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night in our living room.  Sometimes it would be after an event – charity or business something-or-other -- and sometimes there was no event at all.  I'd sneak out of my room and hide around the corner, watching them as they held hands and my mother giggled like a schoolgirl, talking to him.
    "You get one great love in life, kiddo," he told me once.  "If you're lucky.  So you have to make it count.  Remember that."
    Everything changed after my father died.  My mother threw herself into charities, social functions, her status.  She dived into advancing the Kensington name.  I thought it was her way of remembering him, but at some point all of that stuff became an end in and of itself.
    Of course, becoming a queen is the ultimate position of status.
    I can’t imagine growing up in a place like this.  It’s a million times more rigid and fraught with expectations than my life ever was.  I’d almost feel badly for Albie -- if he didn’t seem to enjoy all of it so much.
    I spent all morning surfing the internet and getting the scoop on Albie.  There’s a lot of scoop to be had on Albie, too -- hundreds of magazine articles, photos taken with telescope lenses of he and whatever girl-of-the-minute he was with, the gossip about his bedroom exploits.
    I don’t know how in the world I didn’t recognize him in Vegas.  He’s as famous as the British princes, maybe even more so – a bad boy whose ridiculous antics make headlines around the world.
    After he got a Prince Albert – yeah, that kind of piercing – he showed the press.  Literally.  The crown prince of Protrovia dropped his pants and let the press take a thousand photos of it.  A photo of him, shit-eating grin on his face, proudly displaying his new piercing – black bar censoring the royal dick – was plastered on all the major gossip magazines around the world.
     
    PRINCE ALBERT SHOWS OFF HIS PRINCE ALBERT!
     
    ROYAL DICK EXPOSED!  GET THE UNCENSORED PHOTOS THE ROYAL FAMILY DOESN’T WANT YOU TO SEE!
     
    It only made him more popular with the press.  But not with his father, apparently.  The next major magazine articles, two months later, announced that Albie would be doing his “royal duty” and serving in the army.
    The royal dick…
    I refrained from searching for the uncensored versions of the photos, even though even now the thought sends a surge of heat flowing through my body that’s so intense it nearly takes my breath away.
    I blame my stupid, traitorous body for thinking Albie is hot.  Because more importantly, he's a pretentious, arrogant dickhead.
    If you don’t want to stick around for the fireworks this summer…
    I can’t stick around here for the summer, pretending to be a princess. 
    I don’t want to stick around here for the summer.  Not under the same roof as Albie.
    That night in Vegas, when we were driving around in the limo, Albie didn’t touch me.  Not once.
    He didn’t have to.  The things that came out of his mouth – just like the things he said to me in the hallway yesterday – were enough to leave me practically writhing.
    I told myself it was because I hadn’t been with anyone but Derek twice in the past two years, during visits at Christmas.  Not even when I saw Derek when I came home from Africa, right before the Vegas trip.
    I should have known things were over when I saw him.  A reasonable person would have realized it -- in retrospect, it seems obvious.  He said he was too stressed out because of a big case at the firm.
    So it’s been a while.
    It’s been forever.
    I told myself that was why I was practically crawling out of my skin when I was sitting in the back of that limo with Albie.  And when he kissed me…
    “You may kiss this hunk-a…,” Fake Elvis’ voice seems to fade into the background as I look at Albie, trying to stifle my giggle.
    Albie steps close to me, and I breathe in sharply at his proximity.  Even through my tequila haze, I’ve never seen any man more beautiful