Knocked Up by the Wrong Prince: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance

by Monroe, Lilian

  Tradition.

  Cara slips into the booth seat at the table and pulls out a deck of cards from her bag. They’re the same worn cards that we’ve used for the past ten years. All three of my brothers, Cara, and I would play card castle games for hours when we were younger. She always had the same deck, ready to pull out of her bag whenever it was needed.

  That’s one thing I like about Cara. She collects things that mean something to her. They’re never expensive things, even though her family is wealthy. The things she collects are usually small, like a worn pack of cards or a couple of nice shells that she finds on the beach. She doesn’t value the things that most people in my life hold dear—expensive cars and clothes, jewelry, and money. She values things that have meaning.

  Real meaning—like a pack of worn playing cards, frayed edges and all.

  Maybe that’s why she needs to leave. The things that hold her in Argyle—stability, safety, a big house that her parents built—don’t mean anything to her. She wants to find her own treasures along the way.

  I head for the bar and pull out a bottle of whiskey, flashing a grin at her.

  “You ready?”

  “Ready to win.”

  The rules are simple. The person that builds the tallest card castle in an allotted amount of time wins. The other person drinks.

  We start the first round, and my card castle crumbles as soon as the boat rocks. Cara laughs, nodding to the bottle of alcohol.

  “Drink.” Her eyes flash.

  The alcohol burns on the way down. Cara giggles, and sets the timer on her phone again.

  It’s a silly game, but we’ve been playing it for years. Cara’s tongue pokes out of her mouth as she tries to steady her hands, starting on the second level of her card castle.

  My cards are slipping already. I haven’t even been able to get the first two to stand up against each other.

  My pathetic structure collapses. “I think you rigged these cards.”

  “I think you’ve sucked at this game for years.” Cara quips. The buzzer sounds, and her smile widens. “Drink.”

  I take a swig of whiskey, shaking my head as I wipe my lips on the back of my hand. “You’ve definitely rigged this.”

  “In all the years we’ve been doing this, how many times have you won?” She arches an eyebrow.

  We both know the answer to that question: zero. My hands aren’t steady, and I just can’t get the cards to stack up. Add the rocking of the boat and a few drinks, and I’m completely hopeless.

  At least I enjoy whiskey.

  I just shake my head and pour some alcohol into her glass. “You should drink for speaking to your Crown Prince in that tone.”

  “Oh, pulling out the royal card again. I see how it is. You’ve changed, Theo.”

  “I’m not above using my title to get what I want.”

  “And what do you want?” Her eyes darken, and heat flames in my gut.

  Instead of answering, I just drink.

  Cara laughs, and I realize just how much I’ve missed that sound. She used to be a fixture at the palace. We grew up together, and I called her one of my closest childhood friends. Things changed when she was promised to Luca, obviously, but we’ve always been close.

  The past three years I’ve seen less of her than ever before, and I’ve missed her more than I realized.

  She shows me her phone screen, her finger hovering over the timer button. “Are you giving up, or should we go another round?”

  “I never give up.”

  Cara grins. My heart feels easy. I watch her stack her cards higher and higher, and I resign myself to getting very, very drunk with one of my closest friends.

  How could I not? It’s tradition.

  4

  Cara

  I wake up with a pounding headache. Even though I won every single round of the card castle game, I still drank my fair share of whiskey with Theo.

  I couldn’t help it. It’s been months—years—since I’ve been able to let loose. It felt like old times, or maybe like the start of my new life. One where I’m free to get drunk if I feel like it, or leave on an international adventure when I want to. One where I chase my own dreams, instead of living the life that’s been prescribed for me.

  But as my head thumps, I’m almost regretting it.

  Almost.

  The yacht rocks, and I groan into my pillow. I can hear Prince Theo moving around in the cabin next to mine, and I wonder if he’s feeling as groggy as I am. I don’t know if it’s the hangover or the weather, but the waves feel choppier than they did yesterday.

  Shuffling out of my cabin, I emerge at the same time as Theo appears in his doorway. His hair is mussed and his eyes are hazy, but a tiny kernel of warmth flames to life in the pit of my stomach. Has he always been this handsome?

  I clear my throat, trying to shake the feeling away.

  Maybe I’m still a little drunk.

  “How’d you sleep?” the Prince asks, rubbing his palm over his jaw.

  “Fine, I guess. I think it was more passing out than sleeping. How much did we drink last night?”

  The boat heaves, and Theo stumbles toward me. He catches himself against my doorway, but not before his chest brushes against mine. The heat in my gut expands as I inhale his scent, not even bothered by the hangover that still pounds in my head.

  My thighs clench. My heart stutters.

  This is bad.

  I’m not supposed to feel this way about Theo. It’s wrong on so many levels.

  I must be lonelier than I thought. Three years without Luca has taken its toll. It’s just hormones. That’s all.

  Right?

  “Coffee?” Theo grunts, nodding toward the galley kitchen at the back of the yacht. I nod, following him down the narrow passageway. My eyes drop to his butt, mesmerized by the motion of it as he walks. Glancing away, I curse myself.

  I’m definitely still drunk. There’s no other explanation. My thoughts aren’t my own.

  We make it to the kitchen, where Chef Alfred has prepared a full spread for breakfast. The chef, dressed in his crisp white uniform, bows to the Prince and me before offering us a selection of food.

  My stomach gurgles violently. I shake my head.

  “Just coffee, please.”

  “As you wish,” Alfred says, pouring coffee halfway up the mug. The boat rocks, sending the hot liquid sloshing up the sides of its container.

  “Maybe a mug with a lid.” He smiles.

  I nod gratefully, accepting the travel mug. Theo’s already collapsed on one of the banquettes, his hand over his face as he groans.

  “Remind me again why we invented that game? This happens every year.”

  I chuckle, joining him on the long, cushioned bench. “What did you think was going to happen?”

  “I was hoping I’d whoop your ass, for once.”

  “Dreamer.”

  Prince Theo groans, and I smile into my coffee.

  “Maybe we’re getting too old to play it,” I say with a shrug. “I don’t remember being this hungover last time.”

  Prince Theo’s long limbs are stretched over the seat. When he shifts his body on the bench, the edge of his shirt rides up his stomach, exposing a strip of bronzed flesh. My heart thumps and I have to look away.

  The coffee is bitter and hot, and it burns on the way down. I focus on the sensation, because at least then I’m not thinking about Prince Theo’s body.

  Has he always been this attractive?

  I’ve never thought of him as anything other than a childhood friend. When I was dating Luca, Prince Theo was going to be my future brother-in-law. Theo had always been a little more distant than the other Princes. He’s the King-in-training, after all. I’ve always thought of him as a person who puts duty above everything and takes his responsibilities very seriously.

  He was never someone I looked at as anything more than my friend and future King. Plus, I was dating his brother. I was in love, or so I thought.

  Now, ev
erything’s changed. Luca and I aren’t together anymore. It’s been years since a man has looked at me, let alone spent any time with me. I’ve been lonely. Alone. Isolated.

  My parents have raged and ranted about the dissolution of my engagement to Prince Luca, my mother always cursing me for letting it fall apart. I was supposed to be their ticket into the royal family. I was supposed to be the one to make their fortune more respectable by marrying royalty. Now, that’s all over.

  My parents don’t know it yet, but I’m leaving. It’s done.

  Except, when my eyes drift over Prince Theo’s body, I can’t help but enjoy the embers that burn in my veins. Heat feels good after three years of cold isolation. Being next to him makes something spark inside me. Something that’s lain dormant for a long time.

  Theo feels me staring at his body and opens his eyes. We look at each other for a moment. His gaze is unreadable.

  The chef places some bacon on a hot pan, then, and both our heads turn toward the sizzle.

  Then, the smell hits.

  Closely followed by nausea.

  Theo groans, scrambling to his feet as the boat rocks violently to the side. He catches himself against the dining table, and I’m grateful that everything on this yacht is secured to the floor. Theo’s body lands inches from mine, splayed across the table. Even after a night of drinking, he still smells like a fresh ocean breeze mixed with manly musk.

  How did I never notice that scent before? Or the way it makes my blood burn hotter?

  Groaning, the Prince pulls himself off the table and mumbles something about fresh air.

  I watch him leave the small room, closing my eyes as I wrap my fingers around my mug of coffee.

  I must be drunk. It’s the only explanation for what’s happening in my body right now. I’ve never, ever thought of Theo this way. I’ve never been attracted to him. I’ve been able to acknowledge his attractiveness, sure, but in an objective kind of way. The way you can acknowledge a celebrity is attractive without actually being turned on by them. He’s never made my pulse quicken like he does now.

  I need to get a grip.

  I sip my coffee, waiting for my heartbeat to slow down.

  Theo is off-limits. I used to be promised to his brother. We grew up together.

  He’s my friend.

  Nothing more.

  And I’m leaving, for crying out loud. In a week, I’ll be gone. Now is not the time to muddy the waters.

  Even if I were attracted to him—which I’m not, because I’m sure this’ll pass once the alcohol is out of my system—it would be completely inappropriate. Completely out of the question. Completely wrong.

  Still, my eyes drift up to the hallway where he disappeared. Something tugs at the pit of my stomach, and I know I need to follow him.

  Heaving myself off the booth seat, I catch myself against the wall when the boat rocks again.

  “Captain says a storm’s coming,” Chef Alfred explains, securing all his things under straps and in drawers. He gives me a tight smile. “We might have to spend the day below deck.”

  “I’ll let the Prince know.”

  The chef bows his head and continues his work. I hand him my empty coffee mug and head down the narrow hallway. As soon as I emerge into the fresh air outside, my headache eases a little. The heat that burned inside me dampens, and relief floods through my body.

  I’m not attracted to Theo. My moment of weakness was only the result of three lonely years and a night of heavy drinking.

  I should be grateful that I didn’t act on any of these feelings last night. It’ll pass.

  Scanning the yacht’s deck, I see Theo near the railing. The captain is beside the mast of the sailboat with one of the crew members, furiously trying to drop the sail down. The sky is dark. The sea is choppy.

  There’s definitely a storm coming.

  “You need any help?” I ask the captain, who’s busy gathering the fabric of the sail and winding it around the horizontal boom sticking out from the mast.

  “I’m fine!” he calls out, waving me toward the cabins behind me. “You should get back inside.”

  Theo turns to look at us. When his eyes swing toward me, my breath catches. Darkness swirls in his gaze as it drops down my body, sending heat pooling in the pit of my stomach.

  I know one thing for sure—he’s never looked at me like that before.

  My nipples pucker. Is it his gaze causing that, or the cold sea air whipping around my body? My hair flies around my face as the Prince and I stare at each other from opposite sides of the yacht. My feet start moving before I realize what’s happening. I’m drawn to him, like he’s got a rope wrapped around my waist and he’s dragging me closer. Like I belong to him.

  My heart pounds against my ribcage.

  I ignore the captain’s shouts as he tells us to go inside. Wind whistles around my ears as I walk toward Theo, catching myself on any available railing as the boat heaves beneath me. The storm is approaching, but I only have eyes for the Prince.

  I’m powerless to do anything but make my way toward him.

  Theo’s deep, blue eyes darken as he watches me. His grip tightens on the railing behind him as his eyes drop the length of my body again.

  I can’t take much more of this. I’ll either have to act on these urges or walk away from Theo forever.

  Walking away forever would be the smart thing to do. Up until twelve hours ago, I’d have said it was the easier thing to do.

  Now? I’m not so sure.

  When I reach him, the Prince’s tongue slides out to lick his lips. Heat spatters across my face as a blush spreads over my cheeks. My insides are burning up.

  “We should get inside,” he says, his voice a low growl. I feel his voice in the depths of my body, below the howling of the wind. The captain yells something behind us, but I don’t listen to a word of it.

  My hangover has been stripped away by the wind. The smell of the sea air reminds me of Theo, and my eyes are stuck on his lips.

  Does he feel this electricity between us? Has it always been there?

  Theo shifts his weight, turning his back on the captain and sliding his gaze out to sea. The waves are getting higher, and the wind is whistling. The ocean is black.

  “Looks like it’s going to be bad.”

  Before I can answer, my ears register a panicked shout from the captain. I turn my head in time to see the boom swinging out of the captain’s grasp. Part of the sail is still unfurled, and a violent gust of wind has caught it. The other crew member leaps over to grab a rope, halting the swinging of the boom. The two of them shout again, struggling against the wind that threatens to rip the rope out of their grasp.

  If the boom swings all the way around, it’ll come straight for us. A death trap. A hurtling metal rod, four inches in diameter, swinging at head-level toward the Prince and me.

  My heart stops. The captain screams again, letting out a few inches of rope as he stumbles over the deck.

  “Theo—” I gasp as the captain trips again, the other sailor struggling to regain control. I let out a sigh as the two of them grasp the rope together and start to reel the boom back in. The captain’s face is red with effort as the boat rocks in the waves.

  The Prince’s eyes are still staring out to sea. Either he hasn’t heard the captain’s shouts, or he’s choosing to ignore them.

  Figures.

  Another thing about royalty? They’re not very good at following instructions.

  My heart is still racing. Ever since I stepped outside and felt the power of Theo’s gaze, it’s been thumping uncomfortably.

  This is different, though. I taste danger on my tongue. Electricity dances over my skin. We shouldn’t be out here on the deck.

  “We should go inside,” I scream above the whip of the wind.

  “In a minute,” Theo replies, leaning against the railing. “Look at the lightning!” A wave splashes against the side of the boat, dousing us both in salty water.

  Then, I hear
it.

  Another scream from the captain.

  I don’t have to look over my shoulder to hear the panic in his voice. He doesn’t need to say any words for me to know something’s very, very wrong.

  I don’t have time to think. I can almost sense the long, metal boom coming whipping toward the Prince and me. I can feel it swinging toward us without needing to look.

  It’ll hit the Prince before it hits me. We’ll be knocked unconscious, or worse. Tossed out to sea like two rag dolls, flying into the black waters toward our deaths.

  At this moment, it doesn’t matter that Prince Theo is royalty. It doesn’t matter that there are years of history between us, or that forbidden desire has sparked to life inside me overnight.

  All that matters is saving the Prince’s life.

  If that boom swings over to us and hits him over the head, he’ll be thrown overboard with his skull cracked open.

  I have a fraction of a second. Less.

  I need to act.

  The long metal boom rushes toward us as the captain lets out another shout, and I do the only thing I can think of. Throwing all my weight into it, I tackle Prince Theo to the ground.

  Little old me, Cara Shoal of Argyle, throws my five-foot-four body against Prince Theo’s six-plus feet of brawn. I wrap my arms around his thick chest, pinning his arms to his sides. Putting all the weight of my desperation into the hit, I launch myself against him.

  He yelps in surprise, falling backward just as the boom whizzes over our heads. It skims the top of my hair as we tumble to the ground, my chest crushing against the Prince’s as I land. A wheeze is pushed out of his lungs as pain rockets through my arms.

  I’m pinned against him, with my arms stuck underneath his heavy body.

  The boat rocks, and we tumble together toward the railing. His body rolls over mine as more panicked shouts sound. The captain screams something. I don’t hear a word of it.

  The yacht heaves.

  Theo and I roll.

  The edge is only inches away, and the gap between the railing is too tall. We’re both going to go overboard.