaches out and grabs me, yanking me a step closer to his chair.

  Prince Archie, the Queen, and my mother all lock onto where his hand grips me. All three of them look at us with such disgust and disdain, like Rex touching me is somehow wrong.

  Like Mum and Archie are the center of the universe, and the rest of us just gravitate around them. They can make all the rules, rewrite history…

  A history they don’t even know about, when it comes to me and Rex.

  Queen Alison recovers first, giving us a forced smile.

  “So. You two are responsible for one another now. Where one goes, the other goes. If one falls from grace, so does the other.” She pauses and purses her lips. “Have I made myself perfectly clear?”

  “Crystal,” Rex and I say in unison.

  The Queen gives us a skeptical look, then shakes her head.

  “You’re dismissed. We will see you both at the charity gala.”

  She stands, and then everyone is standing and bowing, and the Queen’s secretary is shooing Rex and I out the way we came.

  Rex storms off, leaving me to follow in the wake of his furious curses. When we climb back into his car, he pulls out of the front drive with a squeal of tires.

  “Put your fucking belt on,” he grits out.

  “Jesus, slow down,” I say, scrabbling to get the seat belt across my body. “Are you mad?”

  “As a fucking hatter, Kitten. I’d think you’d know that by now,” he growls. “Now be good girl and stop talking to me for a bit.”

  That shuts me right up. I cross my arms and stare out the window, fuming the whole way to Rex’s apartment.

  When we finally walk out of the glass elevator and into the marble foyer of Rex’s apartment, we find several people moving boxes and garment racks inside.

  Some of the same boxes and garment racks I’d never unpacked at the apartment I shared with Charles, it appears.

  “Damn, the palace moves fast,” Rex sighs, skirting two men wrestling an oversized trunk inside. “You have too much stuff, Kit.”

  “This isn’t even a quarter of it, I assure you.”

  I follow the movers and see that they’re putting trunks and boxes in neat stacks in the biggest guest bedroom, the one that could double as a second master.

  I should dig up all my work stuff right away, and have them bring my drafting table over… I think.

  Rex is behind me, suddenly, close enough to send a shiver up my spine.

  “Coffee?” he asks.

  I turn and look up at him, and something electric passes between us.

  “Okay,” I find myself saying, all thoughts of productivity fleeing.

  I follow him back into the kitchen. The apartment is made for entertaining, with a big open kitchen, a slick fully stocked bar, and a huge open concept lounge area grouped around a big drop-down TV screen.

  “Sit,” Rex says, pointing to the long marble bar counter that defines the beginning of the dark-tiled kitchen.

  I pull out a chair and sit to watch him take out a coffee grinder, a French press, and a kettle. He proceeds to put the kettle on, then he turns and gives me a long look.

  Folding his muscular arms across his chest, he leans against the kitchen counter.

  “We need to set some ground rules here,” he says.

  I roll my eyes and cross my own arms, giving an undignified snort.

  “What, you’re worried I’m going to intrude on your party schedule her
e?” I challenge him. “We’re both grounded like teenagers, if you’ll remember.”

  Those deep blue eyes drop from my eyes to my mouth, then my chest, and lower. He sighs.

  “I have a lot going on in both my personal and professional life, and I don’t see any reason why you should intrude on that,” he says.

  “Right,” I say, waving a hand. “Because this is what I wanted, being trapped here with you.”

  A dimple flashes in his cheek, and I know he’s about to say something bad.

  “I can think of worse fates. At least we both know you find me interesting.”

  Ah. Well that wasn’t so bad, I think.

  “And by that, I mean you think I’m the sexiest man you’ve ever seen,” he finishes. “I know it’ll be hard, but you’re going to have to try to keep your hands to yourself, Kit.”

  My look of angry surprise makes him laugh.

  “You are so full of yourself!” I manage.

  “You don’t deny it, though.” I want to smack the smug male satisfaction right off his face. “Chemistry might never die, but that doesn’t mean you can be throwing yourself at me every minute of the day.”

  “I would never!” I cry.

  “No? What about last night?” he asks.

  I make a strangled sound. “You kissed me, asshole!”

  “I remember it differently,” he says.

  “In your fucking dreams,” I grit out.

  He looks contemplative for a moment.

  “I mean, sometimes,” he says with a smirk and a shrug. “Can’t control my dreams. I’m only human, and I have so much history to reflect on…”

  “You aren’t seriously telling me that you fantasize about our shitty teenage… fling,” I hiss.

  “Isn’t a fling just a few times?” he asks. “That doesn’t seem right. How many times do you think I had you, Kitten? A dozen? Maybe more.”

  The kettle whistles. Rex turns his back on my expression of outrage and grinds some coffee, then pours the boiling water and coffee into the French press.

  When he turns around and sees that I’m still beyond pissed, he laughs.

  Dick.

  “Are you going anywhere with this delightful little chat?” I ask. “Or are you just… I don’t know, gloating?”

  “Yes. I have a full work schedule the next few weeks. It’s posted on the door to my office, next to the bedroom you’ve taken over.” He opens a cabinet and pulls out two matching white mugs. “I don’t care what hours you keep, but I expect respectful silence on the nights before I have to work early.”