Broken Prince: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance (Royally Unexpected Book 4) Page 2

  Who the fuck is he to be mad at me? I didn’t swoop into his life and steal his bride away. He did that to me. And now, I’m supposed to forget it ever happened?

  Fuck. That.

  I’ll make a scene if I want to.

  Cara appears beside him, hooking her arm into Theo’s. She smiles at me with soft eyes. The aggression inside me evaporates, replaced with a dull thud in my empty chest.

  “Everything okay with you two?”

  I incline my head. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  “Luca, I wish you wouldn’t call me that.” Her plump, red lower lip juts out, and I remember sucking that lip between my own not too long ago.

  I arch an eyebrow. “Why not? You earned the title.”

  She earned it by sleeping with my brother while I was getting my spinal cord stitched back together and learning to walk again. She earned it after assuring me that she’d wait for me.

  Theo clears his throat. “Here comes your date. Behave.”

  I turn to the bottom of the wide steps to see a blonde woman with an entourage bigger than ours. Her dress looks painted onto her perfect body, and I can’t deny how beautiful she is. Her tits are plump and perky, and every step she takes as she climbs the stairs makes her look more seductive than the last. She walks in like she belongs here, flashing a dazzling smile at me, angling her face toward the cameras.

  I feel nothing.

  I’m empty, except for the low, simmering rage that always bubbles when Theo’s near.

  “Your Majesties,” the woman says as she curtsies for my brother and his wife. The blonde beauty turns to me, and a slight pink tinge colors her cheeks. She bows her head. “Nice to finally meet you, Prince Luca.”

  I bring her hand to my lips, staring into her bright, blue eyes. Cameras flash as reporters shout for us to face them. I ignore them, but the woman smiles for the photographers.

  I could fuck her for the month I’m here, I guess, if she’s not too boring to listen to.

  Glancing at Cara, I see her staring at the two of us. Her eyebrows draw together slightly, and she lets her eyes drift down the woman’s body.

  For the briefest of moments, all my anger melts away and is replaced with bright, zinging interest. I tilt my head, studying her.

  Is the Queen jealous?

  I quirk an eyebrow as an idea starts floating through my head. Maybe this blonde would be more useful than I anticipated. Taking my date’s hand, I hook it into the crook of my arm and motion toward the castle. “Shall we?”

  “Please.” She smiles at me again, a little more coquettishly. In her heels, she’s almost as tall as I am. She smells floral and a little too sweet. My date angles her head one more for the benefit of the cameras, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

  Cara clears her throat, stealing another glance at us before turning away.

  I grin.

  Cameras flash.

  Shocking as it is to say it, this might actually be fun, in a cruel, twisted kind of way.

  We turn toward the big double doors that lead into the castle, and my date stumbles over the last step. Before she goes flying face-first into the ground, I catch her.

  Snap-snap-snap. Cameras are trained on us.

  My date smiles at me, a blush tinting her cheeks. “Thanks.”

  “Of course.” I put my hand on her back, resisting the urge to steal a glance at Cara.

  As soon as we enter the castle, someone hands me a glass of champagne. I down it in one gulp and belch in my fist. The woman—what was her name?—stares at me and then immediately rearranges her features into a smile.

  “I was told you were a character.” She bats her eyelashes and pushes her chest out toward me.

  I guess ‘not too boring to listen to’ was too much to ask. I could still fuck her, I guess. Cara would hate that.

  “I was told you were a good fuck,” I answer. I grab another glass of champagne on our way toward the Great Hall, ignoring whatever it is that comes out of her mouth next.

  Farcliff Castle is different from the one at home. This castle just as grand, but it feels colder. There’s more stone and steel in it. In the Great Hall, long tables are set up with thick, white tablecloths on them. I let the usher lead me to my assigned seat, at a table with Beckett and my date. Prince Damon and Princess Dahlia of Farcliff are seated next to us, and a few other Lords and Ladies take their seats further down the table.

  The King of Farcliff, Charlie, and his Queen, Elle, take their seats at the head table. My brother, Theo, thankfully, is sitting at the opposite end of that table with Queen Cara. I won’t have to stare at them all dinner, which I’m sure was done on purpose.

  The more distance between us, the better.

  Beckett stares at me from across the table, glancing at my date. He cocks his eyebrow as if to say, You okay?

  I avert my eyes.

  I don’t know how I feel. On the one hand, I’m seeing my family for the first time in years. I’m happy to see them, but another part of me resents the fact that they never came to visit me. I want to go back to Argyle, but I’m nervous about what to expect.

  Beckett stares at me and then his face twists, and he sneezes.

  “Allergies?” I ask, spreading my serviette over my thighs.

  Beckett grunts in acknowledgement. My brother is allergic to dust, cats, dogs, horses, pollen, peanut butter—pretty much everything except water. He sneezes again, and I hide a grin.

  I used to tickle his nose with dandelions when we were kids and run away when he’d get mad. He’d chase me, sneezing the whole time. We were kids. Our childhood was happy.

  Now, that happiness seems to have slipped through my fingers.

  “Can’t take you anywhere,” I say with a grin. Beckett sighs, frustrated. Is it wrong that I kind of like seeing people like this? Uncomfortable, in pain, and hurting?

  I wasn’t always like this. Before the accident, I was a happy person. I liked to laugh.

  Snapping your spine and become a paraplegic has a way of changing your outlook on life, though. My family shipped me off to Singapore to get fixed up, and now that I’ve made a miraculous recovery, they’re welcoming me back with open arms.

  I’m not broken anymore, so I’m worthy of their attention.

  My date shifts in her seat. She reaches into her tiny clutch purse and pulls out a pill packet, handing it to Beckett. “Here,” she says with a smile. “I have allergies all the time. These antihistamines are prescription.”

  Beckett’s eyebrows arch, and he accepts the pill with a grateful nod. “Thanks. You’re an actress, right? You were in the last James Bond movie.”

  Her face breaks into a smile. “Yeah, I’m Margot LeBlanc. I loved playing a Bond girl. Something about being a villain was really fun and freeing.” Her laugh is musical, and she flicks her hair over her shoulder.

  Margot. Right. I silently thank my brother for asking.

  “Beckett,” my brother says, extending a hand. When Margot reaches over to take it, she knocks over my glass of champagne with her arm. I catch it as it sloshes over my plate, and a waiter whisks it away within seconds.

  Margot looks embarrassed and apologizes. She glances at Beckett, and they stare at each other for a little bit too long. Beckett’s eyes shine, and he smiles at my date like an idiot.

  I’m not going to pretend like I’m into this chick, but that doesn’t mean that I’m going to let Beckett swoop in on her. Apart from Cara, Margot is the hottest chick in the room. I reach my arm over the back of her chair, leaning into Margot as I glance at my brother. His smile fades, and Margot clears her throat, smiling at me.

  I sip my champagne as an awkward silence settles between us.

  Princess Dahlia makes a soft noise, smiling politely at us. “So, Prince Luca, please tell us about your recovery over the past few years. You must have worked very hard.”

  “Never thought I’d have to learn to walk twice,” I say, taking another slug of champagne.

  Prince Damon nods, and starts telling us about his own brush with death. His was self-inflicted, though. I remember the news reports from a few years ago. It was right before he met Princess Dahlia.

  By the time we’re onto the second course, I’m half-cut and dying for a piss. I excuse myself from the table, stumbling through the castle hallways, leaning against expensive paintings on the walls for support. I stumble down the hallway, poking my head into lavish rooms.

  Are there no bathrooms in this fucking castle?

  I pinch my lip together and finally just choose another door at random. Whatever it is, I’m taking a piss in it.

  Turns out, it’s a formal living room with a balcony. I head over to the balcony, unzip my pants and water one of the plants. Groaning in relief, I zip myself back up and reach into my pocket for a joint.

  I can’t go back in there without taking the edge off. It’s too soon to take another painkiller, and the booze isn’t doing anything to distract me from the pain that’s starting to pulse down my spine. Weed will help.

  Beckett and Margot are making eyes at each other across the dinner table, I’m zoned out most of the time, and I can still hear Cara’s laugh from across the Great Hall. I light up my joint and take a puff, leaning against the exterior wall as I stare off the balcony.

  Farcliff isn’t bad, I guess. It’s colder than Argyle, but that’s because it’s much farther north. There are more trees here than in our Caribbean climate, and the air does taste cool and fresh. It’s late May, and the whole country is exploding with blooms and the excitement of late spring.

  It makes me feel even more bitter than I already do.

  Farcliff is like Margot—she’s nice, and pretty, and sweet—but all I want to do is fuck her and leave her broken in my wake. This trip to Farcliff is
supposed to be the start of a homecoming for me, but all I want to do is ruin my brother’s life.

  Hopefully, if all goes well, Cara will hate every minute of it. Maybe then she’ll get a tiny taste of the torture she’s put me through.

  As I watch the smoke swirl around my head, a smile curls my lips. My PR team wants me to date Margot? That’s exactly what I’ll do—but I’m not promising it’ll end with a happily-ever-after.

  IVY

  CINNAMON BUNS WERE INVENTED to make bad days better.

  My special recipe? I add little bits of apple before cooking them up, so it’s like the perfect combination of apple pie and cinnamon bun.

  As soon as I pull them out of the oven, I rip one open and stuff the steaming dough into my mouth.

  Big mistake.

  As soon as the piping-hot bun hits my mouth, I burn the roof of it so badly I lose a layer of skin. I exhale as I chew, cursing myself as I jump around the kitchen.

  Typical.

  I’m never patient, never smart, never forward-thinking. I always make the same mistakes over and over again. Swallowing my bite, I look at the rest of the cinnamon bun and double down. My mouth is already burned, why not eat the rest of it?

  Leaning against the kitchen counter, I mash the dough between my teeth, too angry to taste anything. I’m not even sure why I’m mad. Because I’m too impatient to wait five minutes before eating these? Because my sister is off meeting the prince of her dreams and I’m here on my own? Because as hard as I try, I can’t bring myself to dislike my sister even a little bit?

  My phone dings on the counter beside me. It’s my news app flashing on the screen. The only finger that isn’t sticky with cinnamon bun is my pinky finger, so I use that to press the screen. Leaning on the cabinets, I read the headline that appears on my phone:

  BAD-BOY PRINCE LEAVES WITH FARCLIFF SWEETHEART: SPARKS FLY

  Heat rips through my chest like a flaming arrow. I scroll through the news story with my pinky finger, pausing on a photo of Prince Luca and my sister with their heads close, laughing at something only they can hear.

  Even in a paparazzi photo, the two of them look like they were crafted for the sole purpose of making the rest of us feel inadequate. My sister glows in her blue dress, her hair and makeup somehow still flawless, even after a full evening of eating.

  The Prince—well, he’s the definition of perfect. Darkish hair, dark eyes, a roguish smile. His jaw is strong and square, and his body dwarfs my sister’s in every photo. He has a hand on her lower back, and I can see the hint of a tattoo poking out from his perfectly tailored suit.

  I stare at the photos, zooming in on them and leaning forward until my nose is practically against my phone’s screen.

  The Prince is a little older than my sister. I think I read that he was in his mid-thirties. He almost has a silver fox look about him, and the way he’s staring at my sister makes my gut clench.

  They’re both so damn good-looking. Turning around in disgust, I lean my back against the cabinets and stare up at the ceiling.

  I look down at my sticky, cinnamon-bun covered hands and then run my tongue over the raw skin on the roof of my mouth. Is it any wonder that I don’t have any royalty knocking down my door? I spend my evenings in the kitchen, baking for no one except myself. I wear ripped jeans and a white t-shirt every single day. I don’t talk to men, except if they happen to be driving a taxi or working behind a cash register.

  The front door opens, dragging me out of my pity party.

  “Ivy!” Hunter calls from the hallway.

  “In here.” I head to the sink to wash my hands.

  His footsteps grow nearer, and he pops his head around the corner just as I untie my apron and hang it on its hook on the wall.

  “You have to leave.”

  “Excuse me?” I arch an eyebrow. “Did you forget that I live here?”

  Hunter runs a hand through his dirty blond hair. His eyes are thin slits on his face, and he jerks his chin toward the door. “The Prince and Margot are on their way. They need the house to themselves.”

  My heart thumps. “Why?”

  Margot’s agent rolls his eyes. “Come on, Ivy. I know you’re a virgin, but you should understand what we’ve been working toward for the past six months.”

  My cheeks burn. Liquid fire runs down my throat as I try to swallow. How did he know I was a virgin? Hunter’s eyes run down my body as he leans against the doorway, arching an eyebrow. A slimy feeling follows his gaze as it passes over me.

  I turn away from him, if only to hide my embarrassment. “Where am I supposed to go?”

  “I don’t care. You can come to my place if you want.”

  I whip my head around to stare at him, only to see a disgusting smirk on his face.

  I arch an eyebrow. “I’d rather eat sand.”

  Hunter shrugs, staring at his nails. “Your loss. I could show you what you’ve been missing.”

  “Barf. Please leave.”

  He stares at me pointedly, and I sigh, wiping my damp hands on my jeans.

  “Fine. I’m going. They can have this whole entire mansion to use as their fuck-palace in peace. Anything for my dear old sister.”

  “Good.” Hunter pushes himself off the doorjamb and gives me his back. He pauses, looking over his shoulder to grin at me. “Offer still stands if you want to come to my place.”

  “I just threw up a little in my mouth.”

  Hunter scoffs and walks back down the hall. His shoes echo on the marble floors, and I wait until I hear the door slam before I move from the kitchen. My shoulders sink, and I make my way to my bedroom to pack a small bag.

  Taking my cell phone, I dial my best friend’s number.

  “Hey, Miss Ivy,” Georgina says as she answers. “I see your sister is moving up in the world.”

  “Don’t remind me. Her agent is basically a pimp. It’s disgusting. I have to leave my own house so they can have sex.”

  “Ew. Doesn’t your house have, like, a million bedrooms? Why do they need the whole place? Is your sister a screamer?”

  “Please don’t.” I shake my head. I try to fight the grin off my face.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t be gross. I have enough of that in my day-to-day life.”

  Georgie giggles. “Sorry. You want to meet me at the diner? Giselle and I are just finishing up our shift, and Marcus made some extra pie for us. He’s testing out a new recipe.”

  “Be there in twenty.”

  “I’ll have the milkshakes ready and waiting.”

  I hang up the phone and let out a relieved breath. I’ve known Georgie and Giselle since I was in kindergarten. The twins have been by my side since we were six years old, through Margot getting famous, through my mother passing away, through my father leaving us to travel the world with his new lover—through everything.

  They’re my rock, and the only people that can make me feel better about being kicked out of my own house so that my sister can have a dirty, royal sex-fest.

  To be honest, all the siblings have been a bit of a surrogate family for me. There are seven of them—five boys plus the twins—and they treat me as their eighth family member.

  I hear the sound of a car engine coming up our long drive, so I hurry out through the back door. My Vespa scooter is parked at the side of the house, and I steal a peek around the corner of the house. My leather jacket creaks as I inch closer to the corner, poking just a fraction of my head around so I can see.

  My sister is giggling and slinging her arms around the Prince as they stumble up the pathway to the front door. He’s taller than I expected, and even from a distance, in the darkness, I can see that he’s devastatingly handsome. My chest squeezes when I see him sweep his hand around my sister’s lower back, locking his lips with hers.

  With my head poking around the corner, I can see her melting in his arms. She lets out a moan, and the Prince tangles his fingers in her hair. My eyes widen and a dagger of heat passes through my stomach.

  I wonder if anyone will ever touch me like that? I can almost feel the need rolling off them in waves.

  Hunter is correct. I’m a virgin. I’ve kissed a couple of guys—usually drunkenly, after they resigned themselves to the fact that they were never going to score with my sister—but I’ve never had a man touch me like the Prince is touching my sister.

  My fingers curl around the edge of the building and I stare at the two of them, watching how the Prince’s hand sinks into my sister’s skin, how she melts into him and presses her body against his.