Instead of answering, Ivy just snorts. She pushes herself off her chair and shakes her head. “If you weren’t so revolting, you might actually be kind of interesting. As it stands though…” She grimaces. “No, thank you.”
Lifting myself out of the water, I watch Ivy’s lips drop open as she looks at my body. My feet leave wet, dripping footsteps as I stalk toward her, stopping just a foot away from her. She hasn’t moved.
“Poison,” I tsk, reaching over to touch her cheek. “Don’t kid yourself. You want me just as much as I want you.”
9
Ivy
Jerking my face away from the Prince, I stumble backward. I stammer something unintelligible and practically run away from him.
How does he manage to make me feel like a blundering fool every time he’s around? Even when he’s the one falling over and getting injured?
My pulse thunders through my veins. My head feels like it’s full of cotton candy, and I can’t string a thought together. Gripping my new uniform to my chest, I shuffle to the castle and make my way back to the kitchens. George is waiting with some paperwork.
“Sign here,” he says, pushing a pen toward me. “You start tomorrow.”
Pushing thoughts of the Prince aside, I sign my name with a trembling hand. George smiles at me, his bushy grey eyebrows relaxing as he extends a hand toward me.
“Welcome to the family.”
When I make it back to the limousine to wait for Margot, my pulse is still thumping through my veins. I stare up at the twinkling castle lights and let out a sigh. My heart bounces against my ribcage, and my thoughts drift back to the Prince.
When he pulled himself out of the pool, my panties were just as drenched as he was. Is there anything sexier than a muscular, shredded Adonis of a man, dripping in water, staring at you like he’s going to eat you?
Maybe it’s just because I’ve never had a man look at me like that. Maybe he’s just toying with me.
Maybe I’ll end up getting hurt.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to ignore the dread curling around my heart.
This is what Giselle calls self-sabotage of the highest degree. Even the idea of being with a man freaks me out. No wonder I’m still a virgin. The Prince barely grazed my cheeks with his fingers, and I literally spun on my heels and ran away from him.
Even if he was interested in me, I’ve definitely sent a clear message about how I feel.
Scoffing at myself, I shake my head. The Prince isn’t interested in me. He’s toying with me.
I just need to focus on taking care of my sister, and on working on improving myself. Working for George at the castle could bring me one step closer to opening my own bakery. It could be the training I need to strike out on my own.
When Margot slides into the back seat of the limo, her face is drawn and her movements are jittery. She glances at me and then looks away, raking her fingers through her hair over and over again. Her knee bounces up and down as we set off toward home.
I clear my throat. “How was dinner?”
“Fine.” She bites her nail, staring out the window.
“Are you okay, Margot?” I reach over to touch her leg, but my sister flinches away from me. Her eyes are wide, and her skin looks clammy. I frown.
Margot nods her head half a dozen times. “I’m fine. Dinner was fine. The Prince disappeared. I don’t think he’s into me.”
I worry my bottom lip between my teeth, averting my gaze.
Maybe it isn’t a game for the Prince? Maybe he is interested in me, and not my sister?
Margot’s face crumples, and she sucks in a labored breath. I scoot closer to her, trying to put my arm around my sister, but she shrugs me away.
I need to tell her about my apprenticeship at the castle, but I can tell she’s not in the mood to hear anything. Maybe her ego is bruised by the Prince ditching her.
Mine would be, too.
Still, I take a deep breath. “Margie, I don’t know if I’ll be able to be your assistant for the next couple of weeks.”
“Do you have to call me that?” Her head whips toward me. Her eyes are tight, and her mouth twists into a cruel snarl.
I shrink away from her. “Sorry. I meant Margot.”
My sister huffs, staring out the window. As soon as we make it to the mansion—her mansion, I remind myself—Margot speeds to the front door and disappears up the steps to her bedroom.
I nod to the limo driver and trudge behind her. My shoulders feel tense, and I head to the kitchen. I sink down onto one of the island bar stools, staring at my hands.
Maybe I can do both the apprenticeship and the work for my sister. I think she needs me. She’s not stable on her own. I can go to the castle in the mornings, and work on her schedule in the afternoons. She rarely gets out of bed before eleven o’clock, anyway.
I map out my schedule in my head, thinking of a script that I can use to tell my sister about it. A part of me thinks she should be happy for me and let me do this apprenticeship, but a bigger part of me knows that she needs me.
She’s always needed me, and I’ve always been there for her. I can’t stop now.
So, when Margot reappears in the kitchen doorway, I know exactly what I’m going to say.
But the Margot that stares back at me is completely different from the one who snapped at me in the car. She’s calm, with slower, less jerky movements. She’s lost the edge to her voice and she isn’t fidgeting as much.
Margot slides into a bar stool next to mine and nudges me with her shoulder.
“What were you telling me before?”
She doesn’t apologize for snapping at me, which I’ve come to accept. When you’re famous, people treat you like your farts smell like roses, so it’s hard to accept that you might be wrong. She stopped apologizing for her behavior a long, long time ago.
I give her a tight smile. “I was offered an apprenticeship at the castle under the pastry chef there.”
Margot’s face barely moves. She nods.
I take a deep breath. “But I was thinking about it, and I think I can do it while still being your PA. I’ll go to the castle in the mornings and come back here to do the afternoon work. It’s only for a month, anyway, so I shouldn’t burn myself out.”
My sister wraps her arms around me. Her limbs feel heavy. “Thanks, Ivy,” she mumbles into my chest. “You know I need you, right? I couldn’t do this without you.”
My chest squeezes, and I kiss the top of my sister’s head. “I know, Margie. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
When I help my sister into her bed, her head lolls onto the pillow and her arms flop out to her sides. Margot’s already passed out.
When I head over to my own room, I let out a heavy sigh. My sister’s mood swings are getting worse. I think it’s the stress of this relationship with the Prince, or maybe the pressure of being famous.
She reminds me of Mama.
Our mother had Huntington’s disease. She had a gene mutation that affected her brain. It started with tremors and uncontrollable movements, and as it progressed, it started affecting her moods. She was more irritable and became a different person. It was difficult to see her change, to see her be mean where she’d been gentle before.
Really, really difficult.
I shake the thought away. Margot doesn’t have Huntington’s. We got tested just a couple of months ago. The results were negative. She told me so.
As I slip into my own bed, I vow to stay by my sister’s side.
Margot has done everything for me. She worked from the time she was a toddler to make sure that our family had food on the table. She’s given me a job, and a place to sleep, and as many bags of flour and mixing bowls as I could ever want.
She tortures herself, starves herself, and puts herself in the public eye so that my father and I can have a good life.
In return, she only asks for my support.
As I snuggle into my pillows, I think of the Prince. A part of me wishes I hadn’t wa
shed my sheets after he was in my room. Maybe a faint smell would still cling to the sheets where he lay. Closing my eyes, I imagine the lines of his chest, his abs, his shoulders, everything so defined as water dripped down them tonight.
I think of the bulge I saw between his legs, and excitement teases up my spine.
Letting out a sigh, I know I can never have him.
He’s promised to my sister, and the last thing I want to do is betray her.
10
Luca
When I wake up, the sun is streaming through the windows and someone is knocking on the door. Groaning, I drag myself off my pillows. My head is still throbbing where my stitches are, and my body screams with pain.
Just like it does every morning, and every afternoon, and every night unless I dull it with drugs.
Before I answer the door, I open my bedside table and catch the pill bottle that rolls to the front. Swallowing a couple of painkillers, I slip my feet into slippers with the Farcliff crest embroidered on them and drag myself to the door.
Beckett stares back at me, lifting a cup of coffee toward me, and a small silver platter with a cinnamon bun on it.
“These were sitting on this trolley,” he explains, nodding to the breakfast trolley by my chamber doors.
I accept them with a grunt.
“You look like hell.” He looks me up and down and then steps past me into my room.
“Thanks.” I try not to wince as I turn to face him. It’ll be a few more minutes before my pain dulls, and every movement is agony. Every step feels like I’m walking on a bed of hot coals. The soles of my feet burn. I lower myself down onto a sofa and take a sip of coffee, grimacing at its bitterness.
“I didn’t think you’d sleep here tonight.”
I arch an eyebrow. “No?”
“Thought you’d have an after-party at your new girlfriend’s house.” His eyes flash, and a wicked tingle flashes through my heart. He has a thing for Margot. I can tell.
If I were interested in her, it might be a problem. Since I’m not, though, it’s merely entertaining.
“After-parties aren’t my thing.”
Beckett snorts, and I turn to the cinnamon bun. When I tear it open, I see little pieces of apple in it. My lips curl into a smile as I think of Ivy’s special touch.
Seems like hell has frozen over, because she’s baking for me already. She must be downstairs, working with the pastry chef.
“Where did you disappear to last night?” Beckett asks, eyeing me from across the room.
“Why? You keeping tabs on me?” I stare at my brother as I chew the sweet dough.
Damn, Ivy’s good. This cinnamon bun is unreal.
My brother doesn’t answer the question. “So, where were you?” There’s an edge to my little brother’s voice, and the mean part of me likes the fact that he’s jealous.
“Went for a dip in the pool.”
“In the middle of a dinner party?” Beckett’s brows draw together, and I wonder if there’s anything else going on. Is this simple jealousy?
I haven’t seen my brother in over two years. None of my family came to visit me while I was getting treatment. They video-called me, and sent me messages and emails, but no one made the trip to come see me. Beckett included.
If I’m completely honest, I might have pushed them away. Maybe I told them one too many times that I didn’t want them to see me like I was, broken and immobile, and they finally listened.
Now, there’s an undercurrent of animosity between us all, and I don’t exactly know why.
Beckett nods to my head, where the stark white bandage leaves a streak against my dark hair. “You never told me what happened to your head.”
“I fell over and hit my head in Margot’s kitchen.”
Beckett arches an eyebrow. “I won’t ask what you were doing in the kitchen.”
“Eating cinnamon buns, actually,” I grin, raising the pastry up. I don’t mention Margot’s sister—it’s too much fun to see Beckett squirm.
My brother glances to the wall behind me, and I can see him gathering the courage to say something. I wait patiently until he starts, munching on my breakfast. It feels like Ivy made it especially for me.
Beckett finally swings his eyes over to me. “Theo wants me to take you and your girlfriend out on Farcliff Lake today. Something about a yacht and a photo opportunity.”
“Maybe Theo should worry less about our public image, and more about actually ruling Argyle. Why are we here, anyway? We should be home, taking care of our people.”
Beckett shrugs. “We need to improve trade relations with Farcliff. Dante is in Argyle running things while he’s here.”
Our other brother, Dante, decided not to make the trip to Farcliff. I don’t blame him. He’s always shied away from the public eye.
“It’s a farce,” I grunt.
“You should worry less about Argyle’s image, and more about your own.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Never mind. Be ready in two hours.” Beckett opens his mouth as if to say something, then shakes his head and stands up. He throws one more glance my way and leaves without another word.
I finish my breakfast, mulling over the conversation. The way Beckett looks at me feels like he’s suspicious of me for some reason.
My family should be doting on me. They should be showering me with love and affection, and congratulating me on my recovery.
Instead, I feel like a stranger.
An intruder.
A reject.
Downing the rest of my coffee, I lick the sticky cinnamon off my fingers and stand up. The burning feeling in my extremities has faded, and the familiar, soothing numbness is starting to take hold. I stretch my neck from side to side, closing my eyes to clear my head.
When I open my eyes back up again, my vision seems sharper. I pull some clothes on, making sure to slip my hard case containing my weed into my back pocket, and a few backup painkillers into my breast pocket. I pat them with my hand, letting out a breath.
Knowing that I have the drugs in my pocket calms me down. It’s not that I want to take them right now, it’s just that I need to know they’re on hand.
When I walk out of my room, my steps feel light. A soft smile drifts over my lips as the drugs take hold of my body. My spine feels good as new. The tingling and burning in my extremities is gone, and the ache in my marrow fades to nothing.
For the next hour or so, I’ll be pain free. I’ll be normal. Healthy. Whole.
I let my feet take me down a wide staircase and around to a servant’s hallway. I already know where I’m going. It’s as if an invisible tether is dragging me down to the kitchens, pulling me toward Ivy. My Poison.
Well, one of them, at least.
When I get downstairs, Ivy is pushing the exterior door open, carrying a bag of garbage. Two big, floury handprints mark her ass.
I grin, following her outside.
“How was your first day?”
Ivy flings the trash bag into a dumpster before turning to face me. She has another mark of flour across her forehead. Strands of black hair try their best to escape the bun on top of her head, framing her in a fuzzy black halo.
“George is a slave driver,” she huffs.
“Will he notice if you’re gone for a few minutes?”
Ivy’s eyebrow arches.
I nod down the path. “I need your help with something.”
Ivy glances at the closed door leading back to the kitchens. Her eyes flash, and a grin tugs at the corner of her lips.
She shrugs. “Why not? Lead the way, Your Highness.”
11
Ivy
I wipe my hands on my apron and glance one last time at the kitchen door. Prince Luca grins at me.
“Scared of big bad George?”
“I’m scared of big bad you.”
He laughs, extending his hand toward me. I slip my palm against his, and a zing of heat flows up my arm. Tingles fly through my
body, making my face flush as he curls his fingers around my hand.
“You shouldn’t be scared of me,” he says softly, glancing over at me.
My heart jumps.
I’m not scared of the Prince. Not even a little bit. Not even when Hunter told me to stay away from him, or when the newspapers say he’s been volatile and angry since he had his spinal injury.
Not even when he’s dragging me away from my brand-new job at the castle to take me to Farcliff-knows-where.
The only thing I feel when I’m around Prince Luca is excitement. It’s a deep, pulsing excitement that starts in the pit of my stomach. It sends waves through my whole body, until I can’t keep the smile off my face.
The Prince squeezes my hand.
“I like you, Poison.”
“Thank you.”
“That’s it? Just ‘thanks?’”
I shrug, fighting to keep the grin off my face. “If I told you I liked you now, it would seem false. It’s like when you compliment someone and then they respond by saying they like your shoes, or something. It’s not usually true.”
The Prince chuckles, and the sound sends flutters through my chest.
“Plus,” I continue, “the jury’s still out on you. I wouldn’t want to lie by saying I actually like you.”
I love making him laugh. When Prince Luca smiles, he looks like a different person. He loses the harsh lines on his face. His eyes soften. He looks so much more human.
Every photo that I’ve seen of the Prince, he’s scowling. Every news story talks about his accident, and his miraculous recovery. None of them talk about his smile, or his laugh, or the magnetic energy that seems to draw me to him.
Not that I’ve obsessively Googled him for the past two days, or anything.
My heart rattles against my ribs with every step we take. As we wind our way through the Farcliff Castle grounds, the wind rustles through the trees and carries the Prince’s scent toward me. I inhale, feeling almost drunk as I walk beside him.
Knocked Up by the Broken Prince: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance Page 6
