Read Online The Princess and the Billionaire by Barbara Bretton - Free Book Online

were another way—an easier way to tell you.”
    The air in the room grew thin, and she struggled to draw a breath. A twisting mountain road—the black sheen of ice—she’d lost her mother that way years ago. Dear God, she couldn’t lose Eric...
    She lowered her head, unable to meet her father’s eyes. “Say it. If something’s happened—if he’s dead—please say it.”
    “Dead?” She looked up to see incredulity in her father’s eyes. “The boy is fine.”
    Relief was as painful as anxiety had been. “Then what is it?” she asked, exasperated. “If he’s come to ask for my hand in marriage, why don’t you just say so?”
    “Because he hasn’t asked for your hand, Isabelle. He has asked for your sister’s.”
    * * *
    Three weeks later, on a cold January afternoon, the wedding of Juliana and Eric took place at the Cathedral of San Michel.
    This is real, Isabelle thought. Not a dream. Not the product of a fevered mind. The scent of flowers, the angelic voices of the choir, the expectant hush from the guests crowded into the cathedral—it was all happening now, in this place, at this moment in time.
    It should be me, she thought as a shaft of longing, hot and violent, pierced through her. This should be my wedding day. He should be my husband.... She turned away, unable to bear the sight, and her eye was caught by the unrelenting gaze of Daniel Bronson, the American businessman who had predicted that her fairy tale with Eric would never work out. You’re wrong, she thought, daring him to laugh in the face of her heartbreak. People make mistakes. Eric and I are meant to be together.
    But he didn’t laugh. He didn’t even crack a smile. He simply watched her with a look in his eyes that came perilously dose to pity, and that look hurt more than his laughter ever could.
    She let her own gaze drift. How many of those good people knew that her heart was breaking? She’d been so indiscreet, so eager to share her happiness with the world. Had she told each and every one of them that she loved Eric, that the future was theirs for the taking? Dear God, how could she face them? Their pity was almost palpable, reaching out to clutch at her soul.
    She clutched her skirts and left the altar, heading for the door that led to the sacristy. The image of Juliana’s face, a pleat of concern marring her porcelain forehead, followed her. Let them wonder why she had bolted. Let them think she’d had too much to drink last night and was about to lose her breakfast. Anything was preferable to this public humiliation.
    A buzz of conversation followed her, but she didn’t care. She needed to be alone, to gather her wits about her and rest a cloak of Dutch courage on her shoulders for what lay ahead.
    She felt Maxine’s hand on her shoulder, but she refused to turn around. “Let him go, lovey. It’s over.”
    “It’s not over,” she said, biting back her tears. “He doesn’t love her. He loves me.”
    “’Tisn’t you he married, lovey. ’Tis your sister.”
    She pulled away, then whirled about to face the older woman. “Leave me alone! You don’t understand. You don’t know how it feels.”
    “I know a broken heart is nothing to be ashamed of.”
    “They all know,” she said, tilting her head in the direction of the church. “I couldn’t stand it any longer. They were all watching me, feeling sorry for me....”
    Maxine snapped her fingers. “As if it matters what they’d be thinking. Hold your head high, my girl, and take your place at your father’s side in the receiving line. The rest will fall into place.”
    She caught a glimpse of herself in the shiny marble surface of a pillar, amazed that her heartache didn’t show. Only the glitter in her eyes gave her away.
    “This won’t last, Maxi,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “Eric loves me. He’ll come back to me.”
    “They’re married, lovey.” Maxine’s voice caught, but Isabelle refused to acknowledge the emotion behind the