Royal Fake Fiancé (Dirty Royals Book 4)

by Vivian Wood

  Stellan and my grandmother both arch their brows, reminding me only now that they are definitely related.

  The minister shoots to his feet, pointing at me and unleashing a torrent of invective. "You are lucky that there is still a chance to redeem yourself, you complete waste of space. I for one would have you drawn and quartered for the way that you treated my granddaughter. Ever since you sweet-talked your way into her bedroom, she's been inconsolable. Won’t eat, can’t sleep, doesn’t seem to enjoy anything.”

  I squint. “It sounds like something your granddaughter has more serious problems than me not calling her the after we…” I pause, searching for the right term. “Were together.”

  He looks like he’s about to blow a gasket. “It’s only recently that she has admitted that she is sad because you didn’t call her! You're just lucky that your grandmother jumped in and offered that you should marry her."

  I freeze. "I'm sorry, what?"

  He leans close, jabbing his finger at me and roaring. "You are going to marry my granddaughter or I will personally see to it that you are skinned alive. That's a promise!"

  I put my hands flat on the table, looking at Stellan. "Please tell me that you don't support any of this nonsense."

  He sighs, gesturing to the minister. "Well, did you sleep with his granddaughter?"

  I push my cheek out with my tongue. "I have no idea. Probably. This isn't nineteen fifty though. Not everybody that sleeps together has to get married. I definitely am not just going to agree to marry some girl that I barely know. I mean, I'm almost afraid to ask which girl this guy’s granddaughter is, honestly."

  My grandmother pushes to her feet, running a hand down her dress. "I would think that you would be more interested in knowing the name of your bride to be. Her name is Anna, if you are curious."

  I narrow my eyes at her. "Ja, I'm not Stellan. I'm not interested in letting you manipulate me. There's nothing in it for me. What are you guys going to do? What leverage you have? None, that's what."

  The old man's face turns bright red. "I'll kill you, you bastard!"

  Stellan looks at me flatly. "I'll kick you out of the RAF, for a start. And then I will disinherit you. What will you do then, Lars?"

  I look away, at the fireplace crackling on one side of the room. My jaw clenches. The idea that Stellan could take away what I have worked for, the very program that may just send me to space one day… It isn't fair.

  Not that I would ever tell him that. With my grandmother and the minister watching, I just say the first thing that floats up to the top of my mind.

  "Well, that's going to be pretty hard, since I'm already engaged."

  The lie comes to me both spontaneously and smoothly. Before I can even think it over, it’s out of my mouth. My words give Stellan, Momse, and the minster pause.

  I look back at the three of them at the other end of the conference table and they are all stunned. Well, stunned and disbelieving. Which is totally fair because I am absolutely full of shit.

  My grandmother puts her hands on the table and leans in, her gaze frosty. "To whom?"

  My heart rate speeds up.

  Who?

  Uhh…

  I say it with only the slightest hesitation. The only person that I know for a fact will back me up no matter what, my best friend in the entire world. "Pippa."

  Stellan's eyebrows go up. The minister looks livid. He turns to Stellan, pounding his fist on the table. "He can't do this." He looks at my grandmother, dead serious. "You promised me that my granddaughter would marry a royal! That's the only reason I even walked in here. If Lars doesn't marry my Anna, I'm walking out of this room. And my vote for the treasurer goes with me."

  My grandmother fixes him with a glare. "If Lars says he is already engaged, he's already engaged. What do you expect me to do about it?"

  The minister actually snarls at my grandmother, making Stellan rise to this feet. He quickly steps between them, looking down on the minister.

  When he speaks, his voice is eerily flat. "I think you should leave. Don't make me ask security to escort you out."

  The minister seems to shrink back at that, realizing that he has displeased the King of Denmark. He points at me, grimacing, and backs out of the room slowly.

  I didn't actually know if my hasty ploy would work, but it seems to have stirred some real emotion in the room. Stellan looks at me, his gaze uncertain. "If what you say is true and you are in fact engaged, then I think the only thing I can say to you is congratulations. But please know that I'm definitely watching you, Lars."

  With that, he turns and heads out of the room, leaving me alone with my grandmother.

  She folds her arms, pacing over toward the window. "Well, now you have done it."

  I push up out of my chair, regarding her as I walk over to the bar. It's just a little mini bar and it only has scotch and champagne for some reason, but I'll take whatever I can get. I pour myself a glass of scotch, probably a little too much, and sigh.

  "What have I done, exactly?"

  She turns to consider me. "If this engagement is not real, you are going to face some real trouble from me. You had better be serious."

  I take a slug of scotch, covering my nervous reaction. "It's real. Everyone has always said that I might as well just marry Pippa because that makes sense for some reason. We got to talking about it yesterday and we just decided to make a go of it."

  My grandmother arches a brow. "That's not very romantic. I thought that one of the reasons that you were so against being paired up was that you were waiting for romance."

  I lift a shoulder and shrug. "What can I say? Pippa and I have always been in love. A platonic sort of love. We've decided that we should make it more formal, that’s all."

  I feel her ice blue eyes narrowing on my face. "Have you set a date, then?"

  I am halfway through another sip of the scotch and I sputter a little bit, wiping at my mouth. "What?"

  My grandmother paces across the room, coming over to me. There is a knowing look on her face. "A date for the wedding."

  I feel the back of my neck start to heat. "Oh… no. We just… We got so swept up in the moment…"

  She looks like she's amused. "You know, for your sake, I hope that you are really engaged and not just trying to weasel your way out of this situation. Because if you fuck around, if you get caught in the arms of another woman, that's it. You've always been a wild child, never listening to me or anyone else. And now I finally have a chance to have some positive sway over your life. But somehow, you manage to wriggle out of it. If I find out that you are not really engaged, I'll make sure that Stellan kicks you out of the RAF and the royal family."

  It's surprising to me how easily I lie right to her face. "You're being too serious about this whole thing. Pippa and I are engaged. I would've told you all eventually, it just so happened that--"

  She interrupts me, cutting me off. "You have a month. One month to set a date and plan the engagement party. If not, I'll be all over you. I will use Stellan to bring about catastrophe for you. That's a promise."

  I open my mouth to respond, but she just takes the glass of scotch out of my hand, throws it back into her mouth, and slams it on the bar as she stalks out of the room. The gauntlet has been thrown down, that much is for certain.

  Now all that remains is just the little matter of actually telling my fake fiancé that we are getting married.

  I swallow thickly, tightening up my tie.

  7

  Pippa

  I’m standing in my little apartment in Copenhagen, staring blankly at the peeling bright yellow paint on the kitchen wall. I reach out and trace my fingertips along a seam above the stove, a silent sigh on my lips.

  It was a long day at Politiken, a day full of finding out with some disappointment that all of the big bosses have been fired. There is no one left to stand up for me. I feel like I’ve been wrung out and all my mental energy has been drained away. Now I’m just waiting for my little mi
crowave burrito to be heated through so I can eat and pass out.

  My phone chimes, stirring me. I look at it. Lars’s photo pops up, a dark haired devil with a cocksure grin. It bite my lip.

  I am a fool for even thinking about what spending a night in his bed would be like. Being underneath his big body as he growls commands and pulls moans from my lips…

  It’s forbidden. And yet still, my heart squeezes at the very mention of his name.

  I know he’s my best friend.

  I know I should cherish what we already have.

  I know I shouldn’t long for him to touch me.

  And yet, even getting a text from him excites me beyond reason.

  I shiver as I check the text.

  I’m coming upstairs.

  Goosebumps break out over my skin. I close my eyes and hold my cellphone close to my now rapidly-beating heart.

  A few second later, I hear the slide of a key being turned in the lock on the front door. I’m much too tired for any visitors tonight. But Lars has always done exactly what he wanted, exactly when he wants.

  This is no exception.

  Screwing up my face, I press the pause button on the microwave. Lars walks into my shoddy little apartment, ducking his dark head slightly as he enters. He’s so tall that my building’s prewar design is really at odds with his height. When he straightens up, he looks at me with his trademark devastating smirk.

  I cast a look over his tuxedo, which makes him look ridiculously fetching.

  “Hello, Pippa,” he purrs.

  I swallow, my eyes widening. “Lars.” Pushing back several strands of my long, curly copper hair, I watch as he closes the door behind himself. I spread my hands down the skirt of my gray silk dress, drawing a breath. “It’s awfully late. Shouldn’t you be on a date with some unnamed mystery blonde?”

  His smirk deepens, his aquamarine eyes sparkling. “I was in the middle of a date when I was summoned unceremoniously to the palace.”

  I fidget. “Why are you here, Lars?”

  He wanders toward the living room of my cramped flat, leaving me to follow. He looks around the tiny couch and the ancient television that is stacked atop several light blue milk crates.

  Every surface is covered with reading material, books and magazines and newspaper clippings. Piles spill into piles; the television screen is actually blocked by a towering stack of literature. I admit that I’m a bit of a mess and I’m ashamed to say that there is nowhere for him to sit.

  Wrinkling my nose, I automatically start to clear off the sofa, my cheeks burning. I gather an armful of books, but I’m not sure where to put them.

  “Let me just find a place for these…” I murmur, casting my gaze around the small space. I find a spot on the very top of another pile of books, biting my lower lip hard as I turn around.

  “Pippa, I don’t need to sit down,” he says, grabbing my hand. His touch is electric. When I glance up at him, his blue gaze sears me through.

  I raise an eyebrow. “What do you need?”

  He smirks a bit, pulling me a little closer, making me look up into his face. From this distance, a hair’s breadth away from our bodies touching, I feel adrenaline coursing through my veins.

  “I need a favor.”

  My forehead creases. My mouth turns down just a bit at the corners. This is what he does, what he has always done. He uses his charm, knowing quite well how smoothly hypnotic his presence can be. I’ve seen him do it to hundreds of women in the years that I’ve known him.

  Usually he doesn’t use it on me, though.

  I pull out of his grasp, moving back a half step. My frown grows deeper. “What is it?”

  His expression grows intense. “I need you to pretend that I have asked you to marry me and you have said yes.”

  I swear, I don’t mean to laugh. But it bubbles up from deep within my chest and bursts out of my lips, a snort of disbelief and a surprised chuckle all at once.

  “What?” I ask, the word coming out strangled.

  He squints at me. “I slept with the wrong diplomat’s daughter.”

  I fold my arms across my chest, trying to slow my racing heart. “Again? How many times do you have to get caught before someone banishes you from the whole country of Denmark?”

  His gaze tightens on my face. “It’s really not funny. Stellan has threatened to strip me of my title and have me kicked out of the RAF. Obviously, I don’t want that.”

  A low throb starts at my temple. I rub it with one hand, staring at Lars. “And this has what to do with me, exactly?”

  He steps closer, snagging my free hand and bringing it to rest against the hard wall of his chest. “I need a fake fiancée. Momse told me today that unless I settle down and get married, I’m going to have to join the military.”

  My breath freezes in my lungs. My mind races, immediately going to what the creepy, trench-coated Ms. Olson said.

  If you're smart, you'll position yourself to be his future spouse.

  Lars leans in, almost close enough to my face for me to think he’s about to kiss me. At the last moment, he turns his head, whispering in my ear.

  “Breathe, little witch. Don’t look so scared.”

  His breath is warm against my ear, fanning against my overheated skin.

  I won’t melt against him. I won’t.

  I push my cheek out with my tongue, forcing my brain to quit pining. Shaking my head, I push myself back and look at him.

  “What is stopping you from finding the right girl?”

  Someone royal. Or at least someone without the… let’s call them complications that my history presents. I know very well the list of reasons why Lars can’t be tied to someone like me.

  I’m a fraud.

  I’m a fake and a liar.

  I’m not who I say I am.

  And someone is already blackmailing me over an opportunity just like this one.

  And that’s only the beginning of my troubles if anyone finds out.

  He gives me a wicked little grin. “You’re saying I should sign my death warrant, then? Because that’s what being told that I have to get married feels like. I don’t want to be tied down. I don’t want to be smothered. I just want to keep living like I do now.”

  I shake my head. “Lars, really—”

  He wiggles his brows. “What if I told you that I would bankroll whatever project you asked me to? I know that your work has been a drag lately. So do this: be my fake fiancée for a little while. And in exchange, I’ll pump as much money into you starting your own magazine or whatever you want.”

  My eyes widen. Lars grins at my expression. “You know you want to, Pippa.”

  I bite my lip. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Lars.”

  He slides his hands down my back and pulls my hips against his. My breath catches in my chest as I gaze up into those pretty blue eyes of his.

  This. This feeling, this energy crackling between us?

  It’s the reason we don’t normally allow ourselves to touch, even casually.

  I’m this close to pushing up on my tiptoes and pressing my lips against his.

  Arching a brow, he utters the magic words. “I really need this. Please, Pippa? Do it for me?”

  And just like that, all my defenses melt away. All the reasons that I can’t do it suddenly seem very far away.

  Of course I will do it for him.

  How can I not?

  Lars sees the expression of my face change and knows my answer before I even say it.

  “Okay,” I whisper. “I will do it. But not forever.”

  He’s already folding his strong arms around me, pulling me into the shelter of his body. “Ahh, thanks, Pips. I knew you would come through.”

  I sink into the bear hug, my eyes fluttering closed. He’s sinfully warm. His smell, pure and clean and masculine, is driving me wild right now.

  I inhale a lungful of his scent, feeling like a fool. “That’s me. Reliable old Pippa saves the day again.”

&nbs
p; Lars pulls back. “What do you think about six months?”

  I crinkle my nose. “I was thinking a single month would be sufficient.”

  He gives me a look. “Four months.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Two.”

  His gaze turns speculative, watching my face intently. “Three months. Surely you can play my fake fiancée for three months.”

  I look up at him, crinkling my entire face. “Okay. I think I can handle three months.”

  He grins. “Thanks, Pips. Should we wake the jewelers at Tiffany’s up right now? Shit, I should’ve stopped on the way here and gotten you a ring—”

  I push him away, eyeing him firmly. “There will have to be rules. No physical contact, for instance.”

  He gives me a funny look. “It’s going to take a little hugging and kissing to convince my family, don’t you think?”

  I squint at him. “I meant when we are alone.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Ja, sure. I will behave like a proper gentleman, if that’s what you want.”

  I shake my head, crossing my arms. “No one has ever thought to call you a proper gentleman, I’m fairly certain.”

  Lars grins at me, his eyes glittering. “If that’s what it takes, I’m willing to try.”

  I shoot him a look. “I’m regretting this already.”

  He tilts his head, considering me. “Should we go for a drink to celebrate?”

  Stepping closer to him, I turn him around and begin marching him toward the door. “We can figure it all out tomorrow. For now, I want to eat something before I pass out.”

  He chuckles, opening the front door. He catches my hand and gives me a squeeze. “You really are the best, Pippa. You know that, right?”

  The corners of my mouth tighten. “Do me a favor. Don’t…” I hesitate. “Don’t sleep with anyone while I pretend to be your fake fiancée, okay? If this little deception is going to work, you’ll have to play along and not be your usual man-whore self for a while.”

  Lars smirks at me. “You got it, love of my life.”

  For a second, I can’t even wrap my head around that. My heartbeat speeds up. If he had any idea of how long I’ve waited to hear those words…