Royally Unexpected 2: An Accidental Pregnancy Collection (Surprise Baby Stories)

by Lilian Monroe

  Father lets out a heavy sigh. “I loved your mother. She meant the world to me.” He gulps, staring off at something over my shoulder. “Even though she hurt me, having her by my side was a gift. She gave me you and your brothers.”

  My father’s eyes flick back to mine, shining with unshed tears.

  A lump forms in my throat. That’s the most emotion the King has shown since my mother walked out. It’s the most fatherly thing he’s said to me in many years—maybe ever.

  “Are you sure you want to do this alone?” he asks softly.

  “Become King?”

  My father nods. “It’s a heavy burden to bear.”

  I suck a breath in through my teeth, not quite knowing how to answer.

  The truth?

  Absolutely not. I want to jump on an airplane and drag Cara back to me. I want to watch her walk down the aisle toward me with a glowing smile on her face and then promise to spend my life with her. I want to have her by my side, supporting me. Being my Queen. Carrying my future children. Making my life complete.

  But those are things that I want. Bringing Cara back is asking her to sacrifice everything she’s ever dreamed of. It’s asking her to change her life plans to be with me, when five weeks ago, she didn’t even think she’d speak to me again. It’s asking her to hurt Luca. Even though he pushed her away and made her suffer, I know Cara would hate to cause him more pain.

  As much as I want Cara beside me, I can’t ask that much of her. I can’t ask her to give everything up to be with me. I can’t make her change her dreams just to support me in mine.

  What’s that thing people say? If you love someone, you have to let them go.

  I never knew what that meant until now. I love Cara. In the depths of my heart, past all the jagged edges and broken pieces, there’s a warm spot carved out for her. I love her fully, completely, and eternally.

  And that’s exactly why I can’t ask her to marry me.

  My eyes flick back to my father. I nod. “I want to do it alone.”

  Heaving himself off the armchair, my father hobbles toward me and pats my shoulder. “You’ll be a good king, Theo. Time to make you one.”

  The days drag on. The next two weeks are spent in preparation for my coronation. It’s announced to the Kingdom, and the mood in the streets is jubilant. Dante and Beckett congratulate me, and my father seems to relax.

  I made the right decision. Wearing the crown is what I was born to do.

  Loving Cara doesn’t change that. Being King is a lonely life sentence, and I’ve known that since I was a child.

  When my sling comes off, the doctor checks me over and nods in approval. “Good. You’ll need regular physical therapy, but there doesn’t seem to be any permanent damage. Your range of motion will be limited for now. Try not to do any heavy lifting. We can start your physical therapy tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  “How’s your lady-friend doing? I thought I’d be seeing her again.”

  I frown. “You did? Is she okay?”

  The doctor’s eyebrows twitch ever so slightly upward. He clears his throat before nodding. “She should be fine, Your Highness. Excuse me.” He bows and retreats out of the room.

  A wave of nausea rises up inside me as fear rattles my chest.

  Is there something Cara isn’t telling me? Why would the doctor think he’d be seeing her again?

  Before I can spiral into my own thoughts, Dante appears in the doorway. My brother smiles at me, nodding to my shoulder.

  “All fixed?”

  “More or less.”

  “Fixed enough to wear a ceremonial uniform and get a crown placed on your head?”

  I grin, nodding. “I’ll manage.”

  He has a tablet tucked under his arm and turns the screen toward me. “Here’s the security plan for the coronation. I’ve updated the software for the security cameras and had the chief of security put extra staff on. As you know, you’ll have to appear at the palace balcony. We’re expecting a couple thousand people to show up.”

  “I’m not afraid of the public, Dante. I’ve been walking among them for years.”

  My brother looks at me, frowning. “Theo, you’re going to be the King of Argyle. Everything is going to be different.” He holds my gaze for a few seconds, and then places the tablet on my desk. “Have a look through the plan and let me know if you want me to change anything.”

  I nod, unable to speak. His words hit me like a slap across the face.

  Everything will be different.

  Everything.

  I’m no longer Theo, Prince of Argyle. I’m no longer free to go on solstice sailboat trips around the islands. I’m no longer able to take Cara to hidden villas and visit old soul singers. I’m about to be a king with no queen. A man at the helm of this kingdom with no one to rely on except myself.

  As my brother walks out of my room, I let out a heavy sigh.

  I love her, and I let her go.

  That was my first act as King of Argyle. My first selfless decision. The first truly good thing I’ve done, and the beginning of a long, difficult lifetime as the ruler of Argyle.

  24

  Cara

  New York is muggy. I miss the fresh, clean air of Argyle, and the soft sea breeze that sweeps over the entire Kingdom. Instead, my days are filled with smells of smog, car exhaust, and warm garbage.

  It’s been two weeks since I arrived. Two weeks since I mailed the letter. Two weeks since I made the decision to leave Theo behind.

  My semester at Juilliard doesn’t start for another three weeks, at the beginning of September, but I’ve enrolled in a prep class to get myself up to speed. I’ve taken very few voice lessons in my life, so I figured having a couple of weeks of formal training before the official start of the semester would calm my nerves. My teacher is a stern, black-haired woman in her fifties. She has a sharp nose and thin lips, and always makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong.

  By the end of my first week, I’m dreading my lessons and wondering if this is what I really want. There’s no joy in singing here. No soul. It’s cold and technical, without the love and warmth that I expect from music.

  After a grueling hour with Miss Dorothea, I trudge through the busy streets and make my way back to the apartment that my father arranged for me.

  It’s small. When I look out the window, all I see is another brick facade.

  I miss the ocean. It’s pathetic how homesick I feel. Slumping down on my sofa, I lean back and wonder for the millionth time if this was all a mistake.

  Then my phone dings, and I see an unfamiliar number on the screen.

  Unknown number: Hi Cara, it’s Jordan. We met at Miss Dorothea’s studio. I was wondering if you were free tonight? My friend’s band is playing at a bar and I’ve got no one to go with.

  I stare at the message, reading it and re-reading it. Is that…a date? I remember Jordan. We met on my first day and I’ve seen him a couple of times since. He’s got long, dark hair that falls to his shoulders. Most days, he wears it in a low bun. He’s handsome, in an artsy sort of way. Like a tortured singer who loves nothing more than to make you melt with his voice.

  He wants to go out with me?

  It feels wrong. I don’t want to go out with Jordan, no matter how angelic his voice is.

  But as I listen to the honking cars outside and inhale another lungful of stale air, I know I need to get out. The only way I’ll survive in this city is if I make friends and shake off this homesickness.

  I type out a quick answer and then jump in the shower to get ready. My stomach twists into knots, and my thoughts fly to Theo.

  I don’t want to go out with another man, but I do want to get out of this tiny shoebox apartment. Maybe I can just be clear with Jordan that I only want to be friends. I can go out, listen to music, and forget about the oppressive sadness that clings to my every pore.

  A couple of hours later, I walk into a busy, dimly-lit bar. The band is already playing, and I spot
Jordan sitting at a worn, wooden table. His eyes meet mine, and he raises a hand. A brilliant smile flashes across his face.

  He really is very good looking, objectively speaking. Not in the makes-my-body-burn kind of way, but I can appreciate his particular brand of attractiveness.

  When he wraps an arm around me and kisses my cheek, a flush creeps up my neck.

  “Drink?” Jordan asks.

  Instinctively, I put a hand to my stomach. I shake my head. “Just a seltzer water.”

  We sit at the bar and listen to the music. Jordan tells me about growing up in New York City with two musicians as parents. He tells me about a show of his coming up and asks me to come along. He tells me a million things, but doesn’t ask me anything about myself.

  By the end of the evening, I’m drained.

  And still homesick.

  When I get home, I kick off my shoes and slump down onto my creaky old sofa. I lay back on the scratchy pillows and stare at a jagged crack in the wall, sighing.

  Is this homesickness? Or is it my brain and my heart trying to tell me that I made a mistake?

  Singing used to bring me joy. It used to invigorate me.

  Now, I mostly just feel tired.

  And sad.

  And nauseous but still somehow hungry—but I think that has more to do with the baby growing inside me than the fact that I’m away from home.

  I wonder if my letter made it to Theo. I wonder if he read it and decided not to answer. Maybe the fact that I left was enough for him to walk away, whether or not I’m carrying his child.

  Picking up my phone, I type his name into a search engine. My eyes widen when I see news of his coronation. I didn’t even know it was happening today. I click on a video and watch the news coverage of the ceremony. My heart squeezes when I see his face on the screen, and I hold my phone just inches from my nose.

  A tear leaks out of my eye, and I brush it away.

  I have no right to be sad about this. I left. I said goodbye. I chose New York over Argyle. Myself over him. My dreams over his duty.

  I was never meant to be Queen.

  This is for the best. It’s what I wanted.

  …Right?

  The video cuts to Theo on the palace balcony, with his father by his side and his brothers standing behind him. This time, I don’t brush my tears away.

  He looks regal. Strong. He smiles, waving to the thousands of Argylians that have gathered at the palace gates to greet their new king. My heart aches at the thought that I could have been there beside him.

  Turning my phone’s screen off, I toss it aside and sob into my hands.

  In the silence of my tiny apartment, as the crowd’s cheers are still ringing in my ears, I know I’ve made a mistake. I should have told him how I felt. I should have gotten over my own stupid pride and my misplaced desire to be independent.

  I should have realized the thing that was smacking me in the face: I’m in love with Theo. Desperately. Hopelessly.

  I love him more than I could have imagined. It burns a hole right through my chest, sending daggers of pain through to my fingers and toes.

  Is love supposed to hurt this much?

  My sobs turn to trembling whimpers, and I lay on the couch in the fetal position. I wrap my arms around my stomach and squeeze my eyes shut.

  Theo is King now. That in itself is like the final nail in the coffin. I’m nothing but an aspiring singer. The youngest daughter of an Olympian and a wannabe socialite who failed to live up to her parents’ expectations of marrying well.

  But none of that matters. I don’t want to be Queen.

  I just want to be with Theo.

  As I stare at the brick wall outside my window, exhaustion settles into my spirit. Theo has other responsibilities, and the flame of our love affair has died out. My hands curl around my belly, and I turn my thoughts to my baby.

  Maybe, this child is the most precious gift Theo could have given me. It’s a piece of him. A piece of his love. A piece of the pure happiness that I felt while on tour with him.

  My baby is a reminder that even though things come at a cost, there are beautiful things in the world.

  I dry my eyes and take a deep, shaking breath.

  Theo might be out of reach, but that doesn’t mean I can’t live a full life.

  No matter what happens, I’ll cherish this baby like the gift that it is. I’ll love Theo from afar, knowing that a small part of him lives on in our child. A child that I get to care for and love with my whole heart. A child that I get to raise and adore. A child that will bring me more adventure than any international trip ever could.

  Even through the pain of my heartbreak, I can feel the truth of the sentiment. This baby is everything to me, with or without Theo.

  25

  Theo

  I’m surprised when Luca answers my phone call. His voice is gruff. He’s still in Singapore, and based on the reports I’m getting from the doctors, he’s doing well. They think he might even walk soon.

  Maybe his spirits are up, and that’s why he finally decided he wanted to talk to me.

  “Congratulations,” he says. “You’re the King now. Sorry I couldn’t be there.”

  “It’s fine. I’m just glad you answered. It’s been too long since we spoke last.”

  A weight lodges itself in the pit of my stomach. He doesn’t know that Cara and I had a— What did we have? An affair? A relationship? A fling?

  He doesn’t know that I spent three blissful weeks with her. He doesn’t know that she’s gone.

  Does he care? He hasn’t spoken to her in over a year.

  “The doctors seem to think your recovery is going well.” My voice is thin. I don’t even know how to talk to my own brother anymore.

  “They’ll have me trying to walk soon. I’ve been able to move my toes for a couple of months now. Feeling’s coming back to my legs. I’ve got pins and needles all the time, but I’m too weak to move them. Sick of rolling around in a wheelchair, though.”

  “Three years is a long time.”

  Luca grunts in response, and silence settles between us.

  “I sent you a card,” Luca says after a pause.

  “You did?”

  “It’s not much, just a card and a small gift. You’re our new King, after all. Thought I should congratulate you.”

  “I haven’t received it yet.”

  “I sent it to the P.O. box. Didn’t want anyone else getting my address. Can’t stand the thought of a surprise visit from Father.”

  Nodding, I grunt. I’m pacing back and forth in my father’s—no, my—study. Images of all of Argyle’s kings stare back at me, with a bare spot on the wall where my face will soon be hung.

  “Haven’t checked the P.O. box in months. And you’re probably safe on the visit-from-Father front. He’s weak.”

  “How weak?”

  “Weak enough to make me King.”

  Luca lets out a dry snort. He sounds flat. Nothing like the vibrant man I used to know. “Check the P.O. box if you want a lame card, then. I don’t know why I was expecting you to get it already. I guess you haven’t had any reason to look for mail in that P.O. box,” he says. “Not since Cara stopped talking to me.”

  I frown. Luca’s voice is bitter. The way he worded that sounds like he partially blames her for the demise of their relationship.

  That’s not how I see it at all. I witnessed Cara try and try and try to call him, to go visit him, to reach out to him. I saw my brother push her away, and I saw how much it broke her.

  I realized too late how much she was suffering. That I hadn’t been there for her, either.

  Now, she’s gone.

  Both Luca and I let her go.

  It’s for the best. I keep telling myself that, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

  “Have you seen Cara lately?” Luca sounds tense.

  My heart thuds, and I’m not sure how to answer. Should I tell him what happened between me and Cara? Or would telling him only hurt
more? Has he seen the rumors online about me and her?

  I take a deep breath and settle on a half-truth. “Not for a couple of weeks. She’s left to study singing in New York City.”

  Luca grunts in response, and a bitter taste coats my mouth. We say our goodbyes, and I let out a deep breath.

  That felt wrong, but what am I supposed to say? Cara’s gone. She’s pursuing her dreams. I’m King of Argyle, and I have responsibilities. Telling Luca about my affair with Cara would only cause more pain. There’s no point.

  We say goodbye, and I let out a sigh. That felt wrong. I was lying to my brother and to myself.

  I square my shoulders and head out the door. The P.O. box is located on the lesser populated side of the island a fifteen-minute walk away. I nod to my personal bodyguard, waving him away, then dodge through the hallways. When I get to my chambers, I grab the tiny key that opens the P.O. box lock, and then head out the door again, praying I won’t meet anyone who will have a thousand and one things for me to deal with.

  When I get outside, I suck in a deep breath. Fresh air reminds me of being with Cara. It reminds me of feeling the wind in our hair and hearing her laughter skip across the waves toward me. It reminds me of being happy.

  I walk quickly, ducking through a side gate of the palace grounds towards the post office box.

  This is a fresh start for me and Luca. He’s talking to me now. He’s asking about Cara. Soon, he’ll try walking again. Maybe he’s ready to let us in. Maybe, I’ll have my brother back and we’ll be able to be a family once more.

  Cara left, but maybe Luca will come back. It’s cold comfort, but it’s something.

  The post office box stands on the side of the street, out of view of the nearest house. My key slides in the lock, and I open it up. Frowning, I see not one, but two items inside. Luca’s package is a small box wrapped in brown paper.

  The other envelope is the one that catches my attention. It’s from the United States, and the return address is New York City.

  My breath comes fast. I’m practically hyperventilating as I tear the edge of the envelope, my hands trembling so hard I slice my finger open. A drop of blood beads on my finger as I swear under my breath, sticking the finger in my mouth for a second to lick the blood away.