Wrong Prince: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance (Royally Unexpected Book 6)

by Lilian Monroe

  I text my father that everything is okay. Theo and I go for a walk along the royal beach, saying nothing. We don’t need to speak a word to know that we’re both going through an awful, unexpected kind of heartbreak.

  But as the sun goes down and dusk falls, I realize that we still have each other.

  Theo might always focus on being responsible. Fulfilling his duty. Doing the right thing.

  I might always focus on running away. Being independent. Wanting to be free.

  But we balance each other out. He keeps me grounded, and I keep him from burrowing underground.

  That day is one of the worst days of my life. It comes and goes, and I wake up next to Theo the next morning with swollen eyes and a scratchy throat.

  But I’m here, beside him. He opens his eyes, spreading his arms for me to come snuggle. He nuzzles his head in my hair, groaning in contentment. We lay there, without speaking, knowing we have each other.

  We lost something yesterday, but in the light of the morning sun, I realize that we gained something bigger.

  I know that Theo loves me. There’s no doubt in my mind now. No questions in my heart. Seeing him break down in the office yesterday, and waking up next to him in this plush, feathery bed, I realize that he loves me as desperately as I love him.

  He didn’t come to New York because he felt like he had to. He didn’t ask me to marry him because it was his duty to do it. It wasn’t to avoid a scandal or to get ahead of a controversy.

  He wants me. Loves me. Cherishes me.

  I trail my fingers through his chest hair, inhaling the scent of his skin. It brings a small amount of comfort to my aching heart to know that he is here beside me.

  We have many weeks of grief and mourning ahead. I can already feel it coming. But as I lay on Theo’s chest, all my doubts disappear. He’s here, and he cares about me just as much as I care about him.

  THE ROYAL DOCTOR comes with us to Arlian Island. We take the sea plane over, and I still spend the whole ride staring out the window at the crystal-clear waters below.

  When we get to the villa, the doctor gives me the injection that will get rid of my ectopic pregnancy. I know he’s saving my life. I know it has to be done. I know Theo and I will have other chances to have children, and that in the end, it’ll be better to have them after we’re married.

  I know all these things, but it still hurts like hell. I hold my composure through the procedure, but break down as soon as the doctor leaves the room. Theo holds me, his tears mixing with mine.

  Those few days are a haze. I have to get one more injection a couple of days later. I’m nauseous, but I don’t know if it’s because of the injection or the general heartache and grief that consumes me. Theo is there, always. We spend two weeks in the Arlian villa sleeping, crying, walking on the beach, and generally just recovering from the shock and the loss.

  As the days pass, I realize what Theo means to me—and it’s everything. Even more so than before, I realize that he’s the one person in my life that loves me for me. He accepts me as I am, flaws and all. He picks me up when I break, and helps me build myself back up again.

  They’re dark days. I won’t pretend they aren’t. My emotions are unstable, and it’s hard to make sense of what’s just happened.

  Having Theo beside me helps. The fact that he cleared his schedule to be with me means the world to me, and it shows me that he cares.

  Not in a dutiful way. In a real, deep-in-the-bottom-of-his-heart kind of way.

  When we head back to the main island, Theo interlaces his fingers with mine. He gives me a tight smile.

  “How are you feeling?”

  I nod. “I’m okay.” It’s a lie, mostly. I still feel broken—but I’m not alone. Not anymore. As the sea plane touches down on the water, I take a deep breath and squeeze Theo’s hand.

  He squeezes back.

  The need to run away is gone. The desire to fly off and explore the world is still there, but it’s tempered by the fact that I want to do it with Theo. I’m ready to accept my gilded cage, because with Theo, I feel freer than I did before. I never have to face anything on my own. I never have to struggle alone, wondering what I really want out of life.

  What I want is Theo. Plain and simple.

  Theo leads me away from the palace down a pathway lined with palm trees. A sea breeze rustles through my hair, carrying with it the scent of home. We walk in silence—as we’ve done most days the past few weeks—until we get to a small gazebo overlooking the ocean.

  Theo leads me to a bench in the gazebo and we sit side by side, watching the waves crash on the white sand. I lean my head on his shoulder as he holds me close, and for just a moment, my turbulent emotions calm down. For the first time since I got the news from the doctor, I feel at peace. I know it won’t last forever, that sadness will overwhelm me in the darkest parts of the night—but for now, I’m calm.

  Then, the King shifts away from me. He clears his throat, reaching into his pocket for a small jewelry box. Kneeling down in front of me, he gives me a sad smile.

  “I haven’t done this properly yet,” he says, flipping the box open.

  A glittering engagement ring stares back at me. My eyes widen as my heart thumps.

  “Cara,” Theo says, clearing his throat. “We’ve done everything backward. I haven’t been clear or honest about my feelings for you, but I want you to know exactly where I stand. I love you. I want to sit on the throne with you by my side. I want to lead our Kingdom to prosperity together. I want to fall asleep beside you every night and wake up next to you every day.”

  His eyes shine. My throat is tight, and the tears are already spilling down my cheeks. It feels wrong to be happy about this, when I’ve been so focused on sadness and grief. But when I nod, unable to speak, Theo slides the ring over my finger with a trembling hand.

  We don’t say anything about our loss or about what might happen in the future. We don’t mention children or heirs or what was or wasn’t meant to be. It’s not the right time. We just hold each other, kiss each other, and inhale the fresh sea air together.

  With a bright thread of hope, Theo stitches my heart back together, piece by piece. I know that we’ll come out stronger on the other side. Whatever we have to face, we’ll face it together. United. One.

  Together, always.

  EPILOGUE

  CARA

  IT TOOK two years to recover from the grief of losing the pregnancy. In that time, Beckett was arrested, Luca forgave me and Theo, and even Dante the hermit found someone to love.

  They have their own stories to tell. Our lives were full of twists and turns. Highs and lows.

  Before he forgave us, I tried to tell Luca about my love for Theo. I tried to tell him about the baby, and the grief, but his pain was too great. I knew from my own experience that he needed to work through it himself, so I let him be.

  And he came back to us. He and Ivy blossomed, and I watched as they gained not one child, but two. Their twins were born healthy and happy. Even Dante and Margot had a child at the same time.

  I won’t pretend it didn’t hurt to see their families grow. I smiled through my pain. Theo stayed by my side, as always. We faced our agony together, and day by day, it grew smaller. It never disappeared, but it became bearable.

  Then, like a beacon of hope, I felt new life growing inside me. It wasn’t like the first time—chaotic and tumultuous and surprising. This time, we dared to plan it. For the first time in two years, we let ourselves hope. Really, truly hope that we could have a child.

  The doctors warned us that since I’d already had an ectopic pregnancy, there was a small chance it could happen again. For the first few weeks, I held my breath—but still, I dared to hope.

  At six weeks, when we got the news that my pregnancy was healthy, the smile on Theo’s face could have made even the coldest hearts melt. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me fiercely, not letting me go until I had to come up for air.

  As my pregnancy progr
essed, Theo became more and more anxious. I could tell by the way he fussed around me, hovering wherever I went, even ignoring some of the royal duties that had once been a top priority for him. He would fluff my pillows and watch my diet. He wouldn’t let me carry anything heavier than a piece of paper, and helped me whenever I had to move.

  If I’m honest, his overanxious attention annoyed me—but I loved him for it.

  When our baby girl was born, I immediately knew I’d have a hard time keeping her humble. She was destined to be spoiled as soon as she entered this world. Theo held her for hours, only relinquishing her to me so I could feed her. Princess Ariella was doted on by her grandfathers, her uncles, and aunts. She had love showered on her by the entire Kingdom.

  Even my mother softened. She got what she wanted when I married Theo, but it was Ariella’s birth that made her truly happy. When my mother held Ariella for the first time, tears filled her eyes, and I knew I’d been too hard on her.

  She was a mother—just like me. I could understand, now, that she was only doing what she thought was best.

  I appreciated it all, truly. I did. We got presents and well-wishes from all over the Kingdom. Luca himself beamed, bringing his own toddlers over to meet the new baby.

  But what I loved most were the moments when Theo, me, and Ariella were alone. Sometimes, when the nannies had left and the staff were asleep, our baby girl would stare at us with big, bright eyes from her bassinet. She’d smile, grabbing her toes with her tiny, perfect fingers, rolling back and forth on her back as she giggled.

  In those moments, Theo would wrap his arms around my shoulders and lay a gentle kiss on my temple. Everything was quiet, but the whole room would thrum with love. I could taste it on my tongue and feel it in the air. It made everything worthwhile—the turmoil that had surrounded our early relationship, the hardships, and even all the grief that we’d been through. Together, we were stronger. Everything that we’d been through made us better.

  Every year, on our first child’s due date, we lit a candle to honor our first baby. We never got to meet that baby, but it was the catalyst that brought us together. That child was the reason that Theo and I were able to get over our insecurities and actually confess our feelings to each other. It was the reason we grew closer, that we formed an unbreakable bond.

  ARGYLE HAS ALWAYS BEEN my home. It’s hard to fathom wanting to leave now, years later, when I’ve been blessed with a husband and a child that I love with all my heart. I’ve been able to travel with Theo on royal tours and trips all over the world—possibly even more than I would have been able to do alone.

  And singing? Well, singing has become a daily habit for me. I’ve kept in touch with Prudence Halloway, who often comes to the palace to give private concerts. Princess Ariella has shown an affinity for music, even as a toddler.

  I don’t have a career as a singer. I’m the Queen, now, so it wouldn’t be appropriate. But somehow, it’s better. I sing for Theo, for my child, and for myself. I sing because I love it and because it brings me joy, not because I feel like it’s the only thing that defines me. There aren’t thin-lipped teachers telling me I’m doing it all wrong, or long-haired boys who make me feel uncomfortable.

  There’s just the love of music, and the need to sing.

  Now, as I sit in the palace’s library strumming a guitar with my beautiful three-year-old princess dancing in front of me, I realize that I have everything I could have ever wanted.

  I used to think leaving Argyle was the only way to be free. That I had to be independent to feel like my own person.

  I was wrong. With Theo, I can be myself without having to run. I can grow and learn and live a rich life without needing to leave my home, my family, my Kingdom.

  Theo opens the library door and strides over to me, flopping down onto the sofa beside me and slinging his arm around my back. I place my guitar off to the side and nuzzle into his chest, letting out a happy sigh.

  Princess Ariella toddles over to the guitar and runs her fingers over the strings, giggling. She glances at the two of us, a mischievous smile plastered over her face.

  Theo combs his fingers through my hair, laying a soft kiss on my cheek. “Let’s have another one,” he whispers. I turn to look at him, surprised. We haven’t talked about this before.

  “Really?”

  “Let’s make a baby, Cara. You look hot when you’re pregnant.”

  That makes me laugh. I nudge his chest with my shoulder, shaking my head.

  Theo chuckles, then grows serious. “I mean it. Let’s have another baby.”

  As I stare at my husband, my King, my everything, happiness erupts inside me. I nod, laying a soft kiss on his lips.

  “Okay,” I whisper. “Let’s have another baby.”

  Theo groans, wrapping his arms around me. We kiss, only to be interrupted when Ariella taps us both on the knees. Theo picks her up, laying a dozen kisses on her cheeks as she giggles and squirms in his grasp. Our daughter throws her arms around her father’s neck, planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek in return.

  Over Ariella’s head, Theo’s eyes meet mine. His gaze is clear, and bright, and full of happiness. In that moment, I know we’ll have more children. We’ll fill this palace with the sounds of laughter and music.

  Ariella wriggles away from us, running over to the guitar again to pluck its strings. Theo slides his arm across my shoulders and holds me close. He doesn’t have to say a word for me to know what he’s thinking, because I’m thinking it, too.

  It’s simple, really—just I love you, always and forever.

  Keep reading for a preview of Shouldn’t Want You

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  xox Lilian

  SHOULDN’T WANT YOU

  A BROTHER’S BEST FRIEND ROMANCE

  WILLOW

  THE BRIDE’S SHRILL, ear-splitting shriek pulls me from my conversation with the caterer. My head whips toward the noise as my heartbeat takes off at a gallop.

  I’ve heard that noise before.

  Not often, thankfully. I’m not that bad at my job—but I have heard it.

  A funny thing happens when a woman gets married: her brain seems to fall right out of her head. It usually happens right about the time the dress shop nestles a veil in her hair. That thin, gauzy material has the power to transform the most reasonable woman into a monster.

  Okay, okay. I know. I’m being unkind.

  Not all women turn into bridezillas. Some of them are gorgeous and gracious and have perfect, fairytale weddings. More than one wedding has brought a tear to my eye and squeezed blood from the black rock in my chest.

  Those aren’t the women who turn my hair gray at the ripe old age of twenty-seven.

  That high-pitched screech that just made all the glassware shudder?

  That’s not the sound of a fairytale wedding. That’s the sound of something going very, very wrong.

  “I have to go,” I shout at the caterer, already taking off at full speed across the lawn. He says something I don’t catch, because I’m already halfway back to the main hotel doors. I leave him to figure out how to stretch the two hundred meals into two hundred and fifty, because we learned this morning that the groom invited more guests at the last minute without telling us.

  You know, standard stuff. Typical wedding planner problems.

  My steps are silent on the grass as I run toward the back of the hotel. Employees are putting the finishing touches on the garlands of flowers and gauze that cover every available surface, and my vision zeroes in on the doorway.

  Another scream reaches my ears, and I know I only have a few precious minutes to avert whatever disaster is happening upstairs.

  I need to get to
the bride.

  When I first started as a wedding planner, I’d dress up for the events. I’d wear dresses and heels, thinking I needed to look fancy. My clothes were black, as always—I could blend in with the staff that way—but I chose formal, dressy outfits.

  The problem with dressing up? You can’t sprint in heels.

  Now, I wear sensible clothing. Sleek black trousers with a lot of stretch in them paired with a smart top. Hair in a low bun. No jewelry.

  Nothing too flashy. Nothing too remarkable.

  Oh—and comfortable shoes.

  Bursting through the hotel’s doors, I take the stairs two at a time toward the floor reserved for the wedding party. A loud crash followed by more shouting lets me know things haven’t calmed down.

  I might be too late.

  When I stop outside the bride’s door, my chest is heaving. I can make out a few words amidst the shouting on the other side of the door, but I still can’t figure out what’s going on.

  I don’t know why I knock, but I do.

  “Bethany?” I call out through the closed door.

  Another crash rattles the door. I inhale, squeezing my eyes shut to steel myself against what’s about to happen. I know what I’m in for.

  More screaming. Probably tears. Some finger pointing and runny mascara.

  My grip on the doorknob tightens as I suck a breath in through my teeth. My heart is still racing, and I pat my hair down to give myself some semblance of professionalism.

  They’ll probably blame me. They always do.

  It’s fine, I tell myself. That’s what I’m here for. I do all the hard work for no recognition, and I take all the blame when things go wrong.

  That’s why they pay me exorbitant amounts of money to plan their weddings. That’s why I was able to purchase my own house when I was twenty-two, and why I left college with no student debt. I’ve been able to build my own business from the ground up, without anyone else’s help.

  Not even the Black family, who owns half this town and used to own my family, too.