"We," she says, her hand going to her mouth.  "It's we, isn't it.  The wedding wasn’t a joke.  The two of you are together.”

"No," I say, my voice loud.  "The wedding was a joke.  That's all it was.  I didn't know he was a prince."

She's doesn't even register my protest.  "There will be a meeting, Isabella," she says.  "A family meeting.  A plan.  This entire thing is finished.  It will all be swept under the rug.  You'll need to do an interview, both of you – the PR team will decide all of that, of course.  Denial – that’s the best strategy here, I think.”

I can't hear anything she's saying, except bits and pieces of words: PR team…interview…family meeting.

All of it will be focused on Albie and I and our drunken marriage.

And our current relationship.

The tabloids will paint it into something dirty, something disgusting and reprehensible.  There will be more headlines like the one on the paper she's holding.  I can already picture them:

PRINCE AND SISTER: EXCLUSIVE DETAILS ABOUT TABOO ROYAL RELATIONSHIP

I think I'm going to be sick.

I run headlong for the bathroom.  My mother's voice still echoes through the room as she talks more to herself than to me, strategizing aloud.  I heave up the contents of my stomach.

Panic clutches at my chest like a vise, gripping my heart as I kneel on the floor.  I try to gulp oxygen into my lungs, but I can't seem to breathe.

I can't do this.  I can't be the center of a media scandal.

I can't have my relationship with Albie laid out before the whole world like it's something tawdry.

I haven't even sorted out how I feel about Albie, whether it’s just fantastic sex, or whether the way he makes me feel means it’s everything.

And I can’t figure that out with the entire world watching us.

I just can’t.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Albie

“I had to talk to you, before all of…whatever the hell is going to happen today."  Every word I utter seems to be punctuated by the pounding base drum playing in my head right now, but all I can think about is what's going through Belle's mind as she stands in front of me.

Belle looks…tired.  And worried.

"You have to go," she says, her voice strained.  "Christine or someone else from the PR team is going to be here in my room any second now."

"Belle."

She looks away from me.  "No," she says.  "You shouldn't be in here."

"Belle, look at me."  I walk across the room and take her hands in mine.  "This doesn't change anything."

"What are you talking about?" she asks, her voice high-pitched.  "Of course it does.  It changes everything."

"It'll be fine," I tell her.  I'm not sure whether I'm lying more for her benefit, or for mine.  "It's just –"

"My mother came in here," she says.  "She accused us of destroying her relationship with your father.  It's in the papers, Albie.  It’s all over the internet.”

"That part wasn't me," I say.  "Look, I told my father, but Derek or someone at the party must have leaked the rest to the press, or gotten them interested enough to really start digging."

"You told your father?"  She shakes off my hands and slowly steps backward, looking at me with a horrified expression.

"I told him we got married," I say.

I left out the rest.

I'm fucking Belle. 

I can't stop thinking about Belle.

I think I might be in love with Belle.

"How could you do that?" she asks, her brow furrowed.  She brings her hand to her mouth as she shakes her head.  "Get out."

"Belle," I start.  "I don't care who knows."

"You don't care?" she yells, choking on her words.  I think she might cry, but she doesn't.  She looks at me, angry.  "Didn't you ever think about whether I might care?  Or what it would mean to your parents?"

"Aren't you tired of hiding from everyone?" I ask.  "It's out in the open now."

“What’s out in the open?” she asks.  “The fact that we’re fucking?  You had no right to put it out there, to decide that I wanted that out in the open.  My sex life – our sex life -- is no one else’s business.”

“We did a little more than just screw, Belle,” I say.

Maybe that’s all it is to her.  Maybe all it’s been is screwing.

“We got married in Vegas while we were drunk,” she says.  “We had a little fun screwing around after that.  But that’s all it is.”

“Is that all it is?”

Her jaw clenches, and she looks away.  “That’s all it has to be.”

"Are you getting back with that asshole fiancé?" I ask.

"What?" she squeals.  "Are you insane?  Of course not.  This isn't about Derek."

"That guy doesn't deserve you."

I want to deserve you.

"I didn't need rescuing," she says.  "You just – you ran in there and punched him, out of some misguided notion that you needed to defend my honor and now everything's out in the open.  Everyone knows, Albie."

"I know you don't need rescuing," I say.  My frustration is mounting.  "I was coming down here to tell you that – fuck, this is not how I saw this conversation going."

“I don’t want my romantic exploits spread all over the media!”

"You think I wanted this all over the papers, Belle?" I ask.

"I don't know what you –"

The knock at the door interrupts whatever she was going to say, and she looks with something like regret before walking to the door and opening it.  She pulls open the door, apparently not caring if someone sees me in here with her.

Christine, the head of the PR team, looks back and forth between us, obviously uncertain about what's going on.  "Oh," Christine says.  "If you're busy…"

"It's fine," Belle says.

It’s the opposite of fine.  Everything right now is as un-fine as it can get.

"Great."  Christine looks at her notepad, barely glancing at Belle and I.  "Obviously, Erika is on her way here."

"Erika who?"

"The girlfriend," she says.

I hold up my hand.  "She's not my girlfriend," I say.  "And why in the world is she on her way here?"

"Girlfriend or not, she's your best way of explaining this entire thing away, and –"

"Get out."  Belle's voice is firm, echoing through her room.

"Erika is not coming here," I say.  "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.  If that's the PR plan here, that's ridiculous."

"Get out, please," Belle says.  She doesn't look at either of us.  "Now."

"Erika will stand by your side," Christine says.  "We've already leaked your engagement to the press."

"You did what?" I yell.  "Who in the world told you to do that?"

"Get out!" Belle screams.  Everything goes silent.  "Now.  Get the hell out of my room, Christine."

"Belle, I –" I start.  I want to grab her by the arms and tell her that all of this will be fine.  None of it means anything to me.

"You too," she says.  "Just go."

Christine is on me immediately, nonstop talking as she takes my arm before we even leave Belle's room.  But I don't hear a word she says.

The only thing I care about right now is Belle.