Knocked Up by Prince Charming: Knocked Up Royals: Book 1

by Monroe, Lilian

  When I reach the address, I see the orange Jeep in the driveway and I know I’m here. I park my bike on the street, ripping my helmet off and leaving it on the seat. I take her shoes in my hand, letting them dangle from my fingertips as I look at the house. I leave the keys in the ignition. This won’t take long.

  Fuck and chuck, as they say.

  Dahlia lives in a little one-story house on the far end of town, close to the border with Grimdale. It’s surprising—I’d have thought her family could afford a lot more. But maybe this is part of Dahlia’s sneaky, underhanded scheme to convince people that she’s someone she’s not.

  My heart is thumping when I walk across the overgrown front lawn. I tell myself it’s anger, but I know the truth.

  I want to see her again.

  That probably makes me weak and pathetic, but I can’t help it. I want to taste her lips again. I want to taste all of her. All night long, I’ve fended off thoughts of her sweet, silken pussy as it sucked my length inside. I’ve tried to ignore the throbbing, insatiable need that she awoke in me, but I can’t ignore it any longer.

  My fist hovers in front of the door, ready to knock it down if I need to. I take a deep breath.

  One more time—that’s all I’ll allow myself. I’ll fuck her once more, and then I’ll never speak to her or her lying, despicable family again.

  Then, I bring my fist to the door and pound against it. In those never-ending moments between the time I knock and the time the door opens, I don’t breathe. Agonizing seconds tick by, until I finally hear light footsteps on the other side and the door swings open.

  “Finally, I was wondering when you’d—” She freezes. The short, pixie-like girl at the door looks at me with wide eyes. Her jaw drops and stays hanging open.

  She’s wearing nothing but a t-shirt and barely-there underwear. Her hair is a thousand different pastel shades wrapped up in two high pigtails on either side of her face. She has glitter on her cheeks. Under any other circumstances, I’d have this chick in bed in fifteen seconds flat, just to see if she’s as wild in the sheets as she looks.

  But I’m not here for her. I’m here for Dahlia.

  “I’m looking for Dahlia Raventhal.”

  Her mouth snaps shut, and I watch her gulp. “You found her,” she says with a nervous smile, and then she does something I don’t expect. Something that tells me I might have made a mistake, and that maybe the girl from last night wasn’t Dahlia after all.

  The girl in front of me curtsies, bowing her multi-colored head and sweeping one leg behind in a graceful movement.

  Not an awkward, unpracticed curtsy. No, this looks like she’s been trained to do it since the day she learned to walk. And in that moment, I realize that the girl from last night never did this. She didn’t know how to act when she saw me. She wasn’t even sure what to call me.

  This girl, with the unicorn hair and glitter-bombed face—she knew… This is Dahlia Raventhal.

  12

  Elle

  I dive behind a tall hedge when I see Prince Charlie at the door. The two coffees I’m holding slosh out of their cups and burn my hands, and I drop the muffins I bought onto the dirt.

  “Damn it,” I say, crouching down and peeking around the hedge. Dahlia looks so stunned that under any other circumstances, I’d laugh.

  Except for the fact that the Prince is at my house. I can’t laugh about that. How did he find me so quickly?

  My breath grows ragged. Pretty soon, I’m on the verge of hyperventilating. Dahlia curtsies—something I’ve never seen her do before—and says something to the Prince.

  I force myself to look at him as heat blooms between my legs. Even at a distance, he has this effect on me. I bite my lip, squeezing my thighs together and praying that he’ll go away. I watch him glance behind Dahlia, his eyes squinting as he tries to see something over her shoulder.

  No, not something—someone.

  Me.

  He’s trying to find me. How did he get here? My heart thumps as panic trips up my spine. I’m already almost hyperventilating, with coffee burns on my hands and dirty muffins on the ground. I’m running on hardly any sleep, with excitement and adrenaline from last night still coursing through my veins.

  What’s a little panic added to the mix?

  Was I followed? Does Prince Charlie know my real name? How did he find me?

  And then like a flash, I know how he found me. Well, not me… Dahlia. The invitation had her name on it.

  I peer around the hedge again just in time to see him turning, and I duck down, leaving the muffins behind to jump into the neighbor’s yard. I sprint down the side of our neighbor’s house as his motorcycle roars to life. I zip back over the fence to our yard and making it safely back inside my own house.

  I put the coffees down and lean against the back door, exhaling. He didn’t see me. He’s gone.

  “You ‘only saw him from a distance’?” Dahlia says, appearing from the hallway with an arched eyebrow. Her hands are on her hips and she’s shaking her head. “You ‘didn’t go anywhere near him’? I believe those were the exact words you used.”

  We stare at each other. I say nothing. What can I say? I had sex with Prince Charlie. No, not just sex. I had wild, primal, animal sex with him. He made me realize what I’ve been missing. He changed the way I look at myself with one mind-melting orgasm.

  But based on the look on her face, Dahlia already knows this. A smile twitches over her lips and she shakes her head. “My, my, my, Elle. You are full of surprises.”

  “Please don’t tell anyone.”

  “You’re lucky I love you with all my heart, because this is the juiciest bit of gossip I’ve ever heard.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him I was Dahlia, and I lived alone.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief, and Dahlia walks toward me.

  “You better hope he doesn’t come back, Elle. If he sees you here, he’ll probably throw you over his shoulder and lock you in one of the castle towers.”

  “That might be all right. I don’t mind the sound of that.”

  Dahlia grins. “Based on the expression on his face when he asked for you, looks like you made quite an impression.” She points a thumb over her shoulder as she grabs one of the coffees. “He had your shoes, by the way.”

  I groan. My only pair of heels, and I left them in the castle. “Why didn’t you ask for them back?”

  “I live alone, remember? He took one look at my feet and saw they’d never fit me.”

  I glance down at Dahlia’s tiny little elf feet beside my more human-sized ones. Her shoes are at least three sizes smaller than mine. “Right. I guess I’m out a pair of heels, then. Small price to pay for the best sex of my life.”

  Dahlia grins. “Where’s my muffin?”

  “I dropped it when I saw him at the door. It’s behind the neighbor’s front hedge.”

  Dahlia laughs. “You’re a nutter.”

  “Pot, kettle…?”

  “Hey, I’m not the one who banged Prince Charlie last night, fucked him so good he comes all the way to my house in Grimdale for round two, and then hid behind a bunch of bushes. That’s some next-level crazy right there.”

  A flush warms my cheeks and I look away, shrugging. “He wasn’t here for round two. Probably just here to bring my shoes back.”

  “Elle.” Dahlia rolls her eyes. “He was here for rounds two through thirty, trust me. Why would the Prince of Farcliff return some chick’s shoes unless he wanted another roll in the hay?”

  My face is now bright red, even though I hear Dahlia ‘rolling in the hay’ multiple times a week, and I’ve seen her naked more times that I can count. “I have to get ready. I’m going to my parents’ place for lunch today.”

  I haven’t seen the Valencias in almost a month, and I promised I’d see them this weekend… and it’s also a good excuse to get away from Dahlia’s prying questions.

  Dahlia just makes a tutting sound and purses her lip
s. “Fine. But this conversation isn’t over.”

  “It is for me,” I laugh, heading for my bedroom. Dahlia’s laser-sharp eyes follow me, and I know she won’t let this go. She won’t tell anyone about last night—she’s too good a friend for that—but even having even one other person know that I slept with the Prince, for Farcliff’s sake… Well, that makes me nervous.

  The Prince’s Ball is supposedly where the eldest, unmarried son of the King finds a wife. The only people who are invited are lords and ladies and members of the social elite. You know, suitable brides and their families. People like Marielle and Olivia.

  Not some foster kid from Grimdale. Not me.

  If the Prince finds out who I really am, I’ll be in deep trouble. I wasn’t supposed to be at the Prince’s Ball at all, and if he finds out I’m just a commoner, he’ll think I lied to him.

  Well, I mean, I did lie to him.

  He could have me thrown out of Farcliff University, which would be the end of my rowing career, and the death of my reputation. If Coach Bernard or any of the team find out I was there, the consequences will be just as bad.

  I can’t lose my scholarship. It’s the only thing I have that will give me a shot at a better life… a chance of moving beyond my Grimdale past.

  No one can know I went to the Prince’s Ball. No one.

  But as I sit in my bed and sip my coffee, my thoughts drift back to the Prince. For one night, no one looked at me like a leper. No one snarled at me, or treated me like I was some sort of sub-human. I hadn’t realized how much I’ve internalized being treated like that.

  For the first time in a long time, I wish I didn’t come from Grimdale. I wish I knew who my parents were, and that I’d received an invitation to the ball with my own name on it. I wish I didn’t need to fight for my spot on the rowing team, even though I’m the best athlete on the team by far.

  I wish I could tell the Prince my real name.

  With a sigh, I lock last night into a deep corner of my heart, and I start getting ready for lunch at the Valencia’s place. My parents—because Frank and Tina Valencia have been real parents to me, even though they only came into my life when I was fourteen—will want to know how my training and classes are going. They’ll feed me and shower me with love, and I’ll feel like I belong somewhere.

  Last night is just a memory now, and even though nothing in my life has changed, I feel like I’ve lost something I never even had to begin with.

  13

  Charlie

  I drive my motorcycle around the block and park it in a side street. Then, I strip my riding jacket and helmet off, and walk back toward Dahlia’s house.

  The girl I met at the door is Dahlia Raventhal—I could tell by the way she acted around me, and by her resemblance to her mother—but I don’t believe for a second that she lives alone. Why she’d live in such a dump is beyond me. The Raventhals were one of the wealthiest families in the Kingdom before they were banished, and as far as I know they’ve done all right after they moved to the United States. Dahlia could definitely afford a nicer place closer to the castle.

  Something doesn’t add up.

  I put the mystery girl’s shoes on my motorcycle seat and snap a picture, sending it to Neville. I follow up with a phone call.

  “Nev, can you put an ad up online to find the owner of these shoes?”

  “Of course, Your Highness.”

  “I want you to call anyone who answers the ad, and find out their name and address. Every single person.”

  “They didn’t belong to Miss Raventhal?”

  “No,” I answer without further explanation. “Just put the ad out.”

  “No problem.”

  When I hang up the phone, I toss the shoes back under the seat and get on my bike. I rack my brain, trying to remember every second of my interaction with my girl.

  She said she had a curfew, and she shouldn’t even be at the ball. She said she liked to row. Maybe she goes to Farcliff University? I see the rowing team on the water every morning. Hell, my daily footrace is with a girl from Farcliff U. I’ve seen the emblem on her boat, even if she’s never gotten close enough for me to see her face.

  Revving the bike, I make my way to the university. I drive slowly, winding back and forth outside dorms and apartment buildings, looking for any kind of clues as to who she might be. It’s pointless, though. Why would she have had Dahlia Raventhal’s invitation if she didn’t know Dahlia?

  So, instead of going back to the castle or driving aimlessly for any longer, I make my way back to Dahlia’s run-down bungalow. I park a block away and cover the rest of the distance on foot. Sneaking between two houses, I shield myself behind an overgrown shrub and the corner of a dilapidated house.

  My shoes sink down in the muck, and I wait.

  I don’t know what I’m waiting for. I don’t even know if Dahlia was lying or not, but I still stay there and wait. A neighbor takes out their trash, and a handful of cars drive by. After almost an hour, I start to lose patience.

  I text Neville, asking him if he’s gotten any hits on the ad yet. There are a few, he says, but he’s already ruled most of them out.

  This woman just disappeared into thin air.

  This is stupid. I’m standing in the mud, waiting for a woman who probably doesn’t even live with Dahlia. And all for what? To confront her? To demand that she tell me who she is? To fuck her again?

  Maybe I just don’t like being played. I’m the one who decides when a relationship is over. I’m the one who tells a woman when to leave my bed, not the other way around.

  I snort at myself. My father is right about one thing—I have an ego the size of Farcliff. I can’t even handle a single woman not falling to her knees in front of me and begging me to fuck her.

  Maybe that’s why I need to see this girl again. My fucking ego is bruised.

  Shaking my head, I sigh and peel myself away from the building. I need to go home, because there’s obviously no point being here. Dahlia Raventhal probably doesn’t have anything to do with any of this. Who knows? Maybe she was telling the truth when she said the invitation to the Prince’s Ball was lost in the mail.

  But as I start to move, the front door of Dahlia’s dump opens and my heart stops.

  She’s here.

  I fucking knew it.

  Heat flashes through me, and I don’t know if it’s anger or desire, or both. My mystery woman walks out of the house wearing jeans and a baggy t-shirt with a purse slung across her body. I watch her run her fingers through her ear-length brown hair and a shiver runs through me.

  Damn, she’s hot.

  She turns when the door opens again, and Dahlia appears. She says a few words to my girl, but I can’t hear what they are. Then, Dahlia tosses something that glints in the sunlight. My girl catches it easily, and I realize it’s the keys to the orange Jeep in the driveway.

  My girl—I shouldn’t be calling her that, but I can’t think of her any other way—waves at Dahlia and heads for the Jeep with a smile.

  Now, I’m sprinting. I make it to my bike in ten seconds flat, throwing my helmet and jacket on and straddling the seat. I crank the engine and skid around the corner just as the Jeep disappears around a bend at the other end of the street.

  My heart races. I’m speeding down the residential streets, and I don’t care who sees me. When I get the Jeep back in my sights, I release the throttle a bit and slow down. My mouth is dry. My pulse is hammering.

  She’s right there.

  The woman who’s driving me mad, who won’t tell me her name, who has Dahlia Raventhal lying for her… she’s in the next car.

  And I want her.

  I’m not even mad anymore. I don’t care about the past, or about the Raventhals. I don’t even care why she doesn’t want me to know her name. I just need her.

  I need to make her mine. I need to throw her over my shoulder and carry her back to my bed. I need to fuck her into oblivion until she screams my name.

  As she ma
kes her way deeper into the heart of Grimdale, my senses heighten. My blood runs hot, but it’s only at the thought of feeling her body against mine again. She turns down a tree-lined street and I accelerate to catch up. When I turn the corner behind her, the orange Jeep is already parked outside a house.

  My girl is walking up to the front door. I pause at the end of the street, flipping my visor up and watching her. She hugs the woman who answers the door, and then disappears inside the house.

  Who the hell is she?

  That’s the question that propels me forward. Even though every instinct is telling me to hang back, to think, to be smart about this… I need to know. I park my bike behind her Jeep and take a deep breath.

  The house is tidy. It’s freshly painted with a lush green lawn. It’s small, but it’s well-kept. I pull my helmet off and hold it in my hand as I peek inside the Jeep.

  There’s nothing of note in it—nothing that would tell me who this girl is. I swing my eyes back up to the house as my heart starts pumping.

  I have no plan. There are no thoughts in my head except find out who this girl is. My feet carry me to the front door before I can stop myself, once again compelled to ring a stranger’s doorbell just to find the girl I slept with last night.

  This isn’t me. I’m not this desperate, out-of-control, girl-crazy guy who chases after women.

  Women chase after me.

  Being here goes against everything I stand for. I never care. Yet, something about this girl is irresistible. She doesn’t act how I expect her to. She doesn’t move, or dress, or carry herself like any other woman I’ve met.

  She’s different.

  I like her. I like her a lot more than I’m willing to admit to myself—and a lot more than I should after just an hour with her.

  I’m the Prince of Farcliff, though, so fuck it. These people are my subjects, and they will answer the goddamn door and let me in to their house. I have nothing to hide, and nothing to fear.