My Billionaire Stepbrother Read Online Free Page A

, I think ruefully. But I know nothing he could have said would
have prepared me for the royal family’s honeymoon island.
    “Ah!”
    We hit another air pocket that
jolts the plane and sends seltzer water and eggs splashing all over the silky
sheets. I yelp and grab around for stability, but my hands find nothing to hold
onto except a feather pillow that I proceed to squeeze to death. And so there I
am, clutching a pillow like a scared kid with eggs and feathers in my hair and
mascara all over my face when our landing gear touches down on a thin private
runway in the center of the island.
    I couldn’t feel more out of place
or out of sorts if I tried, and I haven’t even stepped foot on the ground.
    The jet rolls to a stop, and over
the sounds of the engines powering down I can hear the pilot and women talking
in the cockpit, laughing and unbuckling seatbelts. While the stewardess moves
to unlatch the cabin door to the outside world, Miss Butler emerges and beams
at me with a truly hospitable, empathetic smile.
    “Welcome to the beautiful
Seychelles, Mademoiselle LaRoux,” says Miss Butler. “Don’t worry, I am here to
be your guide and make sure you are comfortable all the way. You are going to
have an amazing time on our island. The beaches, the food, the music…” her
voice drops secretively: “The men! Whatever you do here, it is better and more
fun than when you do it anywhere else.”
    She winks, her laughter breaking my
tension.
    Now I realize her light lilting
accent must be from here, that the pride in her voice is that of ownership and
belonging. This is her home. And she’s here to be my guide! I won’t be alone,
forging into the unknown like an uncouth pauper disguised in the prince’s
clothes.
    Somehow Miss Butler’s ease and joy
rub off on me a little, and I find my shoulders relaxing slightly as I take a
deep breath.
    “Miss Butler,” I say, “I can’t tell
you how glad I am to know you’ll be my guide. But now that we’re here, can you
please tell me what in god’s name is happening? Why am I here?”
    Her eyes sparkle. “All in good
time. I can’t spoil the surprise. Come, the car will be waiting, and we have
some work to do.”
    Obediently I let go of my
death-clutch on the pillow, shake the eggs out of my hair, and rise shakily to
my feet. A dark Cadillac Escalade – what else – is waiting for us as we
deplane. Somehow, my backpack is already loaded for me into the backseat.
    Our driver, Chip, is another
handsome stud that looks like he could be related to my pilot Chance. He tips
his hat, greets me by name, and has us on the road in seconds. The tires crunch
lazily over a surprisingly well manicured road. I guess it shouldn’t surprise
me, really – it’s just that the actual jungle is looming over us at every side,
complete with vines and monkeys and enormous tropical flowers. It doesn’t seem
like a private jet, a Cadillac, and brand-new road could coexist this closely
with all that wild beauty.
    My head is out the window like an
excited puppy for the entire ride, the salt breeze kissing my face as I drink
in the luscious sights of the island. At one point, we have to stop the car
because a turtle is crossing the road.
    A turtle is crossing the road.
    But it’s still a very short drive
to the bungalow, which seems to me that it should more rightly be called a
mansion. It’s an enormous three-story glass-and-wood palace that blends almost
perfectly with the surrounding greenery: the only clue giving away its presence
in the natural surroundings the reflected sunlight glimmering off the huge
windows like a diamond.
    “Wow,” I breathe aloud.
    Miss Butler laughs. “Welcome home, Mademoiselle
LaRoux. Here is your bungalow.”
    “Is my father here?”
    “You will see him soon.”
    “What is this place?”
    “This is your bungalow,
Mademoiselle.”
    “Please, call me Veronique.”
    “Then you must call me Shereen.”
    The sight of the bungalow takes my
breath away, and