by Vivian Wood
A chill runs down my spine. This is far from my first Julaften, but I swear I will never tire of how much this family enjoys being around each other. Lars goes through the doorway just ahead of me. When I step through, it’s exactly as I would have hoped it would be: a beautifully decorated sitting room, with a full decorated tree in one corner and a whole buffet of delicious-smelling foods up against one wall. All of Lars’s extended family is clustered together around the fireplace, sitting near their partners.
Dark-haired Stellan is standing closest to the fire, beaming down at his pink-haired pixie of a wife Margot. On the couch beside Margot is Lars’s lovely blonde Annika, and her enormous blond fiancé Erik.
Lars’s parents, Mor and Dar, are sitting on a couch on the other side of the fireplace. His brothers Finn and Anders have pulled up chairs just beside them. And there is an empty loveseat facing the fireplace, obviously meant for Lars and I to occupy it.
Margot lays eyes on me and pops up out of her seat, her eyes shining with genuine joy. "Pippa!"
My lips curl upward. Margot is one of my oldest friends. It just so happens that she fell head over heels for Stellan this spring after I introduced them. So I always look forward to seeing her, especially now during the holidays. I throw my hands wide, greeting the room.
“Glædelig jul!" I declare, wishing her a merry Christmas.
Margot runs over to me and I embrace her, setting an arm around her small body. She is dainty and delicate like a child, but I know the rebel heart that beats in her chest. "Merry Christmas," I murmur in her ear.
She pulls back, tears glimmering in her eyes. Margot didn't exactly have an easy childhood. Looking at all the over the top decorations that the palace doesn’t usually have this time of year, it’s obvious that this Christmas is her way of living out her childhood fantasies.
"Here, here," she says. She ushers me over to the loveseat, pushing on my shoulder. "Sit down. Let me get you a mug of cocoa."
I pull a face but she isn't listening to me.
“Margot's too wrapped up in all the Christmas cheer, it seems.” Lars sits down beside me, taking up most of the room on the loveseat. I shoot him a look and he shrugs innocently.
Nika leans forward, looking elegant as always. "Hello, Pippa. Merry Christmas."
I cast a gaze over her. She and Erik are sitting with their hands clasped. I smile because three months ago, that would’ve been a really big deal.
"You too. How’s the charity work?"
She beams, excited. “It’s good. Remind me to catch you later and bend your ear about my latest project. It’s inspired, if I do say so myself.”
Margot has moved over to the buffet that is laid out for our gathering. Stellan shakes his head, calling over to her. "Margot, let Lars make Pippa I drink. You don't have to do everything for everybody, darling."
I notice Lars’s parents have been unusually quiet. On any normal day, I expect them to be making everyone pay attention to them and dote on them. That definitely seems like the commonality between his parents. But it seems that I have missed their antics today. His mother drains her glass of champagne while his father just looks extremely tired.
Lars’s mother and father stand up, his father yawning a little. She looks at him, putting her arm in his quite tenderly. "I think that we should say good night now. Your father isn't feeling too well. It was nice to see you all, though."
Margot carries my drink over to me as Stellan's parents exit. I take the mug from her thankfully, clutching it as I look around the room. Margot settles in where Lars’s mother just was and Stellan joins her, his arm going around her shoulders. I look at that small gesture of intimacy with no small amount of longing.
I want that. I have the familiarity with Lars part down, but I don't see how we will ever get to be as close as Margot and Stellan are. It's the only sort of limitation placed on my friendship with Lars.
We follow the unspoken rule that there is just absolutely no touching for any reason.
I clear my throat and swing my gaze over to Annika, only to find her whispering something in Erik's ear.
Ugh. This place is full of people who have fallen deeply and irrevocably in love with with each other… And it's really killing my buzz.
Lars must feel the same way, because he pipes up. "Could you guys please save it for the bedroom? Some of us are just trying to live our lives over here, you know?"
As my lips curl up, I notice that my knee brushes Lars’s. I shrink myself back from him a few inches, wishing like hell that we were sitting on anything but this loveseat. Lars doesn’t even seem to notice. He clears his throat.
"Stellan, now that our parents are gone, do you think that we could add some booze to this party?"
Stellan grins. "I thought you would never asked."
For the next couple of minutes, the room is a flurry of motion. Stellan gets a bottle of champagne and look pops it; champagne flutes are filled and handed out. I raise my eyebrow at Margot, making sure that she sees my expression.
She flushes just a little bit. I know her big secret… she is pregnant. I'm not even sure why Stellan would pour her a glass of champagne, honestly.
She holds up one finger, which I take to mean that I need to wait just a minute.
Anders raises his glass. "What should we toast to? Just Merry Christmas?”
Stellan's smile widens. He puts his free hand on Margot's me. "Actually, we have some news. We're not telling people yet, obviously. But we're expecting."
Margot looks slightly embarrassed, tucking her bright pink hair behind her ear. I beam as I look at her. She looks like she is truly, enviably happy. And she found that happy ending with the king of Denmark, no less. As she takes Stellan’s hand, I feel a strange pinch. I want the kind of love that they have.
“Hear, hear!” I say, raising my glass.
Everyone else cheers, congratulating the couple.
Even though I knew about the pregnancy news ahead of time, my eyes still fill with tears of happiness. I beam at Margot. She's basically living my most basic bitch dreams.
Not that I would ever tell anyone, but all I have ever wanted is to end up living in a big house with a white picket fence. Two point five children, scruffy little dog, and a husband that loves me to the ends of the earth.
My life has never resembled a Norman Rockwell painting, but a voice inside tells me that I really should expect it still.
I know, it's stupid. It goes hand in hand with my idiotic longing for Lars.
I try to ignore it as best I can.
Margot wipes her eyes. "Thanks, guys."
Lars interjects. "When are you due?”
I arched my brow at him, wondering how he knows to even ask that question. He meets my gaze and shrugs.
Margot smiles prettily at us. "In the middle of May."
Stellan clears his throat. “We're both very excited. It goes without saying that the news doesn't leave this room. I don't even want my parents to know, much less anyone that would leak the information to the press. Sorry, Pippa."
I blush. He's referring to my job at Politiken, the Copenhagen daily newspaper.
I'm quick to assure him that I won't tell anyone. "It's not my news to share. I think you should keep it secret as long as you can, honestly."
He grins down at Margot, squeezing her in a side hug. “I’m going to try.”
Lars moves to get more comfortable, squishing me in the process. He’s arranged himself so that his thigh presses against mine. I sigh, shooting him a look.
We have established some age-old boundaries with each other, not the least of which is that we expend effort to avoid casually touching each other. He glances at me, his eyebrow arching.
“What?” he asks.
I shake my head, pushing his knee away and starting to get up. Too late though, I realize that Finn and Anders have started to reenact a skit of some sort in the middle of the semicircle of seats.
So I’m forced to sit back. Lars looks at me, his
eyes twinkling, and throws his arm around my shoulders. It’s too much; he’s touching my thigh, my hip, and my shoulders. Everywhere he is touching me vaguely tingles. I think that the sensation of knowing I shouldn’t be so close to the guy secretly I’m in love with is too intense to handle.
I immediately start to squirm out of his hold. He grips my shoulder to keep me in place.
“Oh, little witch,” he teases me. “I know you hate being touched, but just deal with it for a minute. Come on. You secretly like it, I think.”
My cheeks flood with heat and I look down. It’s not that I dislike being touched.
Not, it’s the opposite.
I crave it.
I want him to do it more.
But Lars and I don’t have that kind of intimacy. We can’t, not without it turning into something more.
And I won’t be one of those nameless, faceless girls that he never sees again.
I couldn’t handle that.
Pushing myself up and out of his grasp, I stand up, straightening my dress. I shoot him a purposeful look as I walk around the circle, crouching down next to Margot.
She’s delighted to see me and starts chattering away.
But I still feel his eyes on me.
Watching.
Waiting.
For what, I don’t know.
4
Lars
There is nothing so exhilarating as flying this fucking jet. My eyes are as wide as can be, scanning the horizon. My mind is almost blank as I pilot the jet, making a thousand tiny alterations to my speed and altitude and direction. My heart pounds.
There is something zen about having so much to focus on at once. It’s very much like running a marathon in the way that every single resource you have is pulled into doing it; mentally, physically, you have to give it your all.
Or else…
Well, I would fall from the sky.
I look out my window, glancing at the ground. Up here, the world is carved into little blocks of dull gray, dark brown, and black. I can see the block of airway that I’m heading for; from the distance, it just looks like a long tetris block of heather gray. If I really stare hard enough, I could probably make out the bright yellow runway markings.
“Tower, looking for permission to land,” I say into my headset.
There’s a second of silence. My heartbeat pounds in my ears.
A crackle informs me that my request has been heard. “This is tower one. Permission granted.”
“Coming in now,” I say into my headset.
I point myself down and find that same state of electric zen-ness as I hurtle toward the ground. The world rushes by, but I barely notice. It’s all just muscle memory at this point.
As I smoothly taxi my little jet down the RAF runway, I feel the surge of adrenaline rushing through my system. As I slide into the loading bay, I unbuckle my helmet and push the button that turns my engine off as it opens the cockpit automatically.
A rush of cool air prickles across my scalp, raising hairs on the back of my neck. I stand up and jump out of the cockpit. When I hit the ground, I look up to find Erik standing there, waiting for me. Erik and I are old friends, going back to the first days of his unofficial adoption into the palace.
I flash him a grin. We are closer probably even than he and Stellan are, but don't tell either of them that.
He is also an officer in the Royal Air Force, although he has since retired. Arching a brow, I stride toward him. He looks me up and down, smirking a little at my jumpsuit.
"So just an average morning for you then?"
I grin at him. "Yup. Hey, I'm just finishing here. Do you want to go grab a drink?"
He looks at his watch, squinting. "It's not five yet."
I clapped him on his shoulder. "It's five somewhere. Come on."
He follows me for a second. "Actually have something to drop off to a friend. Go ahead and change and I'll meet you at the canteen."
I shake my head, continuing through the space and into the men's locker rooms. I shower and change with my usual efficiency, putting on a pair of dark jeans and a dark gray sweater. By the time I head out to the canteen, one of the only places for people to gather and socialize on the base, Erik is sitting at a table already.
He is dressed in a white button up and dark blue trousers, looking for all the world like he belongs on the cover of GQ or something. If I didn't know better, I would think he had gotten quite lost on the way here.
I sit down at the little gray aluminum table, just as Erik is pouring amber beer out of a pitcher into two pint glasses. The Royal Air Force canteen is not exactly known for having a great beer selection on tap. In fact, they only have the shittiest beer and the most bargain-basement labels of hard alcohol.
Given the choice, I think Erik made the right decision.
I raise my pint glass toward him. He clinks his glass against the rim of mine and we both take a long sip. It's cheap and it tastes like water. But hey, a drink’s a drink, I guess.
Erik looks at me, quirking his lips. "So… I hear you are training to be an astronaut."
I look up at him, a frown on my face. "Who told you that?"
He shrugs. "A friendly face here on the base. He told me in confidence, if it makes you feel any better."
I pull a face. "It doesn't really. No one is supposed to know that I'm even training for it. It's all very hush-hush."
"My source says that it's a bit of a long shot. Add in the fact that you, as a member of the royal family, are considered one of the country’s important resources… It puts you pretty solidly in the ‘will not happen’ category."
I roll my eyes. "I've heard that. But I've also asked command if my being second in line to the throne puts me out of the running entirely. And no one has said yet that I won't get the mission just because of who I am. That's pretty much against the code of the Royal Air Force. So I'm just going to keep running for it as long as I can."
Erik sips his beer, watching me over the rim of his pint glass. When he is done, he licks a bit of foam from his lips and continues asking questions. "If you're pretty sure that you're not going to get it, why do you keep going? What motivates that kind of thinking?"
I shrug a shoulder. "It's a chance to go to space, man. If I did that… If I actually made it to space, I would be…" I trail after second and then shake my head. "I don't want to go down in history as the second in line to the throne. I want my name to mean something to somebody. I want to be remembered."
His brows shoot up in surprise. "Really?"
I nod, feeling a bit sheepish. But he purses his lips again, seeming pensive.
"That's a hell of a way to start a legacy. Most people just get married and have kids."
I chuckled dryly, shaking my head. "Not me, man. I can't even meet a girl that I like, much less that I want to marry."
Erik huffs out a laugh. "I think that Pippa would disagree about that."
I rock back in my chair. "Besides Pippa, I mean. She doesn't count, obviously."
"No? What's wrong with Pippa?"
I fixed him with a stare. "We've already been over this 100 times. She's my best friend, not a potential mate. Girls are so flighty. They’re really only after my title. Pippa isn't like that. But that's just because we been friends for well over ten years. I don't want to rock the boat and risk losing my oldest, closest friend.” I set my beer down with a smirk. “Besides, Pippa is so busy with her life that I don't even know where I would fit in."
I say the last line as a joke, but the rest of it I really mean. I spent hours agonizing over how to tell Pippa how I feel, only to realize that this imagined love may only run one way. I would rather risk never finding someone to love me then to risk what I have with Pippa.
It's just not worth it.
Erik leans his elbows on the table. "But what if she loves you just like you love her?"
I roll my eyes, tipping up my paint glass to drain the contents in a few swallows when I'm done, I grab the pitcher
and refill my own beer. "I don't want to talk about her anymore. Let's change the subject. How about we poke around in your private business with Nika?"
That earns me a scowl. I slide the beer pitcher over to him and he accepts it with a frown. "That's not very funny."
I huff a laugh. "And yet, it's more entertaining than talking about why Pippa and I aren't an item. I think at this point, I have to admit to myself that I don't think I'm cut out for love. Being in love, believing in love, the whole thing is just very…" I wrinkle my face up.
Erik takes a few moments to fill his beer and take a sip. He looks up at me after he's done, his keen eyes pinning me in place. "It's funny you say that, because not that long ago, I was saying that too. And then… there was Annika. Your sister hit me like a hurricane and I had no choice but to fall in love with her.” He smiles into his beer. “She’s very lovable.”
I give him a smarmy smile. "You two would have never gotten together if it hadn't been for Stellan and my grandmother sticking their big fat noses in where they don’t along. It created a tension, a sense of taboo, where there wasn't one before. I blame that entirely for you and Nika."
Erik fans his hand out. "Maybe. I think there is more to love than the sense of forbidden longing though."
I purse my lips. "Maybe that is why I haven't ever been in love. I don't even think I'm capable of it."
He frowns. "I'm sure that's not true."
"It really is. And that's okay. Someone has to stand out among all the rest.”
He rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t word it like that.”
“Look, I know that I'm not the safest choice. But I will still be a handsome retired Royal Air Force pilot and a prince when I am seventy years old. Hell, I might have even been to space! I have difficulty believing that I will ever not be able to walk into a bar and get any girl that catches my eye. That's not something that most people can say."
He laughs a little at that. "I think that's your age talking. When you are fifty years old, you will be watching Pippa and whatever guy she settles down with. And you'll feel sorry that you ever thought that you would always be able to get all the pussy you want.”
