“Let’s go.”
Glancing at my phone once more, I see Elle’s response.
Elle: Thanks xx see you tomorrow.
My heart squeezes. I don’t want to see her tomorrow. I want to see her tonight.
But she’s pushing me away, and I’ll be damned if I’ll ever grovel for a woman’s affection. I did that when I was fifteen, and I learned my lesson the hard way. I throw my jacket on and follow my brothers through the castle hallways. We walk past the gym, and my thoughts snap to my first night with Elle.
That was the start of it all—the wild night that was never supposed to happen.
Well, whatever. I’m not going to let some chick hold me down.
I square my jaw and walk down to the garages. My brothers have already organized one of our drivers to take us to the Grimdale clubs. They’re seedier than the Farcliff bars, but there’s usually less press. Three princes can go and have a good time without being pestered with cameras and paparazzi.
When we get to the club, someone shoves a drink in my hand and I skull it in one shot. The alcohol sloshes in my stomach and I wait for the buzz to hit me.
My brothers were right—I need a night out. I need to loosen the fuck up.
I’ve been spending all my time either with Elle, or thinking about her. I haven’t felt this way since I was a teenager, and that ended up being the biggest disaster of my life. If anyone were to find out that I was dating some orphan girl from Grimdale, all hell would break loose.
So, when my brothers find a gaggle of women, I let them put their arms around me. They nuzzle into my neck and I just sit there, drinking. I lap up the attention. I haven’t had women fawn over me like this in weeks.
It feels good.
I’m the fucking Prince of Farcliff. This is how I deserve to be treated. But then, one of the girls whispers something dirty in my ear and I push her off me. It doesn’t take long for security to drag her away.
Gabe frowns at me. “What was that about?”
“Nothing.” I avoid his eye. I can feel his stare, and I know my brothers can tell something is wrong. A month ago, I’d have already taken at least one of these girls to a secluded part of the club and fucked her brains out. A month ago, I wouldn’t have pushed that chick off me and had her kicked out of the club.
But a month ago, I hadn’t met Elle.
I grab another drink and sit down. I can’t stop thinking about her, and it’s driving me crazy. I haven’t seen her in twenty-four hours, and it feels like an eternity.
These feelings are too much. I won’t admit to myself that I’m falling for her, so I just get wasted. Cameras flash, even here in Grimdale, and I ignore them.
None of this shit matters. Everything is a mess.
I’m falling for a girl that I can never have. She was right—we never should have gotten involved with each other. I should have let her leave the cabin that second evening we had together. I should have stuck to my rules, and not spent more than a single night with her.
But every time I look around the club, I see girls with too much makeup and not enough clothes looking at me with come-fuck-me eyes, and all I want to see is Elle.
No matter how much I drink, I can’t get the image of her out of my head, and I can’t ignore the feeling that she’s pulling away from me, and I’m losing her.
So, I drink.
Somehow, I wake up in my own bed.
Alone, thankfully.
That’s not something that would normally be a relief, but today, it is. My head is pounding and my mouth tastes like ass.
I reach for my phone, but it’s dead. Drunk Charlie doesn’t charge his electronics, apparently. Groaning, I plug the phone in and stumble to the shower. I stand under the stream of water until I feel half-human again.
I forgot about this—about hangovers. For the past three weeks, I’ve been sober with Elle. I haven’t woken up with a dead animal in my mouth and dull thumping in my head.
My phone lights up when I turn it on and notifications start pouring in. With every new ding, my heart sinks lower, and lower, and lower. The headlines are damning.
Party-Prince Charlie At It Again
Is She The One?
Three Princes Party in Grimdale
On, and on, and on.
Nowhere in my slew of notifications are any messages from Elle. I groan, flopping back down on my bed and covering my face with my hands.
My bedroom door opens. Neville walks in carrying a tray laden with a tall glass of water, two ibuprofen tablets, and a buttery piece of toast.
He knows the drill.
I grunt at him in thanks, and he bows. When he gets to the door, I stop him.
“Nev, how was I last night?”
“Sir?”
“I mean, how drunk? What did I do? Did I say anything?”
He bows again. “You were angry, sir. You said a name… Elle?” He stares at the carpet.
“What did I say about her?”
“You said… You said that you were fond of her.”
“I said I’m fond of her,” I repeat flatly, and Neville nods.
“More or less your words, Your Highness.”
I grunt, and take the ibuprofen. I’m guessing my words were very, very far from ‘I’m fond of her’, but Neville is far too discreet to say it.
My butler just stares at me. “Will that be all, Your Highness?”
“Yes, thanks Nev.”
When the door clicks shut again, I close my eyes and groan. I’m definitely fond of her. That’s precisely the problem.
22
Elle
I don’t see the pictures until after practice, thankfully, but once I’m back in the locker room, I can’t ignore the rest of the team crowding around their phones.
“He invited me out, but I wouldn’t set foot in Grimdale.” Olivia flicks her long, white-blonde hair over her shoulder and glances at me. “Not unless I wanted to get mugged.”
“How original, Olivia.” I roll my eyes. “I’ve never heard you make fun of Grimdale before.”
“I’m just stating the facts.”
“Facts? You’ve been mugged in Grimdale? How many times?”
She turns away from me with a huff. “Charlie just needed a break. He told me so last night, but I still wouldn’t go there. I have standards. I mean, just look at the girls in those pictures. Can you say desperate?”
The girls all agree, and my blood turns to ice. Prince Charlie in Grimdale? With other girls?
I’m able to slip out of the locker room and find a quiet corner of the athletics building to look at my phone. No messages from Charlie, but a plethora of photos of him from last night.
My throat tightens and I squeeze my eyes shut.
I knew this would happen. I told myself it wasn’t forever.
He and I are just a fling. It’s not for real. It has an expiration date. It’ll end.
Yet, I’m still not prepared.
Over the last three weeks, I’ve let myself believe the Prince Charlie cares about me, that he likes me, and that he wants to be with me.
Then, the first evening we spend apart, he’s out partying—with other girls crawling all over him, kissing his ear. His ear! That’s far too intimate for my liking.
Even though it hurts, I force myself to look at the photos and read the articles. Every image sticks another dagger in my heart. Every headline twists the handle and sends pain shattering through my chest.
He looks completely wasted in these pictures. Drunk, horny, and on the prowl in Grimdale.
And I thought he cared about me.
But who am I to be mad? It’s not like we were exclusive, or anything. We never talked about ‘us’, or about what it meant to be together. I’m not his girlfriend. He’s the Prince—do princes even have girlfriends?
Certainly not girlfriends from the poor end of the Kingdom that he keeps hidden away in a forest lodge. I should have been prepared for this. I should have been clear with him that I wasn’t okay wi
th this, and if that was a problem, I didn’t want to see him.
I should have been stronger.
But he makes me weak, silly, and foolish. I practically asked for this to happen.
A tear rolls down my cheek. It’s painful. Even though we weren’t explicit, spending every single evening with someone sends a certain message.
And that message is: I like you. I want to be with you. You matter to me.
To then go off and get drunk with a bunch of half-naked chicks hanging off each arm…
… that hurts.
A lot.
What can I do? I’m just Elle Valencia from Grimdale, and he’s the Crown Prince of Farcliff. I pull myself up, wipe the tears off my cheeks and walk back home.
I beat myself up for feeling bad about this even though I knew it would happen all along. I feel like an idiot for thinking that I was special—that something significant was going on between us. That we had a future, or any hope of this ending without my heart being shattered.
By the time I make it home, I’m ready to get in the shower and have a good cry in private. I feel like a fool, and I just need to get all this emotion out in order to figure out how I’ll break things off with Charlie.
I don’t get to do that, though, because sitting on my front stoop, holding a bouquet of white roses, is none other than the Prince himself.
Charlie stands as I walk up the path. His face is lined and he looks hungover as hell. “Elle...”
“Hey.”
“These are for you.” He thrusts the roses toward me.
I take them and nod. “Thanks. Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you giving me flowers?”
The Prince runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “I went out last night.”
“I heard.”
He stares at me for a moment and sighs. “I didn’t do anything.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean I didn’t sleep with any of those girls in the pictures.”
“Okay. Um, congratulations? Do you want a gold star?”
He sucks in a breath. “You’re mad.”
“I don’t know how I feel. What are we doing, Charlie? This isn’t going to end well. I know it, and you know it…”
“So, what? You don’t want to see me?” His eyebrows draw together and he gives me the biggest, princeliest, most puppy-dog eyes I’ve ever seen, and I know I’m too weak to turn him away.
My shoulders drop. “Let’s go inside. I need a shower.”
Charlie follows me in, and I put the flowers down on the desk in my room. I drop my gym bag and sit on the edge of my bed. The Prince closes my bedroom door and watches me for a moment. “Are you mad at me?”
“I’m mad at myself, mostly,” I answer with a dry laugh. “Listen…” I sigh.
I want to tell him to go, to leave me alone, to not string me along like some pathetic groupie until he gets sick of me…
… but the words won’t come out.
Charlie walks toward me and slips his hands into mine. He pulls me up off the bed so I’m standing in front of him, my chest pressed against his. He takes my hands and hooks them around his neck before clasping his own behind my back. Resting his forehead against mine, he takes a deep breath.
“I was upset you didn’t want to see me yesterday, so I got drunk. I didn’t touch any of those girls. I had the one in the white dress kicked out of the club. I swear, Elle, I was thinking of you all night.”
My heart thumps and my emotions war inside me. “There’s no future between us, Charlie. You know that, right?”
“Why not?”
I laugh, pulling my head away from his to look at his face. “What do you mean, why not? Because I’m me, and you’re you. We’ve been sneaking around for almost a month now, but then what? You’re going to go public with your Grimdale girlfriend? It’s never going to happen.”
“I’ll go public right now, Elle. Here.” He takes out his phone to take a picture of us and I push his arm away, laughing.
“Come on.” I shake my head.
“I’m serious.”
We stare at each other, and I finally sigh. “I didn’t like seeing those pictures. I get that you like to go out, but…”
“I was thinking of you, Elle. I was always thinking of you.”
“But you still let them crawl all over you.”
“I know. I fucked up, and I’m sorry. I want you.”
I want to believe him. My heart believes him, but I know I’m setting myself up for a long, hard fall. There’s no future between us—that much is certain.
But hope is a wriggling little worm, a termite that makes its way to the depths of my heart and burrows itself inside me. It’s a low flame that burns deep in my soul and softly whispers what if…
Hope is a dirty liar, but I still choose to believe it.
I choose to believe the Prince when he says he was thinking about me and when he says he didn’t do anything with any other girls. I believe him when he says we might have a future together, even though I know it’s not true.
He tilts my chin up toward him and kisses me tenderly, and then he strips off my clothes. I undress him, laying a soft kiss on his chest, brushing the outline of one of his tattoos. I sigh, giving in.
I want him.
I’m not ready to let him go.
The two of us head to the shower together. Under the stream, we wash each other and the Prince makes me come with his hands, his mouth, his cock.
“Come away with me this weekend,” he says, holding me tight as I try to regain control over my shaking, post-orgasmic legs.
“What? Where?”
“To our country house. Let me treat you like a princess.”
I brush his wet hair off his forehead and place a kiss on his lips. “I can’t, Charlie. I have practice. I can’t miss any training sessions this close to the regatta.”
He pouts, which makes me chuckle.
“After the regatta, we’ll go away together,” he commands.
I smile. “Okay. After the regatta.”
But I’m not sure there will be an ‘after the regatta’ for us. This feels like the beginning of the end, only neither of us are admitting it.
23
Charlie
I learn a few things that day.
Number one, I learn that I really, really care about Elle. I care about her enough to grovel.
Number two, I learn that partying and girls don’t have the same draw as they once did.
And number three—perhaps most surprising—is that I learn my father is having me followed.
When I get home from Elle’s house, Talin appears out of thin air and points down the hall to my father’s study. When I step inside, my father is fuming.
“Dahlia Raventhal? Really? One Raventhal bitch wasn’t enough? We invited the girl to the Prince’s Ball, but I wasn’t expecting you to fuck her.”
“Excuse me?”
“I know you’ve been sneaking around with someone, but I didn’t expect it to be Raventhal filth,” he spits.
“You think I’m sleeping with Dahlia Raventhal?”
“Don’t play innocent with me, Charles. How many times do I have to tell you that you need a suitable wife?”
“Suitable for who, Father?”
“For the Kingdom!” His voice booms as it echoes around his office. He huffs, his neck wobbling as he glares at me.
I flop down onto one of his chairs and stare at my nails. I can feel my father’s anger ratchet up a couple notches, and my lips twitch.
“You are the Crown Prince of—”
“I know who I am, and I also know that it’s the twenty-first century. You don’t need to marry me off to some princess for political reasons. We have actual politicians for that, now.”
The King’s face turns bright red. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t be naive, Charlie.”
“Naive? You think I’m being naive?”
“You were na
ive when you almost impregnated your governess, and now you’re going to bring dishonor on our family by doing it again.”
The air between us grows tense.
My eyes narrow. “Why are you so worried about my marriage all of a sudden?” I glance at his desk and catch a glimpse of some contract documents. My blood boils. “The Farcliff Dam Project? That was thrown out fifteen years ago. Mother saw to that. We would need to relocate the entire population of Grimdale.”
“Things change in fifteen years, Charles.” He waves a hand. “And I’m worried about your marriage because it’s time. The law states that you need a wife to become King, and I’m sick of you being such a fuck-up. Dahlia Raventhal is just another one of those fuck-ups of yours.”
The King shuffles the papers away, shoving them into a drawer in his desk. My father is planning something, but I don’t know what. Something about him pushing this marriage all of a sudden—it makes the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
Something doesn’t add up, and my father is a dangerous man.
Dahlia Raventhal is from a suitable family—but I’m not sleeping with her. She’s not the reason I went to that house today.
No, the truth is much, much more damning.
At least Dahlia Raventhal is from an old family. My father wouldn’t dare do anything to hurt her. Elle, on the other hand…
Elle doesn’t even know who her parents are. If my father is following me, he’s up to something, and I don’t trust him to be an honorable person. The last thing I want to do is put Elle in danger. The King could hurt her without any repercussions. If he knows that I care about her, he could throw her in jail or pull her scholarship—or worse.
He could make her disappear without a trace.
I swallow and square my shoulders. If my father thinks I’m interested in Dahlia Raventhal, then at least Elle is safe from his wrath.
“What are you going to do about Dahlia?” I ask. “Since you seem so sure that I’m seeing her.”
A smile twists his lips. “I’m going to invite the Miss Raventhal to the castle, and you’re going to declare your intentions with that Raventhal swine.” My father sits down again and waves a hand. “You can go.”
Knocked Up by Prince Charming: Knocked Up Royals: Book 1 Page 12