by Vivian Wood
But then he turns, showing me his black-clad back as he disappears down the hall. He didn’t mean it.
Not like I want him to, anyway.
“Goodnight, little witch…” he calls over his shoulder.
I watch him disappear, slumping against the doorframe when I hear the downstairs front door open and close.
I am in so much trouble.
I know that.
If anyone does the slightest bit of digging, I could be exposed.
My life would cease to be my own at that point.
But I can still feel my heart racing, feel the heat of his body pressed against mine. I can sense the excited energy that follows Lars in his wake, everywhere he goes.
Deep in my soul, I know that I shouldn’t have agreed to be his fake fiancée.
Oh god.
What have I gotten myself into?
Turning, I close my door and head back to my sad microwave dinner.
8
Pippa
I wake the next morning to the insistent buzzing of my phone. Squinting into the early morning light, I groggily reach out across my bed to snag my phone from the nightstand. It’s too early for me to really process anything.
I rub my eyes as I read the first text, which happens to be from Margot. Pippa! What the hell? When were you going to tell me about this?
For a solid seconds I can’t actually connect the dots. I narrow my eyes.
What is she talking about?
I sit up, scrolling through the numerous calls and texts. It’s only when I read the words you’re engaged? from Annika that I put it all together.
The story about my supposed relationship with Lars must be out, then. I assume that Lars himself leaked it, because the whole situation is fake as anything.
He works fast, I guess.
I text Lars immediately. A warning shot would’ve been nice.
He texts back. And ruin the surprise?
I shake my head, pushing my copper curls out of my face. Pushing back the covers with a groan, I shower and start getting dressed. When my cell phone vibrates again, I check it and find a message from Lars.
I hope you’re ready to go ring shopping. I’ll be at your door in five minutes. And just in case you were wondering, I have a horde of reporters on my tail.
Good lord. If I’m going to be on camera, I have to dress for it.
In my black lace bra and slip, I run into my spare bedroom where I keep my racks and racks of clothes. I hunt through the racks, looking for the garment that floats nebulously in the back of my head.
A one piece pantsuit. Lighter in color, maybe pink or tan. Coupled with a long white mohair coat…
I frown as I dig through my clothes.
Admittedly, I am something of a clotheshorse. There is something exciting and elegant about a new designer dress and a great pair of heels.
Add that to the fact that I’m tall and thin, naturally looking as if I just rolled off of a runway…
Designers like the way their clothes look on my body.
I’ll admit it. When I first moved here to Copenhagen, my photo was often snapped when I was hanging out with Lars and Stellan. And I used that exposure to convince up and coming designers to lend me elegant clothes.
At this point though, I’m something of a designer darling. I have ten boxes of unopened clothes in my living room, sent unsolicited from the top fashion houses.
I flip through another half-dozen garments before I come to a stop on what is possibly the perfect dress for the occasion. Long sleeves, floor-length, and cut out of this lovely off-white satin. There are little hand stitched magenta roses on it, cascading and multiplying as they spill downward to the dress’s hem. The body of it is perfectly fitted and elegant.
It’s a dress fit for a princess, I think. Annika and Margot would definitely fight me for it, anyway.
Slipping it on, I add pink rosette earrings, simple black heels, and a gray muslin coat. I’m putting on a coat of dark pink lipstick when the door buzzes. I cast a final look in the mirror, tilting my head at my own reflection.
Somehow, going ring shopping in this outfit feels right.
The door buzzes again, making me roll my eyes and stomp to the front door. I press the button and buzz Lars up without even looking to make sure its him.
I’m just gathering my purse when he opens the door, poking his head in. For a second, I falter as I lay eyes on him. He’s very tall, impeccably dressed in his steel blue suit, and so handsome that he takes my breath away. He’s had a recent haircut; his dark hair is longer and tousled on top and close cropped on the sides.
He swings that sparkling blue gaze my way. When he sees me, his face lights up in a grin.
It’s heart stopping, being the object of his attentions.
Well, fake attentions. I’ll have to get used to that, I guess.
“We are going to have to talk about your building’s security,” he says casually. His eyes sweep the living room, his mouth turning down at one corner. “Actually, maybe we should move you to a bigger place.”
Swallowing, I arch a brow. “That sounds like you would be doing me a very expensive favor. What is my rule about that?”
He rolls his eyes, jerking his head toward the doorway. “I know, I know. That’s not allowed. Come on, we can talk about it on the way to the jeweler.”
I wrinkle my nose, sighing as I follow him. “All right. But you owe me coffee. Actually, you owe me coffee every single day for eternity. And I mean the fancy kind, too.”
Heading downstairs, I emerge from my building.
I’m not expecting the sea of photographers and reporters waiting there, shouting my name. My eyes widen and I freeze.
But Lars smoothly puts his arm around my waist and pulls me onward. He leans in, shouting in my ear to be heard above all the hubbub. “It won’t always be like this.”
I look up at him, trying to parse what he means. He grins at me. “How about a kiss for the cameras?”
Without skipping a beat, he puts his hands on my waist, pulls me close, and kisses me full on the mouth. His lips feel hot and pliable against mine; his grasp on my waist feels so intimate that I blush furiously. I blink, trying to wrap my head around the fact that this is even happening.
Lars Love is kissing me.
It’s only something I’ve imagined a thousand times over. It’s better than the fantasy though.
So, so much better.
Inside, I start to melt.
It takes me a solid fifteen seconds to realize I need to kiss him back. So I reach up timidly, wrap my arms around his shoulders, and open my mouth to him.
As soon as I do, though, he pulls back with a quizzical gaze. I bite my lower lip, feeling embarrassed that I got so wrapped up in everything.
Lars clears his throat, steps back from me, and takes my hand. Only then do I realize that there are still reporters shouting our names and flash bulbs going off.
He pulls me along the street. I shiver, waiting for a break in the reporters shouting at us. But no, as we move along, the crowd’s yammer never dies down. I look at Lars, making a face at him. But he just shrugs and continues down the early-morning Copenhagen street.
By the time we reach the jeweler on High Street, I’ve gone from feeling overwhelmed by the noise of the reporters to being irritated by it. I know I signed myself up for this, but… I’m already over it.
Lars stops at a glass storefront, looking up. It’s a high-end jeweler with a few tasteful pieces of jewelry displayed at the front window, diamonds and sapphires, gleaming white gold and titanium.
Lars surprises me by opening the door for me. He never does that; I’ve actually only seen him open doors for the girls he dates. I arch a brow at him as I step through.
A sarcastic comment is on the tip of my tongue. But it is swept away when a short, balding man dressed in head to toe black approaches us.
“Your royal highness,” he says, bowing low. He has a French accent. “Welcome to my shop. I a
m Etienne.”
I curtsy. “Bonjour, Etienne.”
Lars just nods and gives a curt smile. “The royal press office said that you were the jeweler to come see.”
“Oui, monsieur. Please, come right this way…”
Lars puts his hand on my lower back, gently nudging me forward. My eyes widen at his touch.
He usually doesn’t touch me, even casually. Etienne shows us into a back room, which is well-appointed with a pair of heavy, dark wood couches and several tall, thin mahogany chests of drawers.
“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” Etienne waves to the couches. “Would you like something to drink? Water, coffee, a latte…”
“No, thank you.” My answer is automatic.
Lars slides me a look. “You don’t want coffee?”
My cheeks turn pink. I do want coffee, but I don’t want to put Etienne out. So I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
Etienne purses his lips. “Very well. If you’ll both have a seat, we can get started.”
Running a hand over my dress, I find a seat on the couch. Lars does too, unbuttoning his suit jacket and leaning back, throwing his arm over the back. He looks like he owns the place, which makes my mouth turn down just a hair.
Etienne picks up a black velvet-lined tray, walking over to us and displaying his wares. I’m not sure what I expected to see. Maybe a selection of new and untouched rings in the latest styles or something.
But instead, Etienne holds a tray of gleaming antique-looking rings, varying in precious metal and stone. They are, on the whole, not especially stunning. When I think of a jaw-dropping engagement ring, I think of some huge, sparkly diamond.
These are much smaller stones, much less glittery than I had imagined. My surprise must be written on my face when I look up, because Etienne offers me a smile.
“Her royal highness, the former Queen Ida, suggested that you might like to choose a ring that is already in the family.”
I lick my lips, darting a glance at Lars.
“I see.” I don’t know quite what else to say.
Lars frowns at the selection of rings. “These are all hideous. Do you have something…” He squints.
“A little more modern, perhaps,” I suggest.
Etienne bows his head. “But of course.”
With that, he takes the tray back to the dresser, swapping it out. When he presents the new selection, I arch a brow. These may be a little newer, but not much.
I glance at Lars, taking a deep breath. He pulls a face. “Can I see the tray that Stellan and Margot chose their ring from?”
“That won’t work,” I say. “If I recall correctly, Stellan already had the ring. Margot didn’t get to choose.”
Lars sighs. “Oh. Well… can we start with the newest rings and work our way back?” He pauses. “You know, Pippa, if we don’t find anything you like, we can always keep looking.”
I shoot him a look, willing him to remember for a second that this is all fake. There is no need for a fancy ring. After all, I’ll only have to wear it for three months.
Etienne steps back. “Yes, your royal highness. Allow me to try again.”
As soon as Etienne’s back is turned, I mouth be nice to Lars. Lars just smirks, shrugging one shoulder. I scowl at him.
When Etienne returns, he holds out a black velvet tray filled with twenty four of the biggest, shiniest rings I think I’ve ever seen. My jaw drops as I take in the array of white gold, rose gold, and platinum settings. There is no way that these rings aren’t worth half a million pounds or more.
“Oh. I think we’ve gone too big,” I say quickly. One ring in particular catches my eye, an enormous square cut diamond with two smaller sapphires on each side, all set in white gold. My fingers itch to touch it.
Lars reads my expression and nods to the tray. “Which one? You want to try it, I can tell.”
I shake my head, looking at Etienne. “These are… they’re beautiful, but they are too much. I want something simpler.”
Lars shoots me a glare. Etienne bows his head, disappearing and reappearing with yet another tray.
This one has rings that are more affordable, that’s for sure. As I will only be wearing it temporarily, I point out the first ring that I see that just seems… reasonable.
“May I see that one?” I ask.
Etienne smiles a bit. “I do apologize, mademoiselle. His royal highness may pick up any of the pieces that he chooses…”
Lars shoots me a smug smile as he leans over and plucks the ring off the tray. “Your hand please, my dear, sweet Pippa.”
I wrinkle my nose, turning to Etienne. “Would you excuse us? I promise, we are not going to steal any of these rings or anything.”
Etienne ducks his head, smoothing a hand down his tie. “Of course, mademoiselle. His royal highness does own them, ma’am.”
He has a point. He leaves, shutting the heavy door behind him. I turn to Lars.
“Quit it,” I warn.
He gives me an innocent look. “What?”
“Behave.”
“Make me,” he says, grinning.
I roll my eyes, holding my hand out. He takes my fingers ever so gently, which makes my pulse pick up. I swallow as he looks me dead in the eye, slips the ring on my finger, and gives me the cockiest grin ever.
“Now you’re mine,” he tells me.
My face heats, my heart beating embarrassingly fast. “No, I’m doing you an immense favor because you asked me very nicely. And by the way, I meant it about our fake relationship only lasting for three months.”
A dimple flashes in his cheek. “I was thinking of pushing it out to a year.”
I pull my hand from his grasp, putting a little more space between us. “And I was thinking of changing my mind and saying that I couldn’t possibly be bothered for longer than a month.”
“Six months,” he fires back.
My eyes narrow on his face. “Three.”
He looks me up and down, as if considering my offer. “Four months. And you let me move you into my place temporarily.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he stops me with a gesture. “There is no more haggling. It’s four months. And at the end, you will have your magazine funded. Yes?”
I frown. Four months isn’t a breeze, but it seems doable. I don’t like that he sees my terms as being flexible, though. Alas, that is very typical of Lars.
I clench my jaw. “Fine.”
“Great.” His eyes twinkle. “Now are you sure about this ring?”
I look down at the ring, my mouth twisting. It’s two sizes too large and not the right shape at all. If this little deception was real, if I had to wear this ring forever, then no way. But it’s just a prop.
A very expensive prop, but fake nonetheless.
I nod, taking a breath. “Ja, I’m sure.”
He grins at me, dazzling me with his smile. “Good. Now come on, wife to be. I think we should tell Etienne together.”
Getting up, he offers me his arm. I rise, taking his arm, a sigh on my lips. “Lead the way.”
9
Lars
I’m waiting anxiously at the swankiest hotel in Copenhagen, trying not to freeze my ass off while I wait by the front doors. Pippa’s my New Year’s Eve date. Actually, we have had this planned out for weeks.
It just so happens that now I have just added a ton of weird pressure by making it our debut as a couple. And royal couple at that.
I’m genuinely a little worried. Pippa was pretty grumpy all of yesterday, fueled in part at least by our brand new arrangement.
And I get it. She is doing me a huge, immense favor, getting me out of a less than savory situation.
So she gets to be a little grouchy, I guess.
When her limo pulls up and she emerges, I’m beyond relieved to see her look for me and then smile.
Then I allow myself to breathe a little… and to take her in. She’s wearing a huge fuzzy floor length white coat, which she sheds the second she wal
ks in the door. What she reveals actually makes my mouth water. She’s wearing a floor length, long sleeve gown made of what looks like molten silver. It hugs every tantalizing curve and only enhances her fiery copper curls, which trail down her back.
She turns for a second, handing her coat off to a waiting attendant, and I see that the dress is cut very low in the back, emphasizing her amazing skin. Looking at her right now is making my tuxedo pants a little tight. I feel like ripping off my bowtie. I’m stifled, looking at her silver-coated curves.
She floats over to me, a smile curving her lips. “Don’t you look dashing.”
I drag my gaze away from her, refusing to be thirsty. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
She touches my arm, looking up at the hotel’s second story. I follow her gaze up to see several people taking pictures of us surreptitiously.
But when Pippa leans over and kisses my lips ever so carefully, it still takes me by surprise. Worse than that, when she pulls away again, I’m left aching.
God, this is going to be a long night.
A long four months, really.
I shouldn’t have chosen the girl I’m in love with to fake an engagement. I’m kicking myself over the choice now.
I clear my throat. “Shall we?”
Pippa smiles, seeming in good spirits. “Lead the way, your highness.”
“Don’t start with that shit,” I say, rolling my eyes.
I usher her to the escalator and we ride up to the second floor. I spend the whole time looking at Pippa’s ass and speculating whether or not she’s wearing any panties.
My guess is no.
On the way off the escalator, I stop and look around. Tonight, my favorite hipster bar has taken over this floor and they’ve really gone all out. The doors to the grand ballroom are thrown open, revealing some extremely hip black and white decor. To our right, there is a bar set up, the stylish bartenders in their black shirts and denim aprons busy mixing drinks. And to top it all off, there are uniformed waiters walking around with trays of drinks and appetizers.
