Knocked Up by the Broken Prince: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance

by Monroe, Lilian

When I see that my chamber doors are ajar, alarm bells sound in my head. I slow down, peering through the opening before pushing the door open. It glides silently, and I see a man crouched over my bedside table.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  The man yelps, jumping up as pills go scattering across the floor. My eyes widen when I see my half-brother, Beckett, staring back at me.

  “Luca,” he manages to say as he clears his throat, his eyes bouncing around the room.

  I frown. “What are you doing? Is that my medication?”

  “I…” He rakes his fingers through his hair. “I got a new bottle off your doctor. I was just checking that you didn’t need any more.”

  I frown. First of all, I don’t have a regular doctor in Argyle. I finished my prescriptions from Farcliff weeks ago, and never got a new one. I haven’t requested it from anyone, or even mentioned that I needed new pills.

  Second of all, why would Beckett care about my medication? I hadn’t seen him in five years until we saw each other in Farcliff. Why is he all of a sudden invested in my recovery?

  My brother’s cheeks grow bright red, and I know he’s lying.

  “Why are you here?” My voice is hard.

  Beckett lifts his eyes up to mine, and the mask on his face falls away. He sneers at me, shaking his head.

  “It should have been you in that hospital bed, not Margot.”

  “What?”

  “These pills,” he says, sweeping his arm at the floor. “I know you depend on them.”

  Taking a step, he grinds his heel onto a pill on the floor before kicking the powdery remains toward me.

  I let my arms hang loosely at my sides, trying not to betray the tension that snakes through my muscles. I clench my fists and unclench them, looking Beckett up and down.

  “I did depend on them,” I admit. “But that’s because I was a paraplegic and I broke my back. Or have you forgotten that?”

  “How could I forget, when it’s all anyone ever talks about?” he spits.

  Beckett shakes his head, and an ugliness in him shines through. My throat tightens as I look at my brother, my fists clenching once again. I just want him to leave. My emotions are too charged with everything that’s going on with Ivy. I need some time to myself to decompress and figure out what to do.

  But I’m not going to get it.

  Beckett takes another step, and I see a plastic bag of pills on the bedside table. Frowning, I take a step toward them. My half-brother scoffs, grabbing the bag and stuffing it in his breast pocket.

  “What are those?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter, Beckett. What the fuck are you doing in here? Are you fucking with my medication?”

  “You’re just an addict, Luca. The sooner you admit it, the better off you’ll be.”

  Leaning down to pick up one of the pills on the floor, I bring it close to my face. Noticing a T-shaped mark on one side of it, realization hits me like a sledgehammer to the gut.

  These are the same pills that were in my room in Farcliff. The same ones I flushed down the toilet.

  They’re not my painkillers.

  Horror churns in my gut as I lift my eyes to my brother. He lets out a bark of a laugh, shaking his head.

  “The look on your face is priceless, Luca. Did you finally figure things out?”

  “What is this? Are you trying to poison me? Did you poison Margot?”

  “I had nothing to do with Margot LeBlanc,” he spits.

  I stare at the man in front of me, not recognizing any part of him. This is the boy I grew up with. The guy who would tag along when I played, the one who was by my side at every turn, the one that actually spoke to me when I left Argyle to get my surgery.

  My brother.

  And he tried to kill me?

  It’s too horrific to accept, so I just stare at Beckett. My mind is completely blank. I can’t process any feelings or thoughts. A ringing sound pierces my ears, and I blink two or three times, swaying on my feet.

  Finally, mustering all my courage, I croak out the one word that screams through my head:

  “Why?”

  Beckett’s eyes turn black. His lips twist, and his gaze pierces through me like a hot knife. “Why? You’re really asking me that? You’re wondering why I’m jealous of the golden boy who learned to walk again? The man who had women falling all over him? The man who overshadowed me every single fucking day of my life?”

  Beckett shakes his head, kicking at the scattered pills on the ground.

  “You drove yourself to a fucking pill addiction, and people still welcomed you back into the family with open arms. Me? I’m the perfect son, and I’m ostracized. I’m never good enough. I’m just the bastard son of a cheating mother, hated by every one of you fake fucks.”

  “You know that’s not true.”

  “Stop bullshitting me, Luca. The only way I would ever step out of your shadow is if your shadow didn’t exist.”

  “I should have you arrested.”

  “Do it,” he spits. “It won’t change what’s happening in Farcliff with your little girlfriend.”

  My blood chills as Beckett’s lips curl into a smile. He arches his eyebrows, and all I can do in response is open my mouth. Nothing comes out.

  “You never deserved Cara, or Margot, and you don’t even deserve her ugly little sister.”

  The sound that rips through my throat is inhuman. It tears my vocal cords to shreds as I lunge at Beckett. He snaps his teeth as I crash into him, pummeling my sides with punches as we fall to the ground. Flipping me over, Beckett reaches back and brings his fist down onto my face.

  I snap my head away at the last moment, and his blow glances off my cheekbone. Pain explodes across my face, but I grit my teeth and grab his wrist. Bucking him off me, I shield myself against a flurry of blows.

  I can’t bring myself to hit him. Even as he punches my face, kicks me in the shin, knees me in the gut. Even as his dead eyes look into mine, I can’t hit my brother.

  All these years, he felt inadequate. All these years, he thought of himself as less than us.

  I never saw it.

  Maybe I never cared. I was too invested in my own life—and then, my own pain, my own accident, my own heartbreak. I never stopped to think about my brother.

  A punch cracks across my jaw. The metal tang of blood coats my tongue, and I wheeze to get a breath in. I hit Beckett in the gut, wincing as he cries out.

  My brother pulls his arm back to hit me, and I know it’s going to be over. He’ll knock me out, because I can’t defend myself. I can’t hit him.

  Before his fist comes down, though, another arm hooks around his and pulls him off me. He struggles against the guard, screaming and kicking as he’s pulled away.

  Theo stands in the doorway, wide-eyed.

  I roll onto my side, coughing as I wheeze and try to catch my breath. The King watches silently, scanning the room.

  “What happened?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “I’m not sure. I think Beckett has been trying to kill me. These aren’t my painkillers.”

  Theo lets out a sigh. I glance up at him and my heart falls.

  He doesn’t look surprised—only sad.

  He knew.

  35

  Ivy

  I never knew likes on Instagram could cause such a big rift between family members. My latest post on my bakery account garnered more likes than Margot’s last picture, and I can see in Margot’s eyes that she’s upset about it.

  Social media has been her mirror. It’s been millions of screaming fans telling her how wonderful she is. All day, every day.

  Now, they’ve turned. She still has screaming fans, but the spotlight has turned to me.

  And I hate it.

  My sister stands on the other side of the bakery counter, ignoring the adoring fans that snap pictures of her. Her eyebrow arches, and an ugly feeling curls in the pit of my stomach.

  I don’t like my sister like th
is.

  She looks bitter and tired. She doesn’t look like herself.

  “You want a cinnamon bun?” I ask, knowing she’ll refuse.

  “No. I want you to not be so selfish, Ivy. I can’t believe you continue to open the bakery every day after Hunter and I spoke to you. I thought you understood.”

  Her hair is sticking up around her head, and her eyes look hazy. I wonder if she’s using again, and then shoo the thought away.

  She isn’t an addict. She said so herself. We still don’t know what happened with the overdose. She thinks she was poisoned, but she won’t talk about it.

  Nausea rises up in my throat as my gut gurgles uncomfortably. A sharp pang of pain passes through me. I put a hand to my stomach.

  Taking a deep breath, I focus on what my sister is saying. “You thought I understood what, Margot? That you don’t care about my dreams? That you only care about your own image?” I wince as another pain passes through my gut, glancing at the wide-eyed fans who stare at us. I nod my head to the door behind me. “Let’s go in the back and talk more privately.”

  Margot just scoffs and shakes her head. “You never cared about me, Ivy. You just used me to get what you want—just like everyone else. I just spent three months living through torture, and I come out to find you’ve abandoned me. I thought I could count on you.”

  My eyes dart to the people filming our interaction. I gulp.

  “Margot…”

  She shakes her head, spins around, and walks out. My shoulders slump.

  Giselle puts a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Ivy. It’ll be okay.”

  Marcus slides a fresh tray of cinnamon buns in the display case before squeezing my other shoulder. “We’re here for you, Poison.”

  I flinch at the nickname, and give him a tight smile.

  Grabbing one of the cinnamon buns, I head to the office at the back of the bakery and lock myself inside. Even with my gut cramping uncomfortably, I still tear off chunks of cinnamon buns and stuff them in my mouth.

  That’s the reason I’ve never been as willowy as Margot—comfort eating. I always turn to food. This is my second cinnamon bun of the day, and I know it won’t be my last.

  It tastes bitter in my mouth, and tears start to stream from my eyes.

  I can’t win. If I keep the bakery open, Margot will take it as a personal insult. Why she can’t just be happy for me, I don’t know. She’s hurting right now, and I’m not there to build her back up like I used to.

  But going back to my old life doesn’t seem possible anymore. I don’t see how I could continue to serve my sister hand and foot when I’ve seen what life is like when I live for myself.

  I lick the sticky cinnamon off my fingers as I chew the last big bite of dough and sit back in my chair. My stomach gurgles violently, and I wrap my arms around my abdomen.

  Yet another sharp pain passes through my gut. I groan, leaning back in my chair.

  The stress is getting to me.

  When another dagger twists in my stomach, I frown. That doesn’t feel like stress.

  Standing up, I immediately double over as pain shoots through me. Gasping, I clutch the desk. A hot poker jabs my stomach over and over again. I need a bathroom.

  Stumbling to the doorway, I tremble as I reach for the door. I’m still chewing, and it feels like glue in my mouth. I can’t grip the doorknob properly. My vision doubles, and I blink to try to clear it.

  Every breath feels difficult. Another hot dagger slices through my stomach, and I let out a low groan. I try to inhale, but my throat feels tight.

  Too tight.

  Panic wells up inside me, churning in my gut along with more sharp pains. Finally, I’m able to grip the doorknob and pull it open, but the effort makes me fall to my knees.

  At the same time, I try to swallow the lump of dough in my mouth.

  Why don’t I just spit it out? Why do I try to swallow it?

  The dough lodges itself in my throat. A little bit of apple—my signature—goes down the wrong hole.

  Black spots dot my vision, and I clutch my throat. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

  I can’t breathe.

  I wake up in a hospital bed with a tube sticking out of my arm. Blinking, I try to bring the room into focus. My head feels hazy.

  “Good, you’re awake!” a nurse says as she enters the room.

  I try to speak, but all that comes out is a gargled groan.

  “Shh,” she smiles, patting my arm. “You’re in the Farcliff General Hospital. You came in after passing out. Your friend Marcus found you and was able to get the obstruction out of your airway.”

  I nod, trying to swallow. The pain in my throat is intense.

  The nurse pats my arm. “You had an accident—your bowels evacuated when you passed out.”

  My eyes widen. I shit myself?

  She continues as if I’m not lying here, dying of embarrassment. “We’ve determined that you ingested E. coli bacteria and developed an infection. We’ve given you antidiarrheals, and everything seems to be improving. You might feel weak over the next few weeks, though. You were lucky that your friends brought you in so soon.”

  I groan, nodding, but I still don’t understand.

  “And your baby is fine,” she adds with a smile.

  I blink.

  Baby?

  “What?”

  “We’ve run some tests, and everything seems to be fine. Of course, we’ll have to keep an eye on you in the coming weeks. Who’s your obstetrician?”

  “Baby?” I croak.

  The nurse tilts her head. She frowns at me, and I frown back at her.

  “Miss LeBlanc,” she says slowly, “were you not aware that you’re pregnant?”

  If this nurse had told me that I was Tinkerbell’s granddaughter, I would be less shocked than I am now.

  “No,” I say, coughing. “That’s not possible.”

  She takes a deep breath. “Have you had unprotected sex in the past few months? The doctors estimate that you’re about fourteen weeks on.”

  I shake my head, every movement sending pain shooting through my neck. Everything feels heavy. Thoughts move sluggishly through my head as I try to understand what the hell is going on.

  Pregnant.

  Sucking a breath in through my teeth, I squeeze my eyes shut.

  It’s not possible. It can’t be. The Prince and I were careful. We used protection.

  The nurse stares at me, her eyebrows arching expectantly.

  I shake my head. “I was careful. We used condoms. I…” My eyes widen as I think of the very first time.

  The condom broke.

  How did I not think about that? How did I gloss over that fact when Luca mentioned it?

  I was too busy thinking about the fact that I’d lost my virginity to even think about the fact that the condom broke. Pregnancy didn’t even cross my mind.

  My mouth drops open, and horror starts bubbling up inside me. I bring a hand over my stomach, staring down at the pudge around my hips.

  I thought I was tasting too many pastries with the bakery opening up. I thought the tiredness was because I was run off my feet.

  This whole time…I was pregnant?

  The nurse pats my arm again and gives me a sympathetic smile. “The doctor will come in and talk to you. Would you like to speak to one of our counselors? It might help you process this. I know it’s a lot to deal with, so just try to relax.”

  I nod, frowning. Relaxing doesn’t exactly seem like a viable option right now. My pulse is thundering through my thighs, and I can’t make any sense of the thoughts swirling around my head.

  I watch the nurse close the door, and my cell phone chimes in my bag. Grunting through my labored movements, I drag the purse over to my bed and dig through it until I find my phone.

  There are dozens of notifications. Georgie left me a message saying she left the hospital to go close up the bakery, and she and Giselle will be back later. I sigh, leaning back in my bed.
<
br />   Then, my phone chimes again. I have an alert set up, so whenever Spoonful of Sugar shows up in a news story or is tagged in something online, I get notified.

  For the past month, getting those emails has been a source of joy.

  Not today.

  Dozens Ill. Spoonful of Sugar to Blame?

  My eyes widen. My hand is trembling so hard I can hardly read the screen, and it takes me three tries to tap the news story to read it. When it finally pops up, I have to blink half a dozen times to clear the haze from my vision.

  The headline comes into focus, and a chill courses through my body. My breaths become shorter and shorter as I read the news story. Panic laces my blood. Another headline screams at me.

  Spoonful of E. coli: New Bakery Might Be Cause of Outbreak

  Over twenty-five people have been hospitalized after eating at the bakery today. They’re saying it’s caused by a dangerous strain of E. coli bacteria.

  I feel like I’m going to throw up. Or maybe poo my pants.

  In fact, I know I’m going to throw up—and that’s exactly what I do.

  All over the hospital room floor.

  A nurse bursts through the door at the sound of my retching. I wipe my lips as tears sting my eyes.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay, honey,” she says, laying some paper sheets on the floor. She presses a button on the wall and hands me a glass of water.

  I lay back in my bed as tears fall from my eyes, trying to process everything that’s going on. A hospital worker shuffles in and starts cleaning up my mess.

  It’s too much. My heart starts beating faster, and my hand begins to tremble. The water sloshes all over my hand as I try to bring it up to my mouth.

  Swallowing doesn’t work, so I cough all over myself, spilling water down my front. It hurts to inhale. It feels like a giant hand is squeezing my ribcage, and my lungs might collapse.

  Pregnant.

  E. coli.

  Pregnant.

  E. coli.

  Margot. Hunter. Luca.

  Pregnant.

  My heart is a runaway train. I can’t stop shaking. The nurse is saying something, but it sounds like she’s speaking to me underwater. I can’t make out the words. I frown as my vision goes blurry. An alarm goes off, and another nurse comes in.