I cry silently as Charlie snores beside me. My heart splinters at the thought of losing him, but I know that I’m doing the right thing. Even if I can’t have him, I’ll have his child to have, and hold, and love—to treat like a little prince or princess.
At the end of the day, that’s more important than anything else. I already know that I’ll love this baby every bit as much as I love the Prince.
The only way that I can see both the baby and the Prince having a fair chance at life is if I give up this relationship. For my baby, I will. For the Prince to have a chance at being a respected King, I will.
But that doesn’t mean I won’t cry about it. It doesn’t mean it won’t hurt like hell.
Charlie mutters something in his sleep and pulls me closer, throwing his leg over mine. I take a deep, shuddering breath and snuggle into his embrace, vowing to enjoy every second of these three days, because I know they’ll be the last days I spend with him.
That’s exactly what I do. I push the thoughts of the baby aside, and I force myself to get over the fatigue and the nausea, and I enjoy my days off. I haven’t had multiple days off in far too long. Charlie and I sleep, and eat, and make love all day long. He takes me out on motorcycle rides. On Sunday, we go to Frank’s shelter to help out for a bit before going back to the Valencia’s for a family dinner.
They’re the happiest and the most heartbreaking days of my life.
When the Prince drops me off at my shabby old house on Sunday evening, I give him a long kiss. This is the moment to say the words. This is the moment to break up with him.
But he flashes a smile at me… and I can’t do it. The words stick to my throat and the Prince kisses me again.
I’m too weak.
Instead, I blink back tears and chicken out. “I’m going to be pretty busy these next couple of weeks. I really need to focus on rowing until the regatta.”
Charlie grins. “Is that your way of saying you don’t want to see me?”
“Not that I don’t want to. I can’t.”
“Fine. I have some court stuff to attend to anyway. But I will be at the regatta with bells on, cheering you on at the finish line.”
I force a smile. “Can’t wait.”
When I get inside the house, I close the door and collapse in a heap on the floor, sobbing. Dahlia runs to me and wraps her arms around me, rocking me gently until I can breathe again.
“It’ll be okay,” she says, over and over again. “It’ll be okay.”
And I let myself believe her.
27
Charlie
I’m worried about Elle. She seems different when she says goodbye to me.
But I also know that the Spring Regatta is coming up, and it’s the biggest event of the rowing calendar. She’s been working hard for this. I’ve seen her every morning out on the lake, and in the evenings in the weight room. I’ve watched her prep her food and avoid parties. She is the exact opposite of how I used to live.
Elle’s discipline is awe-inspiring. Over the past two months, I’ve watched her dial everything in and push her body further than I’ve ever thought possible.
She’s a true athlete, and I have a hell of a lot of respect for her. I don’t think I could do what she does. She’s completely focused and determined about what she has to do.
And off the water, she’s bubbly and bright—or at least she was, up until this week.
I’m just in the middle of sending her a text to tell her how proud I am of her when there’s a knock on my bedroom door. My father doesn’t wait for my answer before he opens the door and walks in.
“A little privacy, maybe? I could be naked in here. I could have company.”
“You haven’t had company in here in two months. It’s unusual.”
“Maybe I’m discovering the virtues of a celibate life.”
“Maybe there’s a woman you’re not telling me about.”
I try to keep my face steady, but my jaw ticks. The King notices. He snorts and shakes his head.
“Well, whoever she is, you’re going to need to end it. Your time is up. I’ve chosen for you.”
“Fuck you.” I pick my phone up again and lay down in bed, ignoring him.
The King chuckles. He steps into my room casting his eye around as if he’s a realtor assessing a home for sale.
His eyes land on me. “You think you’re above the law, Charlie—above traditions, above me—but you’re not. I’m telling you now, I’ve chosen a wife for you.”
“And I’m telling you I won’t marry her.”
“Aren’t you curious as to who she is?”
“Not particularly, no. It doesn’t matter.”
I can see frustration simmering inside my father, but he does a remarkable job of keeping it contained. He clasps his hands behind his back and takes a few steps further into my room. Stopping at the door to my ensuite, he glances at the locked trash can and swings his eyes back to me.
“I’ve found the governess.” His eyes narrow.
I freeze. She was sent away from here, banished when the scandal broke. If he’s found her, it’s because he wants leverage over me. He’s not ready to give up the Crown, and all this stuff about finding me a wife, about the governess… it’s starting to make sense. My father still wants the power, even if the Crown passes to me.
Swinging my eyes up to him, I shrug. “So?”
The King scoffs. “You can pretend that you don’t care, but I know that whoever your girlfriend is, she won’t like learning about your little sexcapades when you were young.”
“She already knows,” I shrug. A smile tugs at my lips as I watch my father. Is that all he’s got? If he tries to cause another scandal about me and the governess, I’m ready. Ever since I’ve been with Elle, I’ve done some thinking. She’s helped me shake off the shame of what happened when I was a teenager. She’s helped me realize that it wasn’t my fault, and that my governess was taking advantage of me.
So, if the King tries to cause a fuss about it? I’m ready. I’ll take all the slings and arrows that the press can throw at me, and I’ll tell them the truth about everything that happened.
If that’s all my father has over me as leverage, he has nothing. The governess doesn’t hold any power over me anymore.
The King’s lips twitch into a mirthless smile. “So there is a woman? I wasn’t sure, but you’ve just confirmed it.”
I blink.
Shit.
“Who is she?”
“Why do you care? You’ve already written her off.”
“You’re too much like your mother, Charles. You don’t understand the importance of traditions. This Kingdom is built on tradition. We have customs that go back hundreds of years, and the people respect us because we respect the throne.”
“No, the people respect us because they think we care about them. And I actually do. If that makes me too much like my mother? Well, good. I’d rather be like her than you.”
“You’re a fool.”
“Is that the only reason you’re here? To threaten to tell the world about the governess again? You’ll have to do better than that, Father. Take the wife you’ve chosen and shove her up your ass.”
He says nothing, only stares at me for a few moments and huffs. I look at my bedroom door, where Talin appears from the shadows. He bows to my father, who stalks out of my room and slams the door behind him.
My blood boils. I stare at the closed door as my muscles tense, rage growing inside me as I replay our conversation over and over again in my head.
My own father is threatening me.
At least now I know why. He doesn’t want to give up the throne, or any bit of his power. Once I’m named the official heir, my word will carry more weight. My father needs to make sure that I’m still under his thumb.
He’s trying to do it through my wife, and through any bit of dirt that he can gather on me.
Well, joke’s on him, because I’m not marrying whoever he’s chosen, and scandals no
longer bother me. I’m a new man, and I know what I want.
I want a certain tall, brown-haired and brown-eyed rower with a sharp tongue and a banging body. I clutch my phone and scroll through my photos, smiling at all the ones we’ve taken together.
She’s the one. No question about it.
I was worried about my father before, but now I know he’s got nothing on me. If that little threat is the worst he’s got, then I’m free to show Elle off to the world.
After the Spring Regatta, when Elle wins her medal and her prize money, I’m going to make her my wife.
28
Elle
For the next week, I avoid Prince Charlie. I’m too busy with rowing, I tell him.
It’s mostly true. The lead up to the regatta is intense. I’m in my peak week of training, making sure my nutrition, sleep, and training are dialed in perfectly.
A small tendril of doubt snakes through me as I push myself during my last few training sessions before the regatta. Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this. What if it’s bad for the baby?
But I quash the thought as soon as it enters my head. If Serena Williams can win the Australian Open while two months pregnant, I can win the Farcliff Regatta. I’ve worked too hard, and for too long to give up now. I’ve spent hours on the water. I’ve given up parties, and late nights, and everything else that a normal college kid would enjoy.
Everything in my life has led up to this moment. Last year, I didn’t qualify.
This year, I’m going to win.
Baby or not. Impending breakup or not.
I think Charlie understands that, because he doesn’t push to see me. He sends me texts and pictures, telling me he’s proud of me, but he gives me space.
Damn it, he’s so thoughtful and so easy to love. If he was crowding me or putting too much pressure on me, I could get mad and push him away. I could give myself an excuse to break it off.
But he’s perfect, and I can’t.
So I just do what I do best. I focus on rowing.
Coach Bernard is happy with my last few sessions. My nutrition is perfect, and I’m finally sleeping a bit better. In a way, it feels good to have the regatta to focus on.
Whenever I start freaking out about the baby, I put that energy into rowing. If I feel sad about the Prince, I row. My heart, my soul, my prayers all go into the competition.
Charlie seems to be in good spirits. His texts and phone calls are loving and positive, and it makes me wonder if it only seems that way because my mind is deep in a negative space. Does he seem happier than before, or am I just more sad?
Dahlia goes with me to the doctor, and I learn that I’m perfectly healthy, and my pregnancy is completely normal so far.
Late at night, when I can’t row or run or train, I lay there with my arm curled around my stomach and I cry.
The day of the regatta, I wake up full of nervous energy. My entire day is planned out to the minute. I already have my clothes laid out for the day, and all my pre- and post-race snacks are packed. My meals are prepped and ready, and I chow down a hearty breakfast before heading to the lakeshore.
Olivia and Marielle’s snide comments don’t even bother me. They have their events, and I have mine. Their opinions mean nothing—not today.
This is what I live for. Today is competition day, and I’m here to win.
I put everything else out of my mind. Right now, it doesn’t matter.
Tomorrow, I’ll deal with my future, but today, I just need to win this race. It’s just me and the water.
An hour before my event, I sit on the lakeside and close my eyes. I visualize myself crossing the finish line. I imagine the crowd waiting and cheering, the smell of the water and the trees, the feel of the oars in my hands and the boat beneath me. I visualize every single detail until I’ve already won the event once in my mind.
Then, I get up, and I’m ready to do it again—for real this time.
Coach Bernard is there, giving me last minute encouragement, but I hardly hear him. This is what I’m made to do. I brush my hand over my stomach before I get in my shell, closing my eyes once more.
This is for you, kid.
Getting in the water feels like coming home. My muscles are warm, and my heart is thumping with a strong, steady heartbeat.
A smile drifts over my lips, and I run my hands over my oars. As I make my way to my starting position, my body and mind feel completely aligned. I’m ready.
When the gun goes off, I row.
No, I don’t row. I fly. My strokes are smooth, cutting through the water like butter. I’m a dancer, floating along the surface as each stroke brings me closer to the finish line. Closer to my destiny.
My muscles burn and my lungs scream, and I push harder. Faster.
It feels exactly as it did in my mind. I smell the lake. I hear the oars dipping into the water. When I get closer to the finish line, I hear the excited crowd and the announcer booming over the loudspeaker.
I close my eyes and I pull.
My legs are about to give out and my lungs need more oxygen. My shoulders and arms are in pain. I reach into that pain, tasting it on my tongue as I pull the oars through the water again, and again, and again.
Pain tastes good. It tastes like victory.
The coppery tang of blood fills my mouth and I know I’m reaching my limit. I squeeze my eyes shut again and think of my baby. I’m doing this for my child. I’ll win, just to show my kid that anything is possible. I need that prize money more than ever—but maybe more importantly, I need to prove to myself that I can do it. That I’m worthy. That I can win something of my own merit, based on my own strengths and off the back of my own hard work.
My child will be able to look at me and be proud of knowing where they came from.
The sounds of the crowd roar in my ears as I pull the oars through the water one last time. My eyes are still closed, my breath ragged as my muscles scream in sweet, glorious agony.
When I open my eyes again, I’m past the finish line, and my name is flashing at the top of the big screen.
I won.
I fucking won.
A scream rips through me. It tears through my chest and burns my throat as I roar. I lift my arms up over my head and yell so loud it hurts as tears stream down my cheeks.
It’s the sound that only an athlete knows. I scream for every hour that I’ve spent on this lake, for every extra training session, and for everything I’ve given up. I scream for my baby, and for the end of my relationship with the Prince.
Pumping my arms above my head, I look over at the crowd on the shore and see Prince Charlie on his feet, whooping and hollering for me. He’s beaming.
Dahlia was right—he loves me. Of course she was right. He’s stupidly in love with me, just as I am with him. I’ll never love anyone as much as I love him. His strength, his humor, his tattoos, his energy.
His tenderness. His passion.
I smile at him, and for the briefest of moments, I’m truly, completely happy.
Then my stomach churns.
In front of the entire royal family, all of Farcliff, and all the visiting colleges… I lean over the side of my boat and puke. The movement makes my shell heave sideways and it moves too suddenly for me to right it again.
My arms flail, my knees buck. Another panicked scream slips through my lips.
Then, right after the happiest moment of my life, I capsize my boat and fall headlong into Farcliff Lake.
29
Charlie
I don’t even realize I’m running until my steps shake the pier with a dull thud-thud-thud. Vaguely, I hear cameras flashing behind me, and someone shouting at me to stop . An arm tries to grab me, but I dodge out of the way.
My only focus is Elle. The instant she disappeared under the water, I went from elated to panicked. I launch myself off the end of the pier and dive into the murky, cold water of Farcliff Lake.
It takes more than a few powerful strokes to get me close to her boat. She went un
der near the center of the lake, where the water is deep and black. I need to get to her.
If she doesn’t come back up…
A million horrible thoughts cross my mind. I poke my head out of the water with the intention of filling my lungs to dive right back down when I see the vessel right itself. Elle’s head pops up above the other side of her boat.
Her eyes land on me as I tread water.
“Charlie?”
“You’re alive,” I pant, swimming the rest of the way to her.
She laughs. “Uh, yeah. What are you doing in here? Did you jump in?”
“I thought…” My eyebrows draw together. “Uh, I saw you throw up and then you fell in and I was worried… Are you okay?”
We both hang onto either side of her scull, staring at each other. The water is cold—it’s the middle of April, and the lake is still freezing. It’s starting to shock my body, and I try to keep moving as much as possible as my limbs get heavy and my breath slows down. “You good?” I ask.
Elle’s face falls. She swallows, averting her eyes.
“What’s wrong, Elle?”
She still won’t look at me. A motor revs in the distance, and I know that the rescue team will be here soon.
“Elle?” My heart skips a beat and worry starts wriggling in my heart. Why won’t she look at me? What is she hiding? Why does she still want to avoid me if the race is over? She won—she should be happy!
“I’m pregnant.”
Her eyes—big and brown and full of pain—sweep up to meet mine, and I freeze.
Blame the cold water, if you like. Blame shock. Whatever it is, it seizes my muscles and makes my jaw go slack. She stares at me with her eyebrows drawn together, and I know I need to say something. Anything.
But I can’t.
The rescue boat arrives to pick me up. Elle lifts herself up into her shell in one smooth motion and nods to the rescue team, who let her paddle back to safety on her own.
And I have to sit in the power boat, watching.
Royally Unexpected: An Accidental Pregnancy Collection Page 15