Royally Unexpected: An Accidental Pregnancy Collection Page 23

  The picture is her christening. My mother was named godmother, apparently. There are three other women there—Dahlia’s aunts. I flick to the next frame of the microfilm and my eyebrows arch. Aunt Malerie wasn’t happy about not being invited to the christening, apparently. There’s a whole article about her reaction.

  I lean back in my chair and exhale. Even through old newspaper articles, I can sense the tension between my mother, Tabitha Raventhal, and Malerie Farcliff. It’s palpable in these stories—but I still can’t really gather any meaningful information from them.

  All I know is Tabitha and Aunt Mal didn’t like each other, but what else is new? Aunt Mal’s always had a short fuse and a mean temper.

  I start searching the files for anything else about Dahlia, but I come up empty. It’s like she disappeared from the public record when she was just a baby.

  Then, the sound of voices makes my spine stiffen.

  “Just down here, dear,” Mrs. Hill’s voice comes down the corridor. Her shoes clack on the hard floor, growing louder as she nears.

  Another muffled voice sounds, and I stare at the door. My heart thumps, and I flick the microfilm away from the article I was reading. I shuffle my notes and stuff them into my shirt pocket, smoothing my clothes down and trying to still the thumping of my heart.

  It feels like I’m doing something wrong. Like I shouldn’t be here, and I shouldn’t be reading about these things…

  …but why? I’m the son of the King of Farcliff, and if anyone has the right to be down here, it’s me.

  Mrs. Hill’s voice is near now, and it’s only a matter of seconds before the door opens. I jump out of my chair and grab my jacket, ready to brush past the newcomers on my way out.

  The door opens and Mrs. Hill comes through with none other than Dahlia Raventhal.

  “Oh! Your Highness! I thought you’d be on the fifth floor, as usual. If I’d known…”

  “It’s fine, Mrs. Hill.” I nod to Dahlia. “Miss Raventhal.”

  She curtsies, and my lips tug at the corners. Seeing her behave like a proper lady is the diametric opposite of how she’d been at her own house—naked and casual and unashamedly herself.

  Mrs. Hill mutters a few more words until I send her away with a nod. Dahlia shifts her weight from foot to foot, biting her lip and staring at the microfilm reader.

  I wait for her to speak, but she says nothing.

  Finally, I clear my throat. “What are you doing here? I don’t think there’s much about microbiology in the Archives.”

  Dahlia’s cheeks flush pink and she lifts her eyes up to mine. She takes a deep breath, tucking a strand of lavender hair behind her ear.

  “I was coming to find out about my mother… and the Queen. What are you doing here?”

  A grin tugs at my lips and I chuckle gently. “Same, actually. Reading up on you.”

  “Anything interesting?” Dahlia throws her bag down on the floor and strips her jacket off, tossing it onto a chair. A low growl rumbles through my chest and I want nothing more than to tear her clothes off and take her right here, right now.

  With my hands itching to touch her and my tongue dying to taste her, I just swallow and shake my head. “Apart from the news of your birth and your christening, you don’t exist in Farcliff archives.”

  Dahlia grins. “Just the way I like it. I’m a woman of mystery.” She walks up beside me, her arm brushing mine as she leans over the microfilm reader. She glances back at me as a shy smile stretches over her lips. “You don’t mind me being here?”

  I shake my head. “Not at all.” Surprisingly, it’s the truth.

  Dahlia smiles at me, and a bolt of lightning passes through my chest. Up until two days ago, I didn’t even know this girl existed. Now, she’s everywhere…

  …and I like it. A lot.

  5

  Dahlia

  Note to self: avoid confined spaces with Damon Farcliff.

  His presence is intoxicating. His body is big, and broad, and it’s calling out to the primal side of me. He fills up the room that we’re in, his aura pressing against me and making me feel like all the oxygen in the world wouldn’t be enough to fill my lungs.

  I haven’t had sex in days, and I’m starting to feel it. The ache between my legs is almost unbearable. Ever since he walked through my front door, no other man seems like enough. Usually, I’m into one-night stands. I love the passing nature of them—the quiet understanding that it’s temporary.

  This week, though? The thought of a one-night stand bores me.

  Damon, on the other hand, doesn’t. What I feel around him is the opposite of boredom. It’s electric and addictive.

  I try to focus on the headlines on the microfilm in front of me, but my mind keeps drifting to his arm, and how it brushes against mine. To his spicy, fresh scent. To the sound of his voice, the low timbre of it that makes something deep in my stomach tremble with need.

  This isn’t supposed to happen. I’m only supposed to be doing Elle a favor. It’s just one dinner, and then I go back to my regular life. I’m not supposed to be reading up on Prince Damon or trying to find out what exactly happened between his mother and my own.

  Going to the castle is bad enough. My mother would have a fit if she found out. It was difficult enough to tell her I was going to Farcliff University. She made me promise to stay away from the castle.

  I successfully avoided the Prince’s Ball by sending Elle in my stead—but I can’t avoid this dinner without letting my best friend down.

  The thing is, I don’t want to avoid this dinner. Aunt Theresa is right—I need to find my own way in life, and figure out what happened for myself. I can’t live in the shadow of a curse that probably doesn’t exist.

  A curse! How stupid! Why I’ve let myself believe that my entire existence is cursed, I don’t know. Maybe it’s an easy excuse whenever something goes wrong.

  Maybe Theresa’s right—I’m just clumsy.

  “What do you know about my mother’s death?” Damon asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

  I glance over at him and take a deep breath. “Not much. I know my mother thought it was suspicious. I know it messed her up for a long time, and she never really recovered from what happened. She sent me away when I was a baby because of the tension at the castle, apparently.”

  “Everybody was shocked when it happened.”

  I sigh. “Yeah. Death is an old joke, but it comes like new to everyone.”

  “Dostoyevsky?” Prince Damon’s eyebrow arches.

  “Ivan Turgenev.”

  “I haven’t heard of him,” the Prince says with a grin.

  “Stick around me long enough, and you’ll learn.” I laugh, nudging him.

  He tilts his head . “How’s your mother doing now?”

  I shrug. “She’s scared of everything. She gets sick really often. I don’t know,” I smile sadly, shaking my head. “I’m supposed to be a scientist, and I study microbiology, but sometimes I think there’s more to it than that. Like her spirit is sick, or something.”

  “Well, medicine is an inexact science. That’s what my professors always say.”

  I nod and turn to the microfilm. “I guess so.”

  Damon grunts, flicking through the archives to show me one article. “I found this. It says your mother was kicked out, but nothing about you except your christening. After that, you disappear.”

  “I mean, as far as Farcliff is concerned, I did disappear. I was taken away from here when I was a baby. I was sent to live with my aunts in the Rockies, like I told you earlier. My mother always said it was for my own safety, but I was never really able to figure out why.”

  “Hence why you’re here, asking all kinds of dangerous questions” he says, smiling.

  “Hence why I’m here,” I repeat. “Trying to figure out how dangerous these questions are.”

  “Well, I can’t say that I’ve made any discoveries.” Damon says, slumping into a chair and letting his eyes drift over me. “I feel like I
should know more about my own past.”

  “Tell me about it,” I snort. “That’s literally the story of my life. I didn’t even know I was a Raventhal until my sixteenth birthday.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yep.” I lean back against the desk and Prince Damon’s eyes drill through me. A delicious tendril of heat follows his gaze as it passes over my body. I flush.

  I turn to the archives again, mostly to avoid his gaze.

  “It’s probably not the type of thing that would be on the public record. You know, royal scandals and intrigue and the Queen’s best friend being banished. Not to mention the King’s own sister stirring shit up—which, by the way, I only found out about two days ago.”

  Prince Damon catches my hand. The touch surprises me and makes me turn to look at him. When he pulls to bring me closer, I let him. Even though he’s sitting and I’m standing, we’re almost the same height. His hand drifts to my thighs, his legs caging me in on either side.

  Words die on my lips. His gaze pins me in place, and I soak up the feeling he’s giving me.

  The Prince’s scent is making my head spin. His gaze is making me hot, and my thoughts are a muddled mess. I came here for answers, but all I’ve gotten are more questions—and I don’t hate it. When he looks at me this way, it makes me want more than just his eyes on my body.

  He lifts his fingers up to my cheek. I lean into his hand, exhaling gently as he cups my cheek. I close my eyes.

  “You’re beautiful, Dahlia Raventhal.”

  “I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

  “Says who?”

  “My entire family.”

  “They’re not here, are they?”

  A smile tugs at the corners of my lips and I open my eyes again. His lips are plump, and pink, and kissable. I lift my hands to his shoulders, playing with the edge of his collar.

  “For the record,” he says in a gravelly voice, “I’m not supposed to talk to you, either.”

  “Says who?”

  “My entire family,” he answers with a grin.

  “So, why are you?”

  “Because I want to.” His hand curls into the nape of my neck and he pulls me closer. I catch myself on his shoulders, leaning my forehead against his.

  Everything in my mind is telling me to back away, to abort this whole dinner, to run, run, run. I grew up fearing the Farcliff family—I’m not supposed to kiss one of them.

  Prince Damon tilts his head and brushes his lips over mine, and a sizzle of energy passes through me. My hands curl into the fabric of his shirt and I find myself leaning into him. My heart thumps. My blood feels thick and hot in my veins.

  Prince Damon brushes his other hand up my leg and cups the side of my ass. My leggings are so thin it feels almost like he’s touching my bare skin.

  Or, maybe, I wish he was touching it.

  He pulls me to him, squeezing his legs against mine and finally, finally kisses me.

  His lips taste like fire and honey—like sin and sweetness and everything I’ve ever wanted. I fall into him, wrapping my arms around his neck as he pulls me onto his lap. Cupping my face, he deepens the kiss and I melt.

  I burn.

  I need.

  Heat explodes inside of me. My heart thumps against my ribcage and I moan into his mouth as he swipes his tongue between my lips. I’m trembling, clinging onto his neck as his touch sets me aflame.

  The Prince’s hands slip under my shirt and his touch marks me. I know I’ll feel it for days.

  It feels wrong and so, so right. In the basement of the National Library Archives, I kiss Prince Damon with all the heat of my desire. The voice in my head telling me to stop gets quieter and quieter, until all I can hear is the pumping of my blood in my ears.

  Prince Damon growls. It’s a strong, rumbling sound in the depths of his chest. He pulls me closer to him. His hand trails down my spine and I melt into him, his mouth claiming me again and again—and I let him.

  No, I don’t let him. I beg it of him. I tangle my hands into his hair and arch my back into him and let my body scream take me.

  I want this. I can’t deny it. I’ve wanted this from the first moment the Prince walked in my front door. I’ve wanted his hands on my skin, his lips on mine.

  And I still want more.

  Curling his fingers into my hair, Prince Damon tilts my head back and leaves a trail of fiery kisses down my neck. He brushes his lips over my collarbone, sending shivers of pleasure teasing through my body.

  He kisses the center of my chest, between my breasts and then back up again. I sigh, closing my eyes and relishing the heat of his touch.

  We’re alone down here—so alone. No one will come here, and the hesitation in my mind evaporates.

  I want him. Badly.

  I lift my leg up and straddle Prince Damon, arching my spine and then rolling my hips toward him. His hands slide down to cup my ass as another growl rumbles through his chest.

  I love this—us. I love the rawness and the closeness of it. I love the feeling of his strong, possessive hands as they brand me. I love the taste of his skin, his scent.

  Doubts be damned. Family history? What history? Who cares about the past, when the present is so damn good?

  A moan slips through my lips and I kiss the Prince harder—and then my phone rings, and I freeze.

  6

  Damon

  “Let it ring,” I say when Dahlia pulls away. Her lips are swollen and glistening from our kiss, and they’re calling out to me again. I don’t want to stop kissing her—ever.

  “I can’t. It’s my dad.” She slides off my lap. “I have a special ringtone for him. He never calls me without texting me first to make sure I’m free.”

  “You think something’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know.” Dahlia’s lips pinch together and she leans over to rummage through her bag. Her leggings stretch over her ass and go slightly sheer. She’s wearing a thong.

  I clear my throat and adjust my pants as they tighten at the waist.

  Dahlia answers her phone. She takes a couple of steps away and I turn my attention to the microfiche reader to give her some semblance of privacy. In this cramped basement, though, there’s no such thing.

  “Hey, Dad,” Dahlia says, glancing at me before turning away. “What’s up?” She runs her hand through her hair to try to smooth it down.

  I flick through old archives, not seeing anything.

  “She what? Is she okay?”

  I glance at Dahlia, who’s frozen with her hand on her forehead. Her eyes get wider and wider and they start to fill with tears.

  My heart thumps. Something’s wrong.

  “Okay… Yeah. Why didn’t you tell me?” She takes a deep breath and nods, even though her father can’t see her. “Love you too. Bye.”

  Holding her phone in her hand for a few seconds, Dahlia stares at the floor by her feet. Then, with a deep breath, she lifts her gaze up to mine. “I have to go.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “It’s my mom,” she says, throwing her phone into her bag and slinging the backpack over her shoulder.

  “Can I do anything?”

  Dahlia looks at me, wide-eyed. She shakes her head. “No. I’ll see you around.”

  “Can I see you before the dinner party?” I hate how needy I sound. I clear my throat. “I mean, we could try to find more information on what happened with our mothers.”

  Dahlia’s face twists. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Maybe this is a sign. I have to go.”

  “A sign of what?”

  She steps over to me and places a hand on my shoulder, brushing her lips against my cheek. Then, without another word, she hurries down the hallway.

  She’s gone, and bitterness sours my stomach.

  I’m alone in the National Library Archives with a boner tenting my pants. I can still taste her lips on mine. I blow out the air from my lungs, slumping back into my chair and covering my face with my hands.

  T
hat girl drives me crazy. I don’t know what it is about her, but she’s different…

  …and completely fucking wrong for me.

  Our pasts are intertwined in ways we don’t even understand. I want her, and she wants me, but if we got involved with each other, would there really be a future for us? Do I want a future with Dahlia Raventhal?

  When my heartbeat slows down again, I stare at the microfiche reader and frustration bubbles up inside me.

  My mother’s death didn’t make any sense to me. All I knew at the time was that the events of that night made me feel wrong.

  Guilty.

  Now, my memories play tricks on me. Was I ever really there? Did I see the hatred in my father’s eyes when he sent me to her? Did I really bring her that cup of tea, or am I only imagining it? I’ve spent so long ignoring the twisting in my gut when I think of her death, that I don’t even trust my own mind to remember it.

  After she died, our whole family almost fell apart. Aunt Malerie came to stay with us for a few months. I remember hating when she hugged me because she smelled like onions. I used to run away from her and my father, and stay in my room for days at a time.

  My brothers and I all reacted differently. Charlie got angry. I became a recluse. Gabe was so young that he was mostly just sad and confused. It was only later, in his teens, that he became the wild child he is now.

  When I threw myself into schoolwork, it helped. I started having dreams of being a doctor and being able to save my mother, and I decided that’s what I wanted to do—royal duties be damned. I can never go back and save my mother, but maybe I can save someone else.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and bury my chin in my chest. This dream of going to medical school… Is that a way for me to atone for what happened to my mother that night?

  What did I do to her?

  Inhaling sharply, I straighten up and interlace my fingers over my head. My heart is thumping. Sweat beads on my neck, a drop of it trailing all the way down my spine. I suck another breath in through my teeth and try to contain my swirling thoughts.