Knocked Up by the Wicked Prince: A Secret Baby Romance

by Monroe, Lilian

  “Is Beckett the father?”

  In that moment, my world ends. Once again, I was too much of a coward to tell him the truth. He could take the revelation of my pregnancy and tell me that he’d be by my side, but he can’t take this.

  Why would he?

  The air between us thickens. I can’t move. A weight settles on my chest, and I find it hard to take a full breath.

  My baby, which had been kicking merrily all morning, is still. Waiting. Listening.

  Dipping my chin down ever so slightly, I nod. “Yes.”

  Prince Dante’s face crumples, and the sight of his anguish pierces me like a spear to the chest. My heart bleeds, emptying itself of all the hope and happiness that had started to seep in.

  I don’t cry. I don’t speak. I don’t tremble.

  I just stand there.

  Dante roughs a hand through his hair, his eyes bugging out of his head. He stares at the carpet at his feet, mumbling to himself before looking back up at me.

  “Why?” he whispers.

  I don’t know how to answer. Even if I knew what he wanted me to say, I don’t know that I could ever speak. How can I explain how much I’ve suffered? What words could possibly convey the guilt that I’ve felt over the one night I spent with Beckett?

  I drop my eyes.

  “Look at me,” Dante growls.

  Taking a deep breath, I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment before dragging them up to his.

  “Why?”

  “I was lonely,” I answer lamely. “Beckett was there. I…” I can’t tell him about the diagnosis. It would sound like I was making an excuse.

  Dante’s lip trembles. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I knew you’d hate me for it.”

  The Prince’s face twists, and I watch the anger mount inside him. He roars, the sound rattling my bones. I sob, clapping a hand over my mouth. Prince Dante spins on his heels, driving his fist into the wall. I flinch as the plaster crumbles, leaving a fist-sized hole in the wall.

  The first tear falls from my eye. I clutch my stomach, turning away from him.

  “You used me,” he says to my back.

  I shake my head. “Never.”

  “You wormed your way into my heart so that your baby would have a father.”

  I sob. “No. That’s not what happened.”

  “You tried to have Luca, and then Beckett, and finally settled for me. I never meant anything to you.”

  “No!”

  His words lash my back like an angry whip, leaving long, bloody welts across my body. I clutch the edge of the desk, raking a breath in through gritted teeth.

  “I love you,” I whisper, not able to look at him. “I’ve loved you since the first day we met.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  I turn to look at him again, and immediately wish I didn’t. Dante’s eyes are dead. Empty.

  Angry.

  The Prince jerks his head to the door. I stuff my laptop and a few things into my purse, rushing out of the room. My feet take me to Ivy’s room, but I can’t bring myself to knock.

  I can hear her and Luca making love on the other side of the door.

  She’s happy.

  Why would I bring my cursed existence into their life? They’ll be leaving on a honeymoon soon. Turning on my heels, I find the twins. They’re already packed up and ready to go back to Farcliff.

  When Giselle sees me, she drops her suitcase and wraps her arms around me.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m coming with you,” I say between sobs.

  “To Farcliff?”

  I nod.

  Giselle and Georgina exchange a glance, and then hook their arms into mine and take me to the plane. No one questions me. No one asks me where my suitcase is, or why Dante isn’t with me.

  It’s like everyone knows that something has shifted.

  They all know it’s over.

  The plane ride back to Farcliff is excruciating. Every inch that takes me farther away from Dante feels like my heart is being ripped from my chest. I clutch my hands to my stomach, doubling over in my seat as I wait for the agony to end.

  Maybe I should have stayed. Maybe I should have worked it out. Explained. Reassured. Trusted.

  What’s the point, though?

  I saw Dante’s eyes.

  It’s over.

  I’m on my own, just like I always thought I would be.

  When the flight attendant hands me a glass of sparkling water, I stare at the bubbles that cling to the edge of the glass, tapping them with a fingernail to dislodge them. They rush to the surface and burst.

  Georgina slides her hand over my arm and gives me a sympathetic smile. “You want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.”

  She sighs, turning to look forward. Her hand stays on my arm, and I draw a small bit of comfort from the touch.

  “You’re not alone, you know,” she finally says. “We care about you, just like we care about Ivy.”

  I laugh-snort, shaking my head. “You don’t know anything about me,” I answer bitterly. “I’ve always been alone.”

  Georgie sighs.

  I force myself to look at her. “Prince Beckett is the father of my child.” The words burn as they come out. Words that I thought I’d never speak out loud. Words that have ruined my relationship and any chance at happiness.

  Words that I should have had the courage to say months ago, and all this would have been avoided.

  Georgie’s eyes widen. “What?”

  I chuckle bitterly. “You still think everything will work out, and that I won’t end up alone?” I shake my head, staring out the plane window at the endless puffy, white clouds. “I can’t come back from this. My agent is in jail for treason, and the father of my child tried to murder a prince. What does that say about me?”

  “Um, that you have terrible taste in men?”

  I laugh, glancing at Georgie. Her blue braids hang on either shoulder and a kind smile stretches across her lips.

  “Come on,” she says softly. “You have Ivy. You have us. You have a house and a lot of adoring fans. You have your health. Who cares about the father of your kid? It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. It means you made one bad decision. Everyone does that once in a while.”

  I try to smile, but it comes out as a grimace. I know she’s trying to be nice, and I appreciate it.

  But she’s wrong.

  I don’t have Ivy. I never did. Ivy is her own person, and best thing I can do for her is to let her live her own life. I saw how happy she is at the wedding. She doesn’t need me bringing her down.

  I don’t have the twins, either. They aren’t my friends.

  A house? More like a prison.

  Adoring fans? More like vultures.

  And my health. Well, that’s another bombshell that hasn’t dropped yet. But what’s the point of telling it now? Who cares if I have Huntington’s? I don’t want Dante’s pity. He’s already retracted his love and his commitment to my child. My medical history doesn’t change that.

  No, it’s just me, and my baby.

  The way it’s always been.

  The way it’ll always be.

  26

  Dante

  You know the sounds that the adults in the Charlie Brown Show make? That’s what I hear when Theo debriefs me on the Beckett situation.

  Luca is pacing the study, running his hands through his hair over and over again.

  But all I can think of is Margot.

  She’s gone—because of me.

  I don’t know why I’m surprised. I wanted her to leave. I could hardly stand to look at her when she confirmed that Beckett’s the father.

  Now that she’s gone, it hurts. I regret speaking to her that way. I feel sorry for how we left it.

  Worst of all, one of the things that Beckett said plays on repeat in my mind.

  Even after I stuck a needle in her, she was strong enough to stay alive.

  Beckett ca
used her overdose. He didn’t just try to kill Luca, he tried to kill Margot, too.

  But I’m still angry. Heat clutches my heart, squeezing it a little too hard. Pain slices across my chest, sending daggers of fire up into my throat.

  She should be here.

  But she lied.

  Back and forth, my mind tugs at me. I can’t ignore the love I have for her, but I can’t get over the fact that she kept the truth from me.

  It was a lie by omission, but it was a lie nonetheless. For weeks, we worked on keeping her safe from Beckett. I changed my plans and exposed my face to the media for her sake. I worked to keep her protected from him, and she never told me.

  She never had the courage to say who the father was.

  I should have known.

  It’s hard to reconcile my thoughts about Margot. On one hand, I admire her strength and perseverance. She has more resilience than anyone else I know.

  On the other hand, she lied. She was weak. She fell into my arms, asking me to care for and protect a baby created by the man who tried to kill Luca.

  “Did he say anything about his plans, Dante?” Theo’s eyes are sharp as he stares at me, leaning his fists on his desk.

  I clear my throat, shaking my head. “No.”

  “What did he want?” Luca stops pacing, staring at me. “If he didn’t threaten me or you again, and he didn’t tell you what his plans were, what did he want? Why did he talk to you?”

  My brothers stare at me as bitterness coats my tongue. I try to swallow the acrid taste in my mouth, but it burns my throat on the way down.

  With a deep breath, I resign myself to the pain of speaking the words that hurt so much to hear. “He wanted me to know that he’s the father of Margot’s child.”

  Silence.

  “W-What?” Luca stares at me, his brows tugging toward each other.

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  “That can’t be true.”

  “I asked her.”

  “Get her in here,” Theo says, glancing at the door. “We need to figure this out.”

  “She’s gone.” My voice is completely flat. I stare at a spot on the wall, seeing nothing.

  “What do you mean she’s gone? She’s with Beckett?”

  “No.” I snap out of my stupor, glancing at Theo. “She left with the twins this morning to go back to Farcliff. We broke up. I guess… I guess she didn’t feel like she could stay here.”

  Luca sucks a breath in, slumping down into a chair. “That complicates things.”

  I snort bitterly.

  The three of us are silent for a moment, until Theo raps his knuckles on his desk. “We need to get Margot back here. She’s carrying Argyle royalty, and she shouldn’t be on her own in Farcliff. We need to protect her.”

  I frown, staring at the King. Shame curls in the pit of my stomach as I realize that he’s right…

  …but I still can’t bring myself to agree with him.

  I know that no matter what Beckett has done, Margot’s baby should be part of our family. That’s especially true now that Luca and Ivy are married. We can’t leave her out in the cold to fend for herself.

  We accepted Beckett as our brother, even though he never believed it. Margot’s child is part of this family, too.

  Yet, I can’t bring myself to say it out loud. Whenever I open my mouth, the only thing that wants to come out is bitterness and anger.

  Why couldn’t she have just told me the truth? Why did she have to hide this from me?

  It makes me wonder what else she’s hiding, and why she hid it in the first place. Beckett’s words echo in my mind.

  Margot always seemed like a crafty woman. I guess since she couldn’t be with me or Luca, she chose the next best thing.

  His voice plays in my head like a broken record, pushing out any virtuous thoughts that might have taken hold. I can’t trust her. I can’t believe her. She was just using me.

  It feels like I’m a child all over again, confused as to why my mother has left. Mad at her for abandoning us. Mad at her for cheating on my father and lying.

  “…So, will you? Dante?” Theo is staring at me, eyebrows arched. Luca’s staring at me, too, and I try to straighten up in my chair.

  I clear my throat. “Sorry, what was that?”

  “Will you go to Farcliff to get Margot back here? She can’t be on her own over there. We need to keep her safe.”

  I shake my head, and my brothers frown at me. “I can’t.” It comes out as a hoarse whisper, and shame makes my cheeks burn.

  “What?” Luca grunts, leaning toward me.

  “I can’t,” I repeat.

  “Why not?”

  “I can’t. I’m sorry.” I push myself out of my chair and stumble out of the room.

  Making my way back to my own chambers, I grimace when I see Margot’s things still strewn around the bedroom. She was in such a hurry to get away from me that she didn’t even take her belongings.

  Throwing open her suitcase, I start flinging her stuff into it. I scoop all her toiletries into a plastic bag and chuck them into the suitcase. I don’t bother folding her clothes. I just crumple them up and toss them in.

  How can my brothers not understand how I feel? How could they ask me to go fetch her back to Argyle?

  How can they trust her?

  Margot lied to us. All of us. She was closer to Beckett than we thought, and she kept it hidden from everyone. She hated the fact that Ivy started a business, and her agent tried to poison her sister.

  How can we be sure that she had nothing to do with that? She’s at the center of everything bad that’s happened to us!

  I repeat the words to myself, mumbling angrily as I pack her things away. When I zip the suitcase up and lift it onto its wheels, I’m sweaty and panting. I take a step back, staring at the black bag as if it’ll start talking to me.

  Huffing, I call a valet into my room and tell him to send the suitcase back to Farcliff. Storming out of my bedroom, I make my way outside. I need some air. I need a drink. I need something.

  I wander through the palace grounds, but everything reminds me of Margot.

  Her laugh. Her smell. Her touch.

  I’ve lost everything that I never even knew I wanted. She promised me a life that I thought was out of reach. I thought I’d be a father, a husband, a good, honest man.

  Now? Now, I’m right back to where I started.

  The clicking of a camera shutter sends fear spiking through my veins. I glance up to see a reporter hiding behind a tree, seconds before a bodyguard pulls him to the ground and puts him in a headlock.

  My eyebrows arch in surprise. I hadn’t even realized the bodyguard was behind me, but I vaguely remember Theo saying something about needing to be accompanied everywhere.

  The photographer is hauled away, and my heart sinks.

  This is my life now. I’ve exposed my face to the media. I’ve come out of hiding, and now the public only wants more.

  I gave everything up for Margot—including my privacy—and she fucking lied.

  Lied, lied, lied.

  My veins feel like they’re full of fire, burning me from the inside out. I can’t move without painful heat shooting through my body. I can’t breathe without feeling like my lungs are being crushed. I can’t speak without scraping razor blades over my vocal cords.

  The sounds of the photographer’s protests fade as he’s hauled away by security, and I still stand in the woods.

  Alone.

  Tilting my chin up to look at the treetops, a bitter laugh escapes my lips. I used to love being alone. Being by myself was the sweetest joy. Loneliness didn’t exist in my life. Solitude was a gift.

  Now, everything is soured.

  I’m completely, utterly alone…

  …and I hate it.

  27

  Margot

  “Don’t worry about him,” Melissa says as she conditions my hair. “Men are dogs.”

  “Prince Dante isn’t a dog.”

  “Num
ber one, he agreed to be there for you and to take care of your child, even though it wasn’t his. Then, he turned around and kicked you out. Ergo de facto, he’s a dog.”

  “I didn’t know you knew Latin,” I say, too tired to smile.

  “Carpe diem, baby,” Melissa responds, rinsing the conditioner out of my short hair.

  She moves me to a chair and blow-dries it. I stare in the mirror at my shortened locks, and bitterness fills my heart.

  I chopped my hair off in an impulsive moment, thinking I was turning a leaf. I thought my life was changing for the better.

  All I’ve done is give myself visible proof that I’m a fool.

  “There,” Mel says, turning the blow drier off. “Bangin’.”

  “Thanks.” I smile sadly, touching the ends of my hair. “Is it bad that I kind of miss the long hair?”

  “You’re just saying that because your boyfriend is an ass.”

  “He’s not an ass,” I shoot back. “And he’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Mark my words, Margot,” Melissa says, pointing a comb at me. “He’s going to come crawling back.”

  My chest squeezes. “I’m not sure about that.”

  “Mark. My. Words.” She nods to the door. “Come on. Let’s have some food.”

  “Thanks for coming back so quickly. I know you wanted to visit more of Argyle.”

  “I couldn’t leave you here on your own,” Melissa says, wrapping me in a hug.

  Following my friend downstairs, I make my way to the kitchen, where my personal chef has prepared a feast. I smile and thank him before grabbing a plateful of food. Mel and I sit down on the living room floor, eating at the coffee table.

  We used to do this together when we first met, before I had a mansion with a dining room and fancy chairs. Somehow, it became our tradition. Eating on the floor with Mel is one of the few things that makes me feel normal.

  I fold my legs underneath me and put a hand to my stomach. Soon, I’ll have to sit at the table. Getting up and down off the floor is becoming more difficult.

  I push the food around the plate.

  I’m empty. Life is meaningless. It’s hard to shake the dread that’s growing inside me, and the feeling like there’s no use in even trying.