The Montoros Affair: The Princess and the Player / Maid for a Magnate / A Royal Temptation. Charlene SandsЧитать онлайн книгу.

       One

      Auwck. Auwck.

      Bella Montoro’s eyelids flew open at the raucous and unwelcome alarm clock. One of the pair of feral blue-and-gold macaws who lived in the tree outside the window of her Coral Gables mansion had chosen today, of all days, to wake her early.

      Miami was full of wild macaws and normally, she loved them. Today, not so much.

      Groaning, she smooshed a pillow over her head but the pressure didn’t ease her champagne headache and the barrier didn’t muffle the happy squawks of her feathered friend. Fine. It was time to drag herself out of bed anyway.

      She sat up. A glance through the bay window confirmed which bird it was.

      “Good morning, Buttercup,” she muttered sarcastically, but with the window closed, the macaw couldn’t hear her.

      She didn’t dare open the window for fear she’d frighten her away. Both Buttercup and her mate, Wesley, were as wild as the day was long, and Bella enjoyed it when they deigned to hang out with her. She watched them groom themselves for as long as she dared since she wouldn’t get to see them for a while once she left Miami for the small country of Alma—today’s destination.

      Bella had always known she was descended from royalty, but a dictator had been ruling her ancestor’s country for ages. She’d never expected the political climate to shift. Or for the Montoros to reclaim the throne. But it had happened and though her father was first in line to become king, his divorce rendered him ineligible for the crown due to Alma’s strict laws. Then her oldest brother, Rafe, had abdicated his place so he could focus on the new baby he and his fiancée, Emily, were expecting.

      Her other brother, Gabriel, had stepped up, adopting his new role with an ease Bella admired. And while she liked the tiny island country of Alma well enough to go back for her brother’s coronation as the new king, the promise of bigger and better parties didn’t fully make up for having to leave behind the things she loved in Miami.

      She was also leaving behind her great-aunt Isabella, who might draw her last breath any day now. Rafe would check in on her of course, and Bella could call. But still. It wasn’t the same as having daily access to the woman who always had a kind word and gentle piece of advice, no matter what the occasion. Bella had been named for her father’s aunt, and they shared a kinship that transcended age.

      Her father owed her for agreeing to this move to Alma. Big time.

      Bella watched Buttercup groom her feathers for a moment, and then turned away from the beautiful view of the grounds. She might not see this house again either, and she’d taken for granted how much she loved living here. Now that the day of her departure had arrived, everything had gotten real, really fast. She’d been an American her whole life and while she’d always enjoyed the privileges of being a Montoro, becoming a member of Alma’s royal family carried heavy responsibilities with few tangible rewards.

      Not that anyone had asked her opinion.

      With far too much racket for Bella’s taste, her maid, Celia, bustled into the bedroom and frowned at the crumpled, glittery dress on the floor as she stepped over it. “They have plenty more hangers at the store if you’ve run out, Miss Bella.”

      Bella grinned at the woman who’d been her friend, confidant and occasional strong shoulder for years, blessing her for sticking to their tried-and-true teasing instead of becoming maudlin over the irreversible changes that had ripped through the Montoro family recently.

      “Got hangers,” Bella informed her around an involuntary yawn. “Just not the will to use one at three a.m.”

      Celia sniffed as if displeased, but an indulgent smile tugged at her mouth nonetheless. “Seems like a gal about to get on a plane in a few hours might come home at a decent hour.”

      “Oh, but it was my last night in Miami!” Bella protested without any real heat and stretched with a moan. “I had lots of people to see. Lots of parties to attend.”

      “Hmpf. Lots of money to talk your friends out of, you mean.”

      Celia was one of the few people who recognized that Bella’s involvement in wildlife conservation wasn’t just a rich girl’s cute hobby. It was Bella’s passion and she used her connections. Shamelessly. And it wasn’t an accident that she’d been named the top fund-raiser in Florida by two different conservation groups.

      “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Bella shook her head as Celia selected an outfit from the overflowing closet and held it out with a raised eyebrow. “Not that one. The blue pantsuit for the plane. With the cropped jacket.”

      Like a well-rehearsed ballet, Bella and Celia danced around each other as they navigated a bedroom that closely resembled a post-hurricane department store. Everyone joked that you could always tell when Bella had whirled through a scene because nothing was in one piece afterward. It was a reference to Bella’s birth during the harrowing hours of Hurricane Andrew, before FEMA had started cracking down on evacuations.

      Both mother and baby had emerged from the storm without incident, but Bella held the private belief that the experience had branded her soul with hurricane-like qualities she couldn’t shake. Not the least of which was a particular talent for causing chaos.

      Celia began packing Bella’s suitcases while her mistress dressed and they laughed over Bella’s account of the previous night’s parties, as they’d done many a morning over the years. But this would be the last time for a long time. Maybe forever, depending on what happened in Alma.

      Bella kept up the light banter, but she was pretty sure the shadows in Celia’s eyes were reflected in her own. As the hour grew near for Bella to leave for the sun-drenched islands of Alma, she couldn’t stand it any longer. “I wish you could go with me to Alma!”

      And then to her mortification, Bella burst into tears.

      Celia folded Bella into her arms and they clung to each other. When Adela, Bella’s mom, had finally ditched her cold, unsatisfying marriage the day after Bella’s eighteenth birthday, Celia had been the one who stuck around to make sure Bella didn’t get into too much trouble. Best of both worlds—she had someone who cared, but who also couldn’t tell her what to do. Bella did not like being told what to do.

      “There, now. Your brother will look out for you and besides, you’ll be having so much fun as the new princess, you won’t even notice I’m not there.”

      “That’s not true,” Bella sniffed and hugged Celia tighter. “Gabriel will be busy with king stuff and spend all his free time with Serafia now that they’re getting married. What if I’m banished to some out of the way place—alone?”

      She wouldn’t put it past her father to lock her up in the palace dungeon or do something else equally archaic since he seemed bent on rediscovering his old-fashioned side. That last photo of her to hit the tabloids? Totally not her fault. How was she supposed to know the paparazzi had hidden in the foliage surrounding Nicole’s pool? Everyone else had shed their swimsuits, too, but Bella was the only one they’d targeted, of course.

      Rafael Montoro the Third was not amused. Apparently it was problematic that her father’s business associates and soon-to-be-king Gabriel’s future subjects in Alma could easily access naked photos of Bella.

      No one seemed to remember that she was the victim in that scandal.

      Celia snorted. “With Gabriel about to take the throne, your father will want the whole family in the public eye, gaining support for your brother. You’re the only princess Alma’s