Royally Unexpected: An Accidental Pregnancy Collection

by Lilian Monroe

  “This is incredible! Flora loves it here, doesn’t she?”

  I shake my head. “She’s never been here.”

  Jolie’s jaw drops open. “This sort of beauty exists right beside the palace grounds and Flora’s never seen it? That’s wrong, Your Highness.”

  “She’s sick.”

  “She’s smart, and gorgeous, and strong,” Jolie retorts. “She can’t live her life locked away on her own in Westhill. You need to learn to let go of control.”

  “That’s not one of my strengths.”

  She grins. “I noticed.”

  I slip my palm against hers and let her carry me forward through the path. Wildflowers brush against our legs as they spill onto the path, swaying softly in the breeze. At the far edge of the clearing is an old, ruined fort. Toppled boulders lay where walls once stood. It was my playground when I was a child, and I never through I’d bring anyone here.

  Jolie runs her hand over the stones, shivering. “I love ruins, don’t you? They always feel like history is soaked into them—like there are thousands of stories just screaming to be squeezed out.”

  “You’re definitely a writer, then,” I grin.

  Jolie laughs, shaking her head. “You don’t think?”

  “Looks like a pile of old rocks to me. They were fun to play in when I was a kid.”

  Jolie turns toward me, shaking her head. “I think you’re lying.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  She nods, her face serious. “Yes. I don’t think that’s true at all. I think you have a wild imagination and a romantic heart, but you hide it behind that mask of yours.”

  “You think you know me so well? We’ve only slept together twice.” I take a step toward her, sweeping my hand over her hip.

  Jolie blinks, and a soft smile curls over her lips. She slides her hands over my chest, angling her head as she looks at me. “It’s not about the sex. It’s everything else. I see the way you talk to people, and how you hide yourself away. Even your studio is bare. That should be where you’re able to be vulnerable and completely yourself—but you burn every drawing you create, and you keep the room as sterile as an operating room. You hide all the softness you have, because you think it makes you weak—but it doesn’t.”

  Her words make me still for a moment.

  I shake my head. “What if you’re wrong? What if there’s nothing more to me? Maybe this is it, and you’re imagining that I’m someone that I’m not.”

  Jolie’s fingers curl into my shirt as she molds her body against mine. She shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the first time I saw something in a man that didn’t exist.” She shakes her head. “But I don’t think so. You wouldn’t have brought me here. You wouldn’t care about Flora the way you do. You wouldn’t agree to take care of the community garden.”

  I kiss her—maybe only because I can’t bear her probing gaze any longer. She might be right about me, though, because my kiss is soft, and my touch is gentle. I brush my fingers over her jaw and tangle them into her hair, pulling her close to me. She moans softly, wrapping her arms around my neck. Jolie’s body fits perfectly against mine.

  Yesterday, I would have destroyed her here. I would have spun her around and fucked her against the ruins, splashing my cum all over her body. I would have left her breathless and dazed, knowing she belonged to me.

  Today, though, it’s different. My touch is tender as I cup Jolie’s face and swipe my tongue across her lower lip. She trembles in my arms, pressing her body into mine. I sweep her hair into my hand and pull her close to me. I feel the thumping of her heart against my own, and I drink up every sound that she utters.

  Sinking down among the wildflowers, I hold Jolie close to me as I make love to her. I soak up her body, committing every curve to memory as my fingers sweep over them. I smile when she comes, enthralled by the rapture on her face. For a few moments, I forget who I am. I forget who she is. I forget everything except the pleasure flooding through my veins, and the ecstasy painted on Jolie’s features.

  When it’s over, we lay amongst the wildflowers at the foot of the dilapidated ruins, and we stare up at the clouds in the sky. Jo rests her head on my chest, letting out soft sighs every few minutes. I trail my fingers across her scalp and kiss the top of her head.

  There’s no sound except the birds in the forest and the wind rustling the leaves. Jolie breathes quietly, and my heart beats peacefully. There’s no devil on my shoulder, and no beast inside my heart.

  I’m happy.

  23

  Jo

  I’m still picking grass out of my hair when the Prince drops me off at the castle. With one last furtive smile at each other, we head off in opposite directions. Me, toward the rose garden. Him, toward the palace.

  I float all the way to the roses, inhaling their scent as I walk through the gate. I run my fingers over a few petals, smiling as a few friendly bees buzz from one flower to another. It’s only a matter of days before the whole garden will be in full bloom. My father planted my favorite flowers—Pierre de Ronsard climbing roses—on a trellis against the castle wall. I walk over to them, inspecting the budding flowers.

  Within days, they’ll burst open, and their blooms will be so heavy they’ll hang off the trellis like apples. I smile as I go near them, knowing my father was thinking of me when he planted them.

  I’m pulled from my dreamy mood by a gruff voice.

  “Where did you run off to with the Prince?” Harry is standing near the gate, staring at me with an arched eyebrow. His gaze sweeps up and down my body, and I shift uncomfortably.

  “We went into town,” I answer, even though I know I don’t owe him an explanation. “He’s helping the Mayor with the community garden.”

  Harry pushes the gate open, and I stiffen. He’s intruding into my space when he comes into the rose garden. He feels too big, too rough to be around these delicate flowers. He looks the roses over with disdain, and I clench my fists. Who does this guy think he is?

  “Why did he ask you, and not me? I’m the head gardener.”

  I shrug, turning back to the plants. I bend over to pluck a weed from the ground. “Maybe he was impressed by the rose garden.”

  “Your father did most of the work. You just got the glory,” Harry scoffs.

  I stand up again, spinning to face the big man. “Can I help you with something? Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Harry. Whatever this whole intimidation schtick is, I’m not into it. So, if you don’t need anything, you can leave.”

  “You know, when you first came to Westhill, I actually considered fucking you—but you’re just an uppity little bitch, and I wouldn’t touch you even if you paid me.”

  My whole body vibrates with anger. The tips of my ears burn, and every breath I take sends pins and needles through my tightening chest. Harry stands there, puffing his chest out and snarling at me.

  I watch him turn around and walk out of the garden. When I’m sure I’m alone, my shoulders slump. What is he jealous of, exactly? Is it the community garden project, or is it the fact that I’m not interested in him? He seems like the type of guy who doesn’t take rejection well.

  I don’t have time to cater to his ego. I march around the garden, taking my anger and outrage out on stray weeds .

  My phone rings, pulling me from my thoughts. My father’s name flashes on the screen, and I take a deep breath to calm myself.

  It’s a video call, and as I press the ‘answer’ button, I rearrange my features into a smile. “Hey, Dad.”

  “Hi Jo,” he says. “Good! You’re in the garden.”

  “Here I was thinking you were calling to talk to me,” I grin. “All you wanted to see were your roses.”

  My father chuckles, and then starts coughing. My heart squeezes. Is it just the video, or does he look more pale than the last time we spoke?

  I give him a tour of the garden and then sit down to talk to him. My mother comes onto the screen, and the two of them glow with pride as I tell them about the community garden project
.

  “And how’s your writing coming along?” My mother asks.

  I smile. “It’s really good, actually. I’ve started a new project—a children’s book. I found your old copy of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in the cottage, and I thought I’d try to just have fun with my writing.”

  “No more thrillers full of psychos and murderers?” My father grins.

  “Not right now. The Princess inspired me.”

  My parents both smile, glancing at each other. My mother beams. “She’s a wonderful little girl. I can’t wait to read your new book.

  “I’ve still got a lot of work to do on it, so you’ll need to be patient.”

  When I hang up the phone, I take a deep breath. I’ve been in Westhill for almost two months now, and I’d like to see my parents. My father doesn’t look great, and I’d like to visit him sooner rather than later. One of the reasons I came back to Farcliff Kingdom in the first place was to be closer to them so I could visit.

  I glance up at the palace behind me and my heart squeezes. I’ve been so caught up with the Prince, his daughter, and everything going on here in Westhill that I’ve forgotten what’s important—my family.

  Pushing myself off the bench again, I decide to ask Mrs. Grey for some time off to go see my parents.

  After dinner, I do just that. In a month’s time, near the end of July, I’ll have two weeks off to spend time with them. By then, the roses will be past their bloom and I’ll have a bit of respite from the garden.

  Mrs. Grey approves my time off without hesitation, and when I walk back to the cottage after dinner, my heart beats easier. I’ll see my parents, and maybe even bring them a bouquet of roses from the garden. Then, I’ll work hard to finish my new book and make them proud.

  When I reach the cottage, I’m surprised to find Prince Gabriel waiting outside. He’s holding a bouquet of wildflowers in his hand, which he presents to me with a slight smile. I think I even see him blush, but it’s hard to tell in the fading evening light.

  “Thank you,” I smile.

  “I went back to the clearing to get them,” he says, “and I think you’re right—I want to take Flora there. I’d like it if you came, too.”

  “I’d be honored,” I smile, reaching up to kiss his cheek. He follows me into the cottage, and we fall into bed together.

  The Prince leaves sometime before dawn, and I roll over to his side of the bed and inhale the scent of him that clings to the pillow.

  For the next two weeks, this becomes our routine. Sometimes, we steal a kiss in the rose garden. The Prince seems to relax whenever he’s there, the lines in his face melting away. He smiles more often. At night, he sleeps next to me. The weight of him in bed beside me is comforting, and within a few days, I forget what it was like to sleep alone.

  Princess Flora visits me in the garden most mornings. She has a bright smile and a quick wit, and I find myself becoming more attached to her, too. I mold the protagonist of my book after the Princess, and I find myself looking forward to our time together each morning.

  The rose garden explodes. Prince Gabriel smiles whenever he’s in it, and I spend hours and hours around the flowers. Sometimes, I just stare at them, and breathe in their perfume. Even with the repeat bloomers that my father planted, I know that these few weeks in the garden will be the most exquisite. Photographers from the Annual Rose Festival of Farcliff come to the garden, oohing and ahhing as they walk through the blooms.

  I’m proud of my parents, and proud of myself. The Prince beams.

  In the afternoons, I go into town and help with the community garden. Mayor Bob always has a smile on his face. Sometimes the Prince comes with me, and sometimes he doesn’t. When he does, Prince Gabriel always leaves the garden with a bright smile on his face, and it makes my heart melt.

  My love for Westhill grows. The castle truly becomes my home. Not only is it somewhere for me to live and work—when I was almost on the street before I came here—but there are so many people here that I care for. Mrs. Grey is a mother hen with a streak of tough love for us all, and Sam becomes like a sister to me.

  But it’s the Prince who really makes me fall in love with this place. Every evening we spend together, he peels away another layer of his tough exterior to show me the man he is underneath. He keeps my vase of wildflowers well-stocked, and his touch becomes more and more tender.

  I don’t know if anyone notices our budding relationship. No one says anything to me, but I know that it’s hard to keep secrets in the castle. Harry keeps his distance, and Sam doesn’t make any comments, so I assume that no one knows.

  Not that I care, anyway. I’m so caught up with the Prince that I wouldn’t mind if the whole of Farcliff was talking about us. I look forward to our evenings together, and I miss him when he leaves my bed in the morning. Every time he walks into the rose garden as I work, my heart stutters and my face breaks into a smile.

  As the roses bloom, so does our romance—and I never want it to end.

  Sometimes, though—late at night—I feel the Prince shift beside me in bed. I can tell by his breathing that he’s still awake, and I know that he’s hiding parts of himself from me.

  Of course he is—I’m just his rose gardener, and we shouldn’t be together anyway. I have no right to the Prince’s heart, or to his deepest thoughts.

  He keeps part of himself hidden away from me, and I pretend that I’m okay with it.

  24

  Gabriel

  Flora is bouncing up and down in the back seat of the car. Jolie glances at her from the passenger’s seat, smiling.

  “Excited?”

  “I can’t wait! Daddy never takes me anywhere.”

  “Hey now,” I growl. “I take you lots of places.”

  “I mean you never take me anywhere outside the castle,” Flora responds with a grin.

  I drive extra slowly, taking every turn carefully as I glance at my daughter in the back seat. Her cheeks are rosy and her eyes are shining. She looks healthier than she has in weeks. I’ve seen her in the rose garden with Jolie some mornings. Watching them work alongside each other has made me realize that my daughter isn’t as weak as I’d thought.

  Quite the opposite, actually. She’s strong. She’s been fighting this illness her whole life—been told that she’s sick her whole life—and yet, she still persists. She attends to her studies and reads a lot. She works in the garden and she’s kind to the entire castle staff.

  She thrives.

  How could I have missed her strength? How had I not noticed it before? It wasn’t until Jolie pointed it out to me that I realized that my daughter isn’t an invalid.

  When I stop the car, Flora rushes out. I reach for her, but she brushes past my hand to take Jolie’s.

  “It smells so fresh out here! I can taste the air,” Flora says, licking her lips. She holds onto Jolie and smiles.

  Jo glances at me, her face glowing. I can’t believe my own daughter would choose Jolie over me—but seeing them together makes my heart swell in my chest. They walk ahead of me along the trail, hand in hand, and Flora says a thousand and one things about the forest, and the trees, and the birds, and the butterflies.

  “I read that moss mostly grows on the north side of trees. Is that true?” She glances up at Jolie.

  “I think so—and in the Southern Hemisphere, it mostly grows on the south side of trees.”

  Flora stops to look at a tree, frowning. “This tree has moss all around it.”

  “I think it’s more of a guideline, type of thing,” Jolie grins. “Not a hard and fast rule.”

  “Oh.” Flora skips ahead, waving us onward. “Come on!” She bounces along, hopping from one foot to the other and dragging Jolie along the path.

  When we make it to the glade of wildflowers, Flora squeals. She jumps up and down and spins in a circle before leaning down to smell a flower. I slide my arm around Jolie’s back and we watch my daughter. Flora looks happier than I’ve ever seen her.

  I lean
into Jo’s ear. “You were right.”

  “Sorry? Say that again? I didn’t catch that.” She laughs, winking at me.

  “You were right about bringing her here. I’ve never seen her like this.”

  “What, happy?” She nudges me, laughing. “You should try to let go a little. Let her live her life.”

  Flora dances to music that only she can hear, spinning in a slow circle. She skips to the far end of the clearing and climbs up onto one of the collapsed walls of the ruin. I stiffen, wanting to run over and pull her down. Every part of my body is screaming to get her down from there. What if she fell?

  Jolie senses the tension inside me, and wraps her arm around my waist. “Let her play,” she says softly.

  Flora sits down on a rock and swings her legs, grinning from ear to ear. She waves at the two of us and laughs. In that moment, I realize Jolie is right. She’s right about everything. I need to let go of all the fears that I have in relation to my daughter. I need to treat her like the smart, precocious child that she is, and I need to let her explore the world like only a six-year-old can. I need to let her play, and run, and jump, and have friends.

  She’ll take her medication, and do her breathing therapy, and we’ll take every precaution—but I can’t keep her locked away in Westhill Castle if I want her to grow into a truly healthy young woman.

  “I think we should bring her to the community garden,” Jolie says, leaning her head on her shoulder. “Bob’s kids were there last time—they’re about her age.”

  “That old pothead? You want Flora to play with the hippie Mayor’s children?”

  “Why not?” Jolie smiles at me. “Look at her, Your Highness. She’s happy.”

  “You make it sound like she’s unhappy at the castle.”

  “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.” Jolie pulls away from me slightly, and my heart tugs.