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

  All this flashed through my head as I saw the Prince in the yacht four years ago. I couldn't get a close enough look to see him, as the yacht was still pretty far off into the ocean. But what I did see was two speedboats come up to the beach, and two men get out. They approached us and informed us that there was a party happening on the yacht and that all eligible women were invited, courtesy of the Prince. This is exactly what my friends had been waiting for and they jumped at the opportunity. Leaving me.

  I had been hurt at first, but we were bound to be leaving the next day anyways, so I had trudged back up to the castle. My mom found me reading a book in the library.

  “What happened to your friends, dear?” She asked, coming over with cocoa and sitting next to me.

  “Who do you think happened to them?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

  My mom wasn't stupid. She knew who I was referring to. “Oh,” she said weakly. Then she tried to make excuses. “They’re young girls, Becca, just looking to have some fun.”

  I sighed, putting my book down. “I know,” I said. “I kind of got roped into coming anyways, so I don’t mind. At least I get to see you.”

  “I miss you too, sweetie,” my mom said, hugging me. “You really should come over more often.”

  If coming over more often meant being in the scrutiny of the same news media that made my stepbrother front page news day after day, then count me out. If being on St. Penates meant being embarrassed by the antics of an overgrown child, then I was happy I had only seen him once during the wedding and once more as a faint silhouette on a far off yacht.

  Spring Break had passed and I had returned back to school. I couldn't help but keep up with the exploits of my dear stepbrother throughout the time. His being challenged to a duel by the Prince of Monaco after being caught in bed with his wife. His giant parties during the Cannes Film Festival. His keynote speech at the Adult Film Convention in Las Vegas. Every time anyone found out I was a princess by marriage from St. Penares, I got ready for the inevitable questions.

  “So, what’s it like living with him?”

  “Is he really that well-endowed?”

  “Did he really have sex with the President’s daughter in the Oval Office?”

  It got to the point where I started telling people I had never met him at all.

  And now he was going to be coming to my home. The place where I had grown up. Mom hadn't been clear on the specifics but it was something that was going on with him and his father. Apparently King D’Avington thought it was time for young Silas to settle down. I couldn't agree more. It was well past time. But Silas wasn’t the stable, settling down type, so guess who was supposed to be a good influence on him? That's right. Moi.

  “Tommy, don’t balance on the side of the pool!” I yelled out from the patio where I kept a lookout on the five kids as they ran around, splashed, and jumped into the pool. I remember as a kid jumping into the pool on hot days like today. Glad to see that some things had stayed the same. It was the first thing Mom had purchased for me in an effort to lift my spirits after Dad had died when I was 8 in a car accident. She had worried for a long time that I would let a freak accident that had taken Dad and allow it to alter my development. But I was 22 now and I think Mom was finally starting to stop worrying enough that she was content to use me as a calming influence on her stepson.

  I sighed, and looked back to my blank canvas. It wasn’t going to paint itself. But I was pulling out my hair trying to find some sort of inspiration. I wondered if I hadn’t missed out on an opportunity, heading abroad this summer to go visit Mom. The tiny island was home to 5 million people and one of the most dynamic economies in Europe, but it was also home to stunning mountain vistas, forests, and beaches that would definitely get me out of the artist’s block that I was currently suffering from.

  “Hey Becca!” Tommy called out. I looked over to where the little portly guy was standing. He had climbed on top of a ladder and was getting ready to dive. “Watch this!”

  I was just about to tell him to be careful and wondering whether to write off the afternoon as a loss and join them when I stopped.

  Was it me or did I hear something?

  A high-pitched whine and a scream? Whatever it was, it was faint, but getting louder.

  Apparently, Tommy heard it too. Everyone looked around, and then Tommy’s eyes went wide. He pointed and jumped off the ladder, running towards me and falling – his rolls of fat jiggling as he scrambled to get up and got behind me. His friends had run in different directions as I saw something hurtling towards us from the sky.

  Within seconds whatever it had gotten louder and it was heading right for us.

  “Tommy!” I yelled. “Run inside!”

  If it was a meteor or some other object, there was no way going inside was going to help. But still, I was supposed to be watching out for the little ones.

  Tommy didn’t move, staring wide-eyed. “It’s a person!” He said, pointing.

  And indeed it was. Roughly 100 yards up, I could make out a torso, legs and arms. Whoever it was now wasn't headed towards the covered patio, and I watched with morbid fascination as he or she got closer.

  I didn't have long to wait. Almost like a speeding bullet, the skydiver glided from the side, coming in for a landing. But unfortunately for whoever had planned the logistics, they had forgotten to take into account the above ground pool. Without anything to stop his momentum, and it definitely was a he, I was sure – I even had a sinking feeling who it could be – he zoomed by, unable to stop. As his legs touched the ground, he desperately tried to use them as leverage to slow down.

  Try as he might, though, it wasn’t enough.

  Yup, that’s definitely the Prince, I thought to myself as I saw that with twenty yards to go, the human bullet gave up trying to slow down and instead went with it, lifting his legs, and bringing his head down, making himself into a missile. He brought his hands to his sides, making his already svelte body into an aerodynamic weapon.

  A weapon that hit straight into the above ground pool like a royal missile. There was a tremendous crunching noise and a torrent of water – several thousand gallons gushing out. I averted my eyes, but they quickly widened as I saw the destruction caused by the man. The pool was wrecked, and the water gushing out had slowed his fall, but it also emptied out from the pool in waves, soaking the grass to the point of flooding in all directions. Water came up to my feet and I heard the cries of dismay from Tommy and the children behind me. They had stared with amazement at the spectacle before them. My eyes went to the lone figure who had caused so much carnage. He was just lying there, as if in possession of a broken body.

  Good, I thought, my eyes flashing quickly to little Tommy, who still clutched my leg with his pudgy hands. Hope he’s dead.

  As if hearing my thoughts, the figure managed to slowly stand up. He turned around taking stock of his surroundings. Then he turned towards Me and took a halting step forward, bringing his hands to his helmet and taking it off.

  I gasped as she saw the ruggedly handsome visage of the Prince as he smirked at me.

  “Hey, sis,” he said with a slight off-English accent. “How you doin’, love?”

  3

  Silas

  Well, I was alive.

  My whole body hurt but thankfully the whisky was doing its job, which was to make me not care at all about the bruises I’d be sporting the next day. I rose from the water and looked around, appreciating what was to be my new home for at least a few days. I wondered how much time it would take for the local mob to lynch me in the public square for defiling someone’s wife.

  A girl stood a few feet away from me, a plump boy attached to her leg as if he was an ornament. He had curly hair framing his plump face, which only made him look like one of those fat, baby angels you could see on a church painting. Not that I’m much of a church goer, honestly. His small eyes were open wide and he looked at me as if I was the drunk bastard version of Santa Claus. His eyes widened eve
n more when I took my hands to the helmet and pulled it off, taking a deep breath as water ran down my face.

  I looked at the girl, unsure if she was my stepsister. I blinked, trying to impose the image of the thirteen-year-old girl of so long ago over that of the young woman standing right in front of me. She was taller, and she had filled out quite nicely, but the lines in her face were still as beautiful as when she was young. There was no doubt about it - it was her, Becca. And, hell, there was no other way to go about it: she had turned out pretty damn fine. I had been somewhat afraid that I would find an awkward and plump Becca, her face destroyed by acne, but it seemed that the Gods above didn’t want to punish me that much.

  “Hey, sis. How you doin’, love?”

  She simply stared at me, her mouth slightly ajar as if she didn’t know what to say. I guess I have that effect on people, especially when I rain down on them like a bomb. I ran my hand through my hair, looking over my shoulder at the improvised landing pad, an over the ground pool that was nothing more than a ruin now, water gushing out from all sides of it in a torrent. I stepped out of it, my flight suit completely wet and glued to my body - much like the Baron’s daughter the previous night.

  I took another look at my apparently speech-impaired stepsister, squinting my eyes at her and having a hard time believing it was the same girl from so many years ago. She was fucking hot. Her slender figure had the perfect curves for me to lay my hands on, and her skin seemed ripe for me to taste with my lips. I could already feel my cock twitching inside my suit, aching to do its job.

  Crap, why did she have to be my stepsister? Even a royal asshole like me had his limits. But if the circumstances were different… Oh, there would be no mercy then. If we were back in St. Penares and she wasn’t family… I wouldn’t pass on a girl like her, no fucking way. I’d down two shots of the most expensive scotch I could find and bring my A-Game to the table. I would go James fucking Bond on her ass. But she was family, damn it - my forced exile was already starting to feel like a punishment. How unlucky had I to be to have the first hot girl I meet be part of my family?

  I took a step towards her and, slowly raising my arm, snapped my fingers in front of her face, trying to get a reaction. She looked at me in astonishment, a flash of anger crossing over her eyes.

  “Do you realize what you’ve just done?” she asked, looking furious enough to bite off my hand. I pulled it back, just in case.

  “Yeah, it was awesome,” I said with a smirk. She didn’t find it that amusing, so I decided to placate her anger. “Sorry for the pool, though. I’ll get you a new one,” I shrugged, failing to understand why she was so upset about it. She could live in a palace and yet there she was, fuming because of a cheap over the ground pool.

  “Forget the pool!” She almost spit at me, balling her hands into fists. “There are kids here, can’t you see it? Don’t you realize what could have happened?”

  “Hey, they were already wet before I arrived,” I shrugged again, looking at the rotund kid quivering at her feet. As a matter of fact, I had seen the kids before I crashed. And it was precisely because of them that I had to swerve mid-air with my chute still deploying, so that I wouldn’t fall on their heads like the fucking grim reaper. The media would have a field day if I started my week in the States with a body count.

  “Come, Tommy,” she grabbed the young kid by the hand and lifted him off the ground. I was half-expecting for him to start squealing like a little piggy as he rose, his beady eyes examining me.

  “Hey, buddy,” I smiled at him, doing my best impression of a nice sober guy even though the stench of whisky would rat me out straight away. Instead of doing whatever it was nice kids do, the little shit just leaned forwards and kicked me straight in the ankle. I motioned to grab him, but he hid immediately behind Becca.

  “Seems like you have a natural talent for kids,” she said, her eyes passing judgment on me. The damn kid had kicked me and I was the one to blame, right. I squinted my eyes at the little imp and he cowered behind Becca’s legs. Not so tough now, eh?

  Becca sighed, shaking her head at me as if I was a major disappointment. Not two minutes in my new home and I was already scoring some major points. Well, what else could I expect? I probably wouldn’t like it that much if someone dropped from the sky right on my swimming pool. Unless it was a scantily clad hot woman - then I probably wouldn’t mind.

  I put my hand in the breast pocket of my flight suit and pulled out a nip bottle of scotch, sighing in relief as I realized it was still intact after my crash landing. I downed the whole thing in one gulp, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. My so-easily-shocked stepsister looked at me as if I was a strange being from some dark cave, unable to function in society like a normal human being. Well, I guess she had a point.

  “You’re unbelievable, I thought you’d have the decency to have some manners since you’re staying here” she said, sounding as if she actually expected me to be a polite member of the royal family. It was actually rather sweet - my young stepsister still held some hope that I wasn’t the burning mess that the tabloids painted me as. Oh, she was in for a surprise.

  “Part of the charm of being a prince, love,” I grinned at her, zipping down the front of my suit and baring my chest. The damn thing was plastered to my skin, making it really uncomfortable to move. “Where can I change clothes?”

  She shook her head once more before turning on her heels and walking across the yard to the house entrance. I followed her, my wet boots making a sloshing sound as I went. The kids giggled, talking between them in a hushed curious tone and pointing at the man that had fallen from the sky. At least they weren’t soul-sucking paparazzi.

  My eyes darted to Becca’s body and, even though I knew I should have at least tried, I made no effort to avoid staring at her ass. My cock twitched once more as I saw the sweet sway of her thighs, imagining how it would feel to pin her naked body against the wall. Shit, I needed to get laid, and I needed to do it fast. I was no longer sure if having a hot girl as a stepsister was a good or a bad thing. Perhaps it would have been better if she was fat Becca instead of hot Becca - at least that way she wouldn’t drive me crazy.

  I stepped inside the house and followed her upstairs, realizing how everything seemed so normal and, well, middle class. She could be living it up in St. Penares and yet she had chosen to remain here. I bet she even cleaned the house and did the laundry herself.

  She went down the hallway and opened a door unceremoniously; stepping aside, she motioned with her head for me to get in. “Your chambers, Your Highness,” she said in a mocking voice, her lips a tight line of contempt.

  “Thanks, love,” I replied back. If she wanted to be annoying, I could handle that too.

  “You do know that I’m part of your family, don’t you?” she shot back at me, folding her arms in front of her chest. “I'm not going to wait on you like you have back home.”

  “Don’t worry. I always wanted to have it simple, love. See how the common class live.” I swear I thought for a split second that she would actually punch me straight in the face as I smirked at her I knew I wasn’t exactly being as polite as I should, specially taking into account that I was a guest in her house, but it was stronger than me. What’s best in life than to annoy uptight people? I switched gears, though, not wanting to make an enemy out of her in the first day. There would be plenty of time for her to hate my guts. “Do you have any clothes I could change into? I didn’t bring any. Unless you want me to walk around naked, I’m totally fine with that.”

  She looked at me with steely eyes, one hand in her hip as she tapped her foot on the carpeted floor. Without saying a word, she turned her back to me and went down the hallway, leaving me soaking wet in the middle of a room that was smaller than most bathrooms in St. Penares’ palace. My father probably intended for me to live for a while without all the luxuries of royalty - what he didn’t know was that I didn’t really care for that. Sure, it was great to be drinking out of a thousa
nd-dollar bottle of champagne while driving a sports car worth a fortune, the tight lips of some European model tightly wrapped around my cock. But, to be honest, it didn’t mean a thing to me. The cars, the money, the mansions… I didn’t really give a fuck. I figured that if I could have a constant stream of whisky I’d be just as happy living in a tent and growing a beard.

  There was already a puddle of water forming at my feet, so I sat on the edge of the bed and started taking off my boots.

  Becca appeared at the door with a towel, a pair of work boots and a bunch of folded clothes in her arms. She placed them on the bed, close to me.

  “Those were my father’s,” she simply said, frowning. She left the room and closed the door so violently I thought it would fly out of its hinges. Shit, I would’ve brought something to change into if I knew the only men’s clothing she had was from her dead father.

  I rummaged through my pockets, cursing at myself for not bringing more whisky with me. Sighing, I pushed the flight suit down my legs and, completely naked, grabbed the towel and started drying myself, the buzz from the alcohol giving way to sore muscles. I grunted and grabbed the clothes, wondering how the hell I would fit inside them. Luckily, her father had probably been a tall man - not as tall as me, but at least it wouldn’t look as if I was wearing the clothes of a hobbit. I squeezed myself inside the jeans and buttoned up the dark navy blue shirt.

  I went to the wardrobe at the back of the room and opened it, finding a full body mirror on the inside of the door. I stared at my reflection - my transformation into a commoner was almost complete, it seemed. If it weren’t for my tattoos and the fact that I still looked devilishly handsome, I would pass for a regular guy. Maybe.