The Bad Royals Box Set: The Complete Royally Unexpected Series, page 125
Finally, I tell him I’m carrying his child. My hand trembles when I write the words, and a teardrop smudges the ink from my pen.
It feels good to write it down.
By the time I’m finished writing, my cheeks are wet with tears and it feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. It’s cathartic to write the words, even if he hasn’t seen them yet. I read the letter over as my bottom lip trembles, and all the emotion of the past couple of weeks swells inside me.
Do I really want to send this? Will it only make things worse?
I know Theo is a dutiful person. If he sees that I’m carrying his child, will he feel forced to come make an honest woman out of me? Will he be afraid of the scandal? Will it change anything at all?
The seatbelt sign turns on, and the flight crew announces that we’re starting our descent. I look at the letter on my notebook for a moment before closing the cover and tucking it away. The landing is bumpy, and I grip the armrests until my knuckles turn white. When we finally come to a stop, my heart is thumping and a thin sheen of sweat covers my body.
I don’t know if it’s the fear that spiked my veins during the landing, or the relief of making it through alive, but as soon as I get off the plane I feel like a new woman. I go through customs and immigration in a daze, feeling the weight of my notebook in my bag as if it’s dragging me down.
Then, like a beacon of light in a dark night, I see a kiosk. The United States Postal Service logo calls out to me from across the airport lobby.
Without hesitation, I stride toward the kiosk. I drop my bag at my feet and rip it open, hunting for my notebook. I tear the scribbled pages out of it, ignoring the ragged edge of the paper. I stuff my words in an envelope and glue it shut, then scribble Prince Theo’s name on the front, then hesitate.
If I send it to the palace, will someone else read it? There’s tight security on mail that enters the palace. Not everything makes it to the royal family, and I don’t trust the workers to keep my secret. No one can know about this baby except for Theo.
Instead, I mark down the P.O. box that Luca and I used to use to communicate. The one I checked every single day. The one that was always empty, slicing my heart over and over like a thousand little paper cuts.
I hand the letter to the USPS worker and pay the few dollars needed to send it.
As soon as the letter slips through the slot, I let out a breath.
I don’t know if he’ll receive it. Does anyone even check that P.O. box anymore? Or was that letterbox just a monument to my desperation?
Staring at the slot where the letter disappeared, I realize that it doesn’t matter. What felt good about that was telling the truth. It was owning up to my feelings and putting them into words. Once they were on the page, they became real.
Next time I visit my family, I’ll check the P.O. box. If the letter is still there, I’ll know that Theo was never meant to know the truth of my feelings.
If he receives the letter and reads it, I’ll find out how he feels. His actions will show me. He’ll either accept me and the baby, or he’ll turn me away. Either way, it’s out of my hands now, and that feels good. I’ve done what I can do. It’s up to Fate to do the rest.
I walk away from the USPS kiosk with my head held high and a lightness in my heart. For the first time since this whole mess with Theo started, I’ve been honest.
I told the truth.
I love Prince Theo. I’m carrying his child. I’m not sure about being in New York, but I don’t want to stand in the way of Theo being the King that Argyle deserves.
I’m not asking anything of him, and I’m not promising anything of myself. We’re in different countries now, and we’ve decided to walk separate paths. Writing that letter and slipping it through the mail slot was my final act of courage.
The simple, naked truth is all I wrote, and it’s all that matters.
Now, I can move on.
23
THEO
The day Cara leaves Argyle, a gray, driving rain soaks the island. I stare out of the window in my palace bedroom, watching the waves crash onto the shore of the royal beach. Palm trees bend and wave in the heavy winds, their trunks arching so much it’s a miracle they don’t snap.
I turn away from the window when someone clears their throat behind me. My father stands in the doorway, his hand gripping a cane. I motion to a nearby armchair. My father groans as he sits down, letting out a long sigh as he settles into the chair.
“So,” he says. “You never intended to marry Cara Shoal at all.”
I grimace and shake my head. “No.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“You’re not exactly easy to talk to when you get an idea in your head.”
My father leans the cane on the side of the armchair before interlacing his fingers in front of his chest. He leans back, breathing slowly. I take a seat in the armchair opposite his, crossing my leg over my ankle.
We have surprisingly few quiet moments like this one. Even with my father’s illness progressing, there’s always hustle and bustle near the King. He’s always needed by half a dozen people.
Right now, though, we’re alone.
He nods to my shoulder. “When do you take the sling off?”
“Doctor says I should be okay to take it off in a week.”
“Quick recovery.”
“Six weeks,” I answer, thinking back to that day on the sailboat when Cara saved my life. That was the start of a chain of events that I could never have anticipated. A whirlwind of emotion and happiness that I thought would never happen to me.
Then, a deep, dark sadness that I’m not sure I’ll recover from.
My father grunts. “Once the sling is off, we can proceed with the coronation.”
“So soon?”
“Well, we don’t need to wait for a wedding now. Might as well make you King.”
“Are you sure you want to step down?”
My father chuckles, then spreads his hands out. “Look at me, Theo. I’m a decrepit old man. I can hardly walk, and every movement pains me. You think I can sort through stacks of paperwork every day? Reading more than two lines makes my eyes sore.” He sighs, shaking his head. “I’m not being fair to Argyle and her people. It’s time for you to step up.”
My father shifts his weight as if to get up when I stop him. He glances at me, eyebrows arched.
“Father,” I start, hesitating. I take a deep breath. “Why were you so insistent on me getting married when your marriage ended in such disaster? I saw the way you changed after Mother left. Why would you push me toward something that hurt you so much? I thought you, of all people, would be supportive of me becoming a bachelor King.”
My voice is gravelly. It’s hard to get the words out, and once I speak them, I regret them. I shouldn’t be dredging up the past.
But my father leans back in the armchair and lets out a sigh. He chuckles bitterly before shrugging. “I don’t know, Theo. Even though your mother betrayed me, lied to me, and hurt me, I still sometimes think it was worth it.”
I frown, not knowing how to answer. My mother’s betrayal broke him. It tore the kingdom apart. We’ve been in a downward spiral ever since she decided to walk out. Everything from the economy, to our family, to public opinion has suffered.
Father lets out a heavy sigh. “I loved your mother. She meant the world to me.” He gulps, staring off at something over my shoulder. “Even though she hurt me, having her by my side was a gift. She gave me you and your brothers.”
My father’s eyes flick back to mine, shining with unshed tears.
A lump forms in my throat. That’s the most emotion the King has shown since my mother walked out. It’s the most fatherly thing he’s said to me in many years—maybe ever.
“Are you sure you want to do this alone?” he asks softly.
“Become King?”
My father nods. “It’s a heavy burden to bear.”
I suck a breath in through my teeth, not quite knowing how to answer.
The truth?
Absolutely not. I want to jump on an airplane and drag Cara back to me. I want to watch her walk down the aisle toward me with a glowing smile on her face and then promise to spend my life with her. I want to have her by my side, supporting me. Being my Queen. Carrying my future children. Making my life complete.
But those are things that I want. Bringing Cara back is asking her to sacrifice everything she’s ever dreamed of. It’s asking her to change her life plans to be with me, when five weeks ago, she didn’t even think she’d speak to me again. It’s asking her to hurt Luca. Even though he pushed her away and made her suffer, I know Cara would hate to cause him more pain.
As much as I want Cara beside me, I can’t ask that much of her. I can’t ask her to give everything up to be with me. I can’t make her change her dreams just to support me in mine.
What’s that thing people say? If you love someone, you have to let them go.
I never knew what that meant until now. I love Cara. In the depths of my heart, past all the jagged edges and broken pieces, there’s a warm spot carved out for her. I love her fully, completely, and eternally.
And that’s exactly why I can’t ask her to marry me.
My eyes flick back to my father. I nod. “I want to do it alone.”
Heaving himself off the armchair, my father hobbles toward me and pats my shoulder. “You’ll be a good king, Theo. Time to make you one.”
The days drag on. The next two weeks are spent in preparation for my coronation. It’s announced to the Kingdom, and the mood in the streets is jubilant. Dante and Beckett congratulate me, and my father seems to relax.
I made the right decision. Wearing the crown is what I was born to do.
Loving Cara doesn’t change that. Being King is a lonely life sentence, and I’ve known that since I was a child.
When my sling comes off, the doctor checks me over and nods in approval. “Good. You’ll need regular physical therapy, but there doesn’t seem to be any permanent damage. Your range of motion will be limited for now. Try not to do any heavy lifting. We can start your physical therapy tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
“How’s your lady-friend doing? I thought I’d be seeing her again.”
I frown. “You did? Is she okay?”
The doctor’s eyebrows twitch ever so slightly upward. He clears his throat before nodding. “She should be fine, Your Highness. Excuse me.” He bows and retreats out of the room.
A wave of nausea rises up inside me as fear rattles my chest.
Is there something Cara isn’t telling me? Why would the doctor think he’d be seeing her again?
Before I can spiral into my own thoughts, Dante appears in the doorway. My brother smiles at me, nodding to my shoulder.
“All fixed?”
“More or less.”
“Fixed enough to wear a ceremonial uniform and get a crown placed on your head?”
I grin, nodding. “I’ll manage.”
He has a tablet tucked under his arm and turns the screen toward me. “Here’s the security plan for the coronation. I’ve updated the software for the security cameras and had the chief of security put extra staff on. As you know, you’ll have to appear at the palace balcony. We’re expecting a couple thousand people to show up.”
“I’m not afraid of the public, Dante. I’ve been walking among them for years.”
My brother looks at me, frowning. “Theo, you’re going to be the King of Argyle. Everything is going to be different.” He holds my gaze for a few seconds, and then places the tablet on my desk. “Have a look through the plan and let me know if you want me to change anything.”
I nod, unable to speak. His words hit me like a slap across the face.
Everything will be different.
Everything.
I’m no longer Theo, Prince of Argyle. I’m no longer free to go on solstice sailboat trips around the islands. I’m no longer able to take Cara to hidden villas and visit old soul singers. I’m about to be a king with no queen. A man at the helm of this kingdom with no one to rely on except myself.
As my brother walks out of my room, I let out a heavy sigh.
I love her, and I let her go.
That was my first act as King of Argyle. My first selfless decision. The first truly good thing I’ve done, and the beginning of a long, difficult lifetime as the ruler of Argyle.
24
CARA
New York is muggy. I miss the fresh, clean air of Argyle, and the soft sea breeze that sweeps over the entire Kingdom. Instead, my days are filled with smells of smog, car exhaust, and warm garbage.
It’s been two weeks since I arrived. Two weeks since I mailed the letter. Two weeks since I made the decision to leave Theo behind.
My semester at Juilliard doesn’t start for another three weeks, at the beginning of September, but I’ve enrolled in a prep class to get myself up to speed. I’ve taken very few voice lessons in my life, so I figured having a couple of weeks of formal training before the official start of the semester would calm my nerves. My teacher is a stern, black-haired woman in her fifties. She has a sharp nose and thin lips, and always makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong.
By the end of my first week, I’m dreading my lessons and wondering if this is what I really want. There’s no joy in singing here. No soul. It’s cold and technical, without the love and warmth that I expect from music.
After a grueling hour with Miss Dorothea, I trudge through the busy streets and make my way back to the apartment that my father arranged for me.
It’s small. When I look out the window, all I see is another brick facade.
I miss the ocean. It’s pathetic how homesick I feel. Slumping down on my sofa, I lean back and wonder for the millionth time if this was all a mistake.
Then my phone dings, and I see an unfamiliar number on the screen.
Unknown number: Hi Cara, it’s Jordan. We met at Miss Dorothea’s studio. I was wondering if you were free tonight? My friend’s band is playing at a bar and I’ve got no one to go with.
I stare at the message, reading it and re-reading it. Is that…a date? I remember Jordan. We met on my first day and I’ve seen him a couple of times since. He’s got long, dark hair that falls to his shoulders. Most days, he wears it in a low bun. He’s handsome, in an artsy sort of way. Like a tortured singer who loves nothing more than to make you melt with his voice.
He wants to go out with me?
It feels wrong. I don’t want to go out with Jordan, no matter how angelic his voice is.
But as I listen to the honking cars outside and inhale another lungful of stale air, I know I need to get out. The only way I’ll survive in this city is if I make friends and shake off this homesickness.
I type out a quick answer and then jump in the shower to get ready. My stomach twists into knots, and my thoughts fly to Theo.
I don’t want to go out with another man, but I do want to get out of this tiny shoebox apartment. Maybe I can just be clear with Jordan that I only want to be friends. I can go out, listen to music, and forget about the oppressive sadness that clings to my every pore.
A couple of hours later, I walk into a busy, dimly-lit bar. The band is already playing, and I spot Jordan sitting at a worn, wooden table. His eyes meet mine, and he raises a hand. A brilliant smile flashes across his face.
He really is very good looking, objectively speaking. Not in the makes-my-body-burn kind of way, but I can appreciate his particular brand of attractiveness.
When he wraps an arm around me and kisses my cheek, a flush creeps up my neck.
“Drink?” Jordan asks.
Instinctively, I put a hand to my stomach. I shake my head. “Just a seltzer water.”
We sit at the bar and listen to the music. Jordan tells me about growing up in New York City with two musicians as parents. He tells me about a show of his coming up and asks me to come along. He tells me a million things, but doesn’t ask me anything about myself.
By the end of the evening, I’m drained.
And still homesick.
When I get home, I kick off my shoes and slump down onto my creaky old sofa. I lay back on the scratchy pillows and stare at a jagged crack in the wall, sighing.
Is this homesickness? Or is it my brain and my heart trying to tell me that I made a mistake?
Singing used to bring me joy. It used to invigorate me.
Now, I mostly just feel tired.
And sad.
And nauseous but still somehow hungry—but I think that has more to do with the baby growing inside me than the fact that I’m away from home.
I wonder if my letter made it to Theo. I wonder if he read it and decided not to answer. Maybe the fact that I left was enough for him to walk away, whether or not I’m carrying his child.
Picking up my phone, I type his name into a search engine. My eyes widen when I see news of his coronation. I didn’t even know it was happening today. I click on a video and watch the news coverage of the ceremony. My heart squeezes when I see his face on the screen, and I hold my phone just inches from my nose.
A tear leaks out of my eye, and I brush it away.
I have no right to be sad about this. I left. I said goodbye. I chose New York over Argyle. Myself over him. My dreams over his duty.
I was never meant to be Queen.
This is for the best. It’s what I wanted.
…Right?
The video cuts to Theo on the palace balcony, with his father by his side and his brothers standing behind him. This time, I don’t brush my tears away.
He looks regal. Strong. He smiles, waving to the thousands of Argylians that have gathered at the palace gates to greet their new king. My heart aches at the thought that I could have been there beside him.
Turning my phone’s screen off, I toss it aside and sob into my hands.
In the silence of my tiny apartment, as the crowd’s cheers are still ringing in my ears, I know I’ve made a mistake. I should have told him how I felt. I should have gotten over my own stupid pride and my misplaced desire to be independent.
