Broken Prince: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance (Royally Unexpected Book 4)

  BROKEN PRINCE

  AN ACCIDENTAL PREGNANCY ROMANCE

  LILIAN MONROE

  PREVIOUSLY TITLED KNOCKED UP BY THE BROKEN PRINCE

  CONTENTS

  Foreword

  1. Ivy

  2. Luca

  3. Ivy

  4. Luca

  5. Ivy

  6. Luca

  7. Ivy

  8. Luca

  9. Ivy

  10. Luca

  11. Ivy

  12. Luca

  13. Margot

  14. Luca

  15. Ivy

  16. Luca

  17. Ivy

  18. Luca

  19. Ivy

  20. Luca

  21. Ivy

  22. Margot

  23. Ivy

  24. Luca

  25. Ivy

  26. Luca

  27. Ivy

  28. Luca

  29. Ivy

  30. Luca

  31. Ivy

  32. Luca

  33. Ivy

  34. Luca

  35. Ivy

  36. Luca

  37. Ivy

  38. Luca

  39. Ivy

  Wicked Prince

  1. Margot

  2. Dante

  Also by Lilian Monroe

  Copyright © 2020 Lilian Monroe All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission from the author except for short quotations used for the purpose of reviews.

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  IVY

  THERE’S a special place in hell for people who are jealous of their sisters. My spot has been reserved since I was just a little girl. I’m pretty sure Lucifer himself has a party planned for my arrival, complete with a thousand emerald balloons and a banner that says, ‘WELCOME HOME, IVY.’

  Whenever I’m near my sister Margot, I bleed green. Envy curls in the pit of my stomach and sends roots into my heart, squeezing my insides until I can hardly breathe.

  It’s happening right now, as Margot twirls in front of the mirror in yet another perfect, figure-hugging gown—which, by the way, she got for free. Yes, my sister is so beautiful that all she has to do is post pictures of herself online, and brands send her boxes and boxes of free things.

  “Which one do you like better?” Margot asks, tilting her head. “I think the blue one might be more appropriate for a royal event, but this pink one would make a statement. Prince Luca seems like the kind of guy who would appreciate a statement.” She bites the inside of her cheek. “My stylist asked me to make a decision tonight so that she can put together my shoes and accessories before the event.”

  Her long, false nails slide down her abdomen as she sucks in her flatter-than-flat stomach. My older sister is tall and willowy, with waist-length blonde hair and blue, come-hither eyes. All she has to do is bat her eyelashes at a man and he falls to his knees in front of her.

  Why would Prince Luca be any different? I honestly don’t think it matters which dress she chooses. She could show up in flannel pajamas if she wanted to. People would call it fashion, darling and put her on the ‘Farcliff’s Best Dressed’ list.

  Margot’s eyes move to my reflection in the mirror, and her eyebrows jump up in question.

  I shrug. “Yeah, either one is nice.”

  Margot’s shoulders fall, and a pang passes through my chest. I know she needs my support right now, and I’m not giving it to her. She’s meeting one of the Princes of Argyle tomorrow. The entire royal family of Argyle—the King and Queen, and two of the three Princes—have been invited to our Kingdom of Farcliff following the coronation of Prince Luca’s older brother, King Theo.

  The Kingdoms of Argyle and Farcliff haven’t always had the best relations, but with King Theo in Argyle, and King Charlie here in Farcliff, there are high hopes of reconciliation. The formal dinner tomorrow night is an opening ceremony, of sorts, which will kick off the Argyle family’s month-long visit in Farcliff.

  My sister—being one of the most famous celebrities in Farcliff—is invited to the ball. Me?

  Not so much.

  I guess the slightly shorter, slightly chubbier, black-haired version of Margot isn’t exactly in high demand.

  Did I mention I’m most likely spending eternity in a fiery abyss?

  I don’t even know why I’m so jealous. That dinner sounds like my idea of death by a thousand boring conversations. I’d rather pluck my leg hairs out one by one than spend time with the guests at tomorrow’s event.

  Still, I envy her.

  Margot’s management team has arranged to hook her up with Prince Luca, as he’s apparently the hottest thing since sliced bread. They think it’ll be good for her ‘image’ to have her dating a high-profile celebrity like the Prince. The Prince’s management team agrees, wanting to bring Argyle and Farcliff closer together. It’s a match made in royal Instagram heaven.

  For a month, at least. All bets are off once Prince Luca leaves Farcliff again.

  I swing my legs off the bed and stand up, throwing my jet-black hair into a messy bun. “Go with whatever dress you think is best, Margie. You know I’m no good at these things.”

  Margot throws me a look when I say her name. Her real name. She changed it to Margot when she started acting, because her agent told her ‘Marguerite’ isn’t fame material. At least our mother died before that happened.

  “I just want to make sure the Prince likes me.” Her eyes return to her reflection in the mirror.

  Taking a deep breath, I put my hands on my sister’s shoulders. She swings her gaze back to me, and I force an encouraging smile. “He’s going to love you. Everyone does. Literally everyone—even me.”

  Margot cracks a grin and shakes her head. With a sigh, she makes a decision. “I’m going to go with the blue one.”

  AS THE PERSONAL assistant to Farcliff’s hottest star, my life revolves around my sister. It always has. Ever since she landed her first commercial when she was four years old, my sister’s life has always taken priority.

  Even when Mama’s illness got worse and the end was near, my father would still take Margot to her auditions and modeling jobs before going to see his own wife in the hospital. That’s what happens when there’s an opportunity to lift a family out of poverty—everyone latches on for dear life.

  Including me.

  Margot is the gravy train that we all need to survive. And because my sister is such a damn saint, she doesn’t hold it against us. She shares her wealth and success with my father and me without rancor or the need for anything in return.

  So, every day, I swallow my jealousy and get up at the crack of dawn to make sure my sister’s days go according to plan.

  This morning, in particular, is hectic. I have to make sure the hair and makeup artists are here on time. I need to confirm the limo service and call her stylist to make sure she’s finalized the outfit.

  I need to make sure Margot eats enough so that she doesn’t faint on her way to Farcliff Castle, but not so much that she’ll look bloated in her pretty blue dress.

  Most importantly, I need to make sure my sister is happy, confident, glowing, and ready to meet the Prince of her dreams.

  Margot still has her silk eye mask on when I gently shake her awake. She lets out a cute little sigh—because
even in her sleep, she’s graceful and perfect—and pushes the pink silk off her eyes and onto her forehead. Her golden hair is still curled from yesterday, splayed out in soft waves on her pillow.

  I couldn’t look that good when I wake up if I tried.

  “Hey, Ivy,” she smiles. “Is it time to get up already?”

  “Rise and shine, future Princess.”

  Margot beams at me, and pads to her ensuite bathroom. I hear a yelp, followed by a series of clattering bangs, and I let out a sigh.

  My sister’s single, solitary flaw is that she can’t go anywhere without knocking something over. ‘Clumsy’ doesn’t even come close to describing it. She’s a bull, and the world is a china shop.

  A really pretty, really feminine, blonde-haired bull, but still.

  An accident waiting to happen.

  She’s lucky she has an entire team of people around her who hide that particular flaw from the public. The Margot LeBlanc that the masses see is graceful, kind, and pretty much perfect.

  Knocking on the bathroom door, I wait for her response.

  “It’s fine,” she calls out. “Just the shampoo bottles.”

  “Okay. Let me know if you need anything.”

  I make her bed while she showers, and check my phone when it dings. The hairstylist is on her way. Makeup will be late.

  Today is all about managing Margot. Her agent, Hunter, arrives at our seven-bedroom mansion at eleven o’clock, prepping Margot with a thousand and one facts about Prince Luca.

  “Remember, Margot, don’t mention Queen Cara.”

  “His ex. Right. Got it.” Margot nods. “No mention of the Queen of Argyle.”

  “I mean it, Margot. They were sweethearts their entire lives. When Queen Cara married Luca’s older brother, it was a massive controversy in Argyle. Prince Luca was still in Singapore at the time.”

  “For his operation?”

  Hunter nods. “That’s something you can focus on—his recovery from the spinal fracture and how miraculous it is that he can walk again. But not Queen Cara. Not even her name. When she married his brother, Prince Luca went off the rails. Talking about her is a sure way to get the Prince to dislike you.”

  “I get it,” Margot repeats. Her voice has a slight edge to it—the most aggression you’ll ever hear from my angelic older sister.

  Hunter pulls his phone out of his pocket and stares at it as he continues: “Keep the conversation light. He likes sports—he’s a big basketball fan. Just be yourself.”

  “Is she supposed to be herself, or is she supposed to talk about basketball?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.

  Hunter ignores me.

  I slink to the kitchen, tired of hearing about Prince Luca. It’s all they’ve talked about for months. If I hear the words ‘bad boy meets good girl’ or ‘relationship of the century’ one more time, I think I might explode.

  Heading for the pantry, I pull out some flour, sugar, yeast, and a few other bits and pieces. My favorite mixing bowl lives in the corner cupboard by the sink, and as soon as I feel the weight of it, my shoulders start to relax.

  I love baking. I always have. Mama and I used to spend hours in the kitchen together, putting together lavish desserts from scraps of food that she scrounged from who-knows-where. She taught me everything I know about baking, and every time I make something, I think of her.

  As Mama’s illness progressed and her tremors became more severe, she stopped being able to bake. She’d sit in the kitchen as I did the work. Mama would coach me through the complex recipes, and then we’d eat the treats together.

  It was special. It still is. Baking is the one thing that I’m really, really good at.

  Right now, I need to think about something other than my beautiful sister, her impending royal relationship, and my own inadequacy.

  Cinnamon buns might do the trick.

  Slipping on my bright blue apron, I get to work. The sounds of the hairstylists and agents and managers fades into the background, and I inhale the scent of fresh dough. It’s the scent of memories, home, and comfort. As soon as my fingers sink into the soft dough, a smile drifts over my lips.

  This is where I’m happiest. If I could give up the seven-bedroom mansion and all the money and comfort that Margot provides for me, I would. I’d open a small bakery in Farcliff and I’d sell everything that my mother and I used to bake together.

  The clack-clack-clack of stilettos on our Italian marble floors informs me my sister is coming to find me. I cover the dough to prove it, and then wipe my floury hands on my apron.

  Margot comes around the corner in all her glory. In six-inch heels, she looks even more breathtaking than she usually does. Her makeup is flawless, of course, and her hair is swept to the side in elegant curls. The blue dress was a good choice—it makes her perfect figure look like she’s walking around with real-life Photoshop on her body. She smiles at me, but pauses at the kitchen’s entrance.

  “I don’t want to get flour on my dress, but I wanted to say thank you for all your help today. I couldn’t have done it without you. I know it’s been a tough couple of months, but once this relationship goes public, it should provide a lot more opportunities for us. We’ll be real stars, Ivy.”

  We.

  My heart squeezes.

  Why am I such an ass?

  Here I am, cursing my sister’s name, and she’s including me in all her plans. Everything she’s done to be in the public eye, to make all this money—it’s been for my father and me.

  We stand on the opposite side of the kitchen. The distance between us is vast.

  I force a smile. “I’ll have cinnamon buns ready and waiting for you when you come back.”

  “Can’t wait,” she says, as if she’ll actually eat one. I don’t think she’s eaten a simple carb in ten or twelve years.

  She turns to leave, and then pauses. “Oh, would you mind grabbing my dry cleaning? Marcella didn’t have time to do it today with everything going on.” Without waiting for an answer, my sister blows me a kiss and disappears down the hallway with her entourage in tow.

  I grimace, wincing when the door slams. “Sure, no problem!” I call out into the silence. I listen to the big, empty house, not quite sure what I’m expecting to hear.

  Then, with a sigh, I take my apron off and do my sister’s bidding.

  LUCA

  QUEEN CARA of Argyle looks radiant as she walks up the wide steps leading up to the Farcliff Castle doors. Her rich, purple gown cinches her at the waist, and my eyes stay glued to the spot on her lower back where my hand used to rest.

  Key words: used to.

  Past tense. As in, not anymore. Never again.

  I sit in the back seat of my limousine with a sick feeling in my stomach. My brother, King Theo, smiles at the flashing cameras and lifts his arm up towards them. His wife’s tiara sparkles with every photo as she stands beside him. Hot coals glow in my chest, burning me from the inside out.

  My lips pinch and my gut churns. My brother, Beckett, watches me from across the limousine.

  “You okay?”

  I sigh. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

  He gives me a tight-lipped smile. “It’s good to see you again, Luca.” He slides over beside me and pats my knee. “Argyle wasn’t the same without you.”

  “It’s been a long five years, that’s for sure. It’s good to see you too.”

  I smile at Beckett, and the tension between my eyes seems to ease. Besides Cara, Beckett was my best friend growing up. He’s actually my half-brother—our mother had him with my father’s brother, which caused about as much controversy as you can imagine—but he’s as much my brother as Theo is.

  “Try not to let them get to you.”

  “Who?”

  Beckett rolls his eyes. I know who he’s talking about—our brother, Theo, and his beautiful, graceful wife, Cara.

  Also known as the love of my life, the shatterer of my heart, the bane of my existence, and, unfortunately, my new sister-in-law.

&
nbsp; Beckett lets out a sigh and exits the limousine. His lopsided smile greets the flashing cameras, and I take a deep breath. I’m next.

  Reaching into my pocket, I pop two painkillers into my mouth. Whenever I get stressed, my body screams with burning pain. Nerve pain. Right now, as I stare up at Theo and Cara, it’s bad.

  When I walk out, I don’t look at the cameras. I ignore the clamoring of reporters and the death glares my eldest brother gives me. I just walk straight toward the castle without acknowledging the crowds.

  What do I care about the people of Farcliff? Why should I give a fuck about the journalists and news reporters who have done nothing but tear me to shreds? They’ll look for any glance, any facial expression, any word to show how heartbroken I am over Cara’s wedding to my brother.

  Not that it’d be hard to find something.

  Theo’s eyes burn holes into my back. I pause on the top step, and I can sense his approach without even turning to see him.

  “Behave yourself,” he hisses in my ear. “This visit in Farcliff is important.”

  “For you, you mean.”

  “For all of us. For all of Argyle. This is your first public appearance since Singapore, in case you’ve forgotten. It’s your chance to show yourself to the world.” His trimmed beard has a few white hairs growing in it. He looks old—a fact that brings me more pleasure than it should. He lowers his head toward me as cameras continue to flash. “Just don’t make a scene. Your date will be here any minute.”

  “Wonderful.” I roll my eyes. “I’m so glad you were able to arrange a suitable match for me, Your Majesty. Or are you going to take her into your bed as soon as I turn my back, too?”

  Beckett distracts the photographers by stepping forward with a dazzling smile. He glances at me for just a moment, giving me a pointed stare.

  His eyes say, Don’t do it. Calm down. Get through the night.

  Theo is staring at me, too—and his eyes are blazing. His anger only serves to feed mine. It pours into me like liquid heat, sending sharp daggers through my chest.