My Stepbrother, His Highness: A Royal Stepbrother Billionaire Bad Boy Romance

by Victoria Cabot

  “That’s the young girl that became a princess after her mother married your dad, right?” Christine asked. “Yeah, I remember seeing that in the news. Oh my God, you guys would make a really cute couple.”

  “You’re not disgusted?” I asked, raising my eyebrow.

  “Well, what if you had met before your parents?” She asked me.

  I thought about that. I had never thought about that before; despite all the other things I’d thought about. “If I had met her before my Dad met her Mom, I would have had a much easier last few years.”

  “Well then, what the hell are you doing here getting drunk with me?”

  The question had merit and I realized that she had a point. It was time to go see Becca and come clean about everything. To apologize for having to walk out on her. To tell her I’d never leave her side again.

  “Thanks love,” I said getting up and kissing the back of her hand. She giggled at the attention. “Pass me your phone number, I’ll see what I can do about your boyfriend,” I said by way of greeting as I rushed out of the bar. I had to get back to Becca.

  My head mostly cleared through clarity and focus of purpose. In my mind, I knew exactly what I was going to do and say. I could even picture exactly what Becca would do.

  How she would melt into my arms.

  How she would feel as I held her close to my body.

  How I would fuck the living daylights out of her with my thick 10-inch cock.

  I can’t lie if I say I didn’t get a bit hard thinking about it as I drove into the cul-de-sac in which she lived.

  As I pulled my bike up to the curb, I saw that Pearson’s car was in the driveway. I felt bad that I had asked him to pack my stuff when I was just going to be unpacking it all again shortly. That reminded me, I had to call my father. I resolved to do that once I talked to Becca.

  I walked into the house and ran into Pearson coming down the stairs.

  “Ah, Prince Silas, I was just on my way to the establishment you had mentioned,” he said calmly and with a smile, “But I see you’re already here.”

  “Pearson, where’s Becca?” I asked, not sure why he was so cheerful. “It’s urgent that I speak with her.”

  Pearson stopped short as if I’d hit him with a glove. “Your Highness, Princess Becca has made her way towards the St. Penares. I thought she spoke to you earlier. I am sorry, sire.”

  I froze. Something wasn’t right. The love of my life didn't up and decide to head to St. Penates for no reason. “Did she say why she was going?” I asked.

  “She mentioned something about visiting her mother,” Pearson said, clearly agitated. “She seemed in a hurry.”

  Something didn't make sense to here. Damn it if it hadn’t all starting to go to shit once I had met Becca. Why couldn't she let me be unhappy and miserable on my own? Why did I have to fuck up chances at happiness whenever I got the opportunity to?

  “Pearson, have you had any indication why Becca might be going to St. Penares?” I asked my manservant, hoping something would shed some light.

  There was a moment of hesitation on his part, as if he were wrestling with some inner demons. “Sir,” he began slowly. “I apologize for what I’m about to tell you.”

  Jesus fucking Christ. I sat down on the couch, taking deep breaths, waiting for whatever Pearson was about to tell me.

  “When I came in earlier today, I found the Princess watching an old interview of you while you were in Afghanistan,” Pearson said. I looked at him in concern. “It was an interview while you were in the Special Forces and it was on a website that I had not found in time to delete. I am sorry I hadn’t been able to carry out your instructions fully, sire.”

  I froze, not knowing what to say. I was supposed to come here and confess my sins to Becca. Had she been digging and found them out on her fucking own? It became even more important to talk to her.

  “Where is she?” I asked, my heart rate increasing dramatically.

  “Sire, she left to go find you. She told me she was getting a taxi to the airport where the Queen had chartered a jet for her, and I was to pick up her vehicle from the Applebee's that you were currently in.”

  “Wait, she was there?” I got to my feet. “If she came at the wrong moment, then it probably wouldn’t have looked good for me.”

  Pearson shook his head. “I don’t know about that, sire. All I do know is that upon finding out that the video was to be deleted but hadn’t she went to find you. She called me very shortly after to tell me that she was going to St. Penares and to pick up her vehicle.”

  Wait. How had Becca gotten the information about the video from Pearson. The man was normally as tight-lipped as they came – a necessity when working for me. I didn’t bother pressing the issue further. What was important was that I had taken a situation that could have been happy and amazing and I had fucked it up, like I had done with so much of my life till date. But unlike other times, this time I was going to fix it.

  “Pearson,” I said to him resolved to clean up my mess once and for all. “Let’s go to St. Penares.”

  If I claimed that I didn’t want to down the bottle of scotch on the plane as I sat there, trying to dial Becca’s phone number and not getting any response, I would have been lying. I wanted to get so blasted drunk that I’d be comatose. I wanted to forget my life and what I’d done to hurt the woman I loved. I wanted to, no, I needed to make this better. It wasn’t just about me – it was a much bigger ballgame at this point. But as anguished as the situation was and as fucked up I had made it, I realized that the booze wouldn’t do anything. I was free of its grasp and no longer needed it as a crutch. If somehow I managed to fix this entire situation then I had a much stronger support system in place with an angel of a woman who would remove the need for me to ever get drunk to forget my past. With her I felt like the old Prince that I had forgotten was inside me. With her, I felt complete.

  10 hours later, the Gulfstream touched down into Royal St. Penares International Airport. It was another lovely day in the island – three-fourths of the year saw the temperature anywhere from 60 to 80 degrees and I realized that I was home as I got out of the plane. But I couldn’t let thoughts of home cloud my judgment. I was a man on a mission. I was out to save our future.

  14

  Becca

  "Honey, are you sure you're okay?" my mom asked me for what felt like the tenth time in the six hours since I had been back.

  I had been busy once I got back. I had asked Mother to provide me with an assistant who would be able to help me with my day to day needs.

  "Oh, of course dear!" she had exclaimed when I had gotten off the plane and hugged her and then proceeded to make the request. "You got it!"

  My mother began to think that after a long period of nothing to do with the royal family of St. Penares I was finally coming around. Whatever. I let her think that if it made her happy. It's not that I actively hated the life of the royal family. But the lifestyle never had much attraction for me, who was introverted by nature - or so I thought.

  One thing was for sure as I sat in my mother's chambers - when you wanted to get a lot of work done, the additional bodies helping you definitely helped. And I had gone through a lot of work. The assistant that Mother had assigned me was named Clara. She was a young transplant from France that had studied in America and was roughly my age. She had had extensive media training and had been working in the Press office before coming to me. Her eyes popped open when she saw the casual way in which I acted. I set her to research everything she could about Silas. I put her to work in pulling his war records from the Ministry of Defense, the history of Special Forces Team 3, all the news articles ever printed about him, and even his high school transcripts.

  I was going to get to the bottom of why the man I thought was perfect was suffering. Because it took someone who was suffering to do the things Silas did, poisoning himself daily and playing with the hearts of other human beings.

  "I'm fine Mom," I said back to
her, looking at my phone to see an email from Clara with the latest data on Silas. "I'm just getting away for a while to clear my head."

  "Are you running away from something dear?" she asked, giving me a knowing smile.

  I remained silent, not knowing what to say. My Mom gave me a knowing look.

  "What's his name?" she asked with a sigh and a small smile.

  I sighed too. Was I really that obvious and transparent?

  "It's not important," I said, not wanting to broach the fact that I had lost my virginity to my stepbrother. There's no blood relation, but I didn't want to distract my Mom from the issue at hand.

  "Well whoever he was, Becca, I'm sure you knew what you were doing," Mom went on. "I'm hoping you were safe."

  Typical Mom. She might be a Queen and all, but a part of her is still the Midwestern Mom from St. Louis.

  "Yes, Mother," I said rolling my eyes. "We were safe. Don't worry."

  "Oh, I'm not worried dear," she clarified. "I'm actually so relieved. For so long you've stayed in this shell. You've come out of it slowly and surely, but you'll need life experiences like these in order to grow and mature as a woman."

  I stared at her, realizing the truth behind her words. "Whoever the man was, all I'd ask you is to not push him completely out, even though it may seem like that's all he deserves right now, dear," Mom counselled. "Men are like that. They don't think before they do. They just do. And it's frustrating. They think too little and then look to women for help in cleaning up their messes."

  I cracked a brief smile, her words resonating with me.

  "Honestly, if they had they're way, the entire world would be a one-way street so they'd never have to make any decisions. Because throw in one wrong option and you can be sure they're going to make it if it isn’t for the women in their lives, guiding them," my mom continued, looking at me as if she had wanted to have this conversation for a long time.

  I remained silent, thinking of all the wrong decisions I had made, deciding to trust Silas.

  "And it's normal to think that we're the ones that made the wrong decision, dear," my mom said, almost as if reading my thoughts. I looked up at her in shock. "We can't help it. We want to fix everything so,we usually blame ourselves too quickly."

  "Then what do you do to get over it?" I asked.

  She smiled and came over to sit next to me on the bed. "You have to remember why you were attracted to the man in the first place, sweetie," she said wrapping her arms around me. "And then you have to decide that if he were to apologize and never make that mistake ever again if you'd be okay taking him back. Be really honest with yourself. And if the answer is yes, then close your eyes and forgive him. Because nine times out of ten, he's kicking himself harder for messing up than you are."

  I hugged my mom, burying my face in her shoulder. Tears came down, but I realized I had a decision to make. She held on to me, and the both of us sat there for a while, just holding each other and basking in each other's presence. It had been so long since we were together, and I thought back to those days when it was just me and her. Sure, I was happy for her now that she found a man she loved and was living comfortably. But a part of me just wanted to have her in my life and never share her with anyone else, ever again.

  It was similar to what I felt with Silas, only with him it was on a more primal level. Where I just wanted to be with him completely, almost as if we were merged into one person.

  I sighed as I pulled back, realizing I had a lot of work to do.

  I walked back to my chambers pondering these thoughts as Clara looked up to see me and smiled.

  "There you are!" she beamed. "I think you'll be surprised at the amount of stuff I was able to dig up and find on His Highness, Your Highness," she said.

  I cleared my head. I still had a job to do in figuring out the enigma that was Silas D'Avington.

  "Let's just call him Silas between the two of us right now, shall we?" I asked sweetly, not letting her know that all of this 'Your Highness' business was starting to confuse me when listening to people speak.

  Clara nodded. "Absolutely, Your Highness. Now about His - er- Silas, I've compiled a file for you," she said as she handed me a thick manila envelope.

  "I just want to make sure that what we pulled isn't the endless tabloid gossip about which bimbo he's banging..." I wanted to make sure I wasn't going to be spending time reading the gossip pages when I should be focusing elsewhere.

  "Right, so I've actually gone ahead and done some filing for you, Your Highness," Clara said, beaming. "And you're right. There is a tremendous amount of tabloid press coverage. So much so that if any normal person wanted to do a Google search on the Prince, those stories, by the sheer popularity of them would drown out everything else."

  I nodded, opening the file as Clara continued. "However, I did several searches with some of the keywords you suggested, so I was able to sort through some of the tabloid coverage. And then, I did some internal database searches, within the internal networks of St. Penares, the US, and the European Union. These are search nets not usually utilized by the average commoner because of the extended amount of time that it takes."

  "Good work," I said, genuinely impressed by how much time Clara had put into this. I decided to give her more opportunities. "Anything you found so far?"

  Clara beamed. It was obvious she liked this assignment. It sure beat helping ladies dress and the following traditional duties that had been around for over 1900 years.

  "Quite a lot, in fact," she said. "While there is a large amount of tabloid press coverage related to the Prince and his, uhm..."

  "Bimbos?" I offer.

  She nods her head. "Bimbos, it's important to note that that coverage only begins once Silas comes home from the war. In fact, his purchase of the nightclub, his wild parties, all of his behavior that has him named the various names in the press don't occur before Afghanistan. They occur after."

  I nod. Something happened there - that's for sure. "In fact," Clara goes on, "They don't even happen right after Afghanistan - but a few months after he gets back. There's the normal press coverage about his role and contribution, but it’s only a few months after the fact that the story of a cushy desk job starts to surface. And it starts to surface from only one paper. And all mention of Afghanistan from the Royal Press Secretary stop, and then he starts referring to that paper as the source of what Silas did in Afghanistan - which is to intimate he sat behind a desk."

  I frown. Why would the Crown actively promote something they knew wasn't true?

  "It's around the same time that this is happening that the stories of his drinking and partying start to surface. He starts doing interviews and from everything that I studied, at first it looks like they are trying to push this image of a playboy prince. And they're pushing it hard."

  "But why?" I ask.

  Clara shrugs. "I can't tell you that. But I can tell you that these nudges push the press coverage of the Prince way off what they were covering before. And it literally drowns out anything non tabloid that the Prince may have done. So much so, that when he starts his foundation, there is zero press coverage."

  My ears perk up. "Foundation?" I ask. "What foundation? Through the Royal Family?"

  Clara shakes her head and looks around the room. I get up and close the door. I can't understand why this would be a secret.

  "Several years ago, it seems, Prince Silas started a foundation that was separate from the Royal Family. It was funded with the amount in his personal trust and it looks like not even the King or Queen or Parliament know about it. In fact, it looks like it was a pretty big secret that is lying out in the open. It's not a conspiracy or anything, but it looks like the Prince didn't want anyone to know when the paperwork was filed."

  "What does it do?" I ask, curious beyond words.

  "Well, it's a pretty complex structure, but it's headquartered in St. Penares, with its offices in the Central Business District. However, there seems to be a corporate structure t
hat allows foundation work to be directly overseen in several African countries, Southeast Asia, Europe and the Americas."

  I look through the portfolios and info sheet on the foundation. "And no one knows about this?" I ask.

  Clara shrugs. "I mean; it's not like it's being nefariously hidden. The portfolio of holdings of the endowment and the decisions and the publication of Silas as Chairman of the Board is filed and published as per any normal organization," she said. "But imagine if someone files a boring corporate governance report and a tabloid writes about how the Prince had sex with some young starlet on a roller coaster while the roller coaster was going on, which one are people going to read more? Which one will sell more copies?"

  I nod, gradually thinking I understand what's happening. "It's a mirage," I say to myself. "It's all a mirage. He's even further outside the public eye than me."

  Clara nods. I look towards her and ask another question. "What kind of stuff does the foundation do?"

  She shrugs, looking through her notes. "They're like a pretty strong force for good in the world, if you ask me. I saw only half a dozen different initiatives, but literacy education for poor single mothers in Bangladesh, sustainable desert farming in Africa, after school programs for inner city kids in America, English lessons and help assimilating for refugees in a lot of European countries, hundreds of thousands of dollars on college scholarships, clean water programs in Brazil, disease prevention services in Liberia. I mean, the list goes on and on."

  "What would happen if the Prince were to be spotted with another woman? If the media discovered he had a girlfriend?" I ask casually.

  Clara thought for a while. "Because of all this, the media would see what they missed. And they'd take it out on her. They'd never want to be fooled again. The media firestorm that would ensue would make that tabloid section of the file I sent you look like an appetizer does to a main course. Something like that needs to be properly managed from a PR perspective."