by Vivian Wood
She lets up completely and the car dies. She looks at me, panicked. “Oh god!”
I wave my hand. “No big deal. Do it again. Only don’t stomp all the way to the floor. And don’t let up on the clutch completely.”
Her brow furrows as she does it with a tiny bit more grace this time. Then she looks over at me, awaiting instruction.
“The next part is tricky,” I say, moving a bit closer. “You have to press the brake a little, keep pressure on the clutch, and shift into first.”
I tap the gear shift. To my great surprise, she does it right the very first time, as if she has been doing it forever.
“Is that it?” she asks.
“Yep. Now comes the hard part. You have to press the gas pedal while you ease completely off the clutch. It’s a smooth, even transfer, like this.” I mime the pedals switching positions.
“Okay…”
Pippa lets go of the clutch too fast and the engine dies. She howls with frustration, hitting the steering wheel. “Stupid car.”
“Come on, come on. Try it again. After you manage this, you can drive.”
She makes a little grr sound but she does try again. And again… and again.
On the fourth try, she nails it. The car lurches forward a few feet. Pippa is so surprised that she takes her foot off the gas.
The engine dies.
I expect her to groan but she doesn’t. Instead she turns to me, eyes shining with excitement, and throws her hands up. “I drove!”
She hugs me, doing a little dance. I freeze for a second, only relaxing when I force a laugh out. “You did. Well done.”
She pulls back, her expression radiant.
Ah. That face she is making, the way her eyes are shining, the cheerful glow in the apples of her cheeks…
I live for that expression.
It doesn’t last long, though. She sighs, rolling her head on her shoulders. “I think that’s rather enough for one day, don’t you?”
I look at her, completely serious. “It’s whatever you want Pippa. We only go on your word.”
A flush rises in her cheeks. She gives me an odd look. “Well, I think I’m done. I’m also freezing. Come on, I think I saw hot cider being poured in the refreshment tent.”
She hops out of the car. I lean over and pluck the keys from the ignition, then follow her.
As I head toward the tent once more, I repress a sigh. For the millionth time, I am reminded of just how deeply in love with Pippa I am.
But at the same time, how much she means to me as a friend. If anything were to happen to our friendship, I would be…
Well, it wouldn’t be good, at least.
Pippa turns, tucking a bit of her red hair behind her ear. “Are you coming?”
I nod. “I am.”
Wishing I had found anyone else in the world to have a fake relationship with, I head into the tent.
13
Pippa
I glance at Lars nervously, sucking my full bottom lip into my mouth and abrading it with my teeth. He stands stiffly beside me, his eyes turned forward to the open balcony doors. I slip my hand to his elbow and rest it on his heavy black jacketed arm. He doesn’t seem to notice.
I draw a breath and smooth a hand down my frost blue heavy winter coat. Lars looks over at me, his expression lightening a bit. “I can tell you are stressing too much,” he says. He reaches over and fusses with the white lily that is pinned to my coat. “We are just pretty background decoration, I promise. We won’t be expected to speak.” He rolls his eyes. “This is Stellan’s show.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I just assumed I would watch the King’s speech from the massive audience gathered outside.”
He tilts his head to the side. “That’s Pippa Welch talking. You have to forget about yourself and remember your role. What the palace is expecting is the future Duchess of Marion. I find it is easier to deal with it all if I know to put Lars Love away and bring out Prince Lars of Denmark.”
I nod, pensive. “I suppose so.”
Two of Lars’ brothers, this and that, make their appearance. They stand just behind us in line, coming after Lars in line for the throne. I peer around them to Nika and Erik, who currently have their heads close together, whispering about something.
Behind them are Lars’s silvering father, his mother in royal blue, and his scary but always elegant grandmother.
The whole family is just waiting on the King and Queen now.
There is a commotion behind us. I turn my head and see Stellan and Margot arriving with a flock of secretaries and assistants. I must say, they do look rather royal. Stellan is outfitted in a dark suit and a dark overcoat similar to Lars. Margot is wearing her signature light pink color in her coat and dark heels.
If I didn’t know them as people, I would still think that they made a stunning King and Queen of Denmark.
Margot shoos away one woman who is trying to put a final touch on her hair. She stops for a second to squeeze my forearm and wiggle her eyebrows. “We’ll talk after the speech.”
My lips curve up. “Sure.”
But even as I answer, she is hustled past me to stand at Stellan’s side. The balcony doors are swept open by two footmen. The audience begins cheering as Stellan and Margot step outside, smiling and waving.
“Your royal highness,” a palace secretary says, beckoning Lars forward.
Lars clasps my hand in the crook of his elbow and steps forward. I fall into step almost automatically, wincing a little as the sheer wave of sound overtakes me. I step forward and look out at thousands upon thousands of people, cheering and holding signs. It’s freezing outside, but the Danish people don’t seem to care.
“Wave and smile,” Lars shouts in my ear. “And don’t forget to breathe.”
I lift a hand, plastering a smile on my face. He guides me to our prominent position beside Stellan and Margot. We continue smiling and waving as the rest of the family finds their places. The crowd continues to cheer, especially when Annika steps out with Erik.
She’s always been the people’s favorite princess, so no surprise there. Stellan takes the microphone and coughs into it; the noise dies down as he begins his speech.
“Welcome,” he welcomes the crowd. “As you undoubtedly already know, on this day in 1953…”
My brain blanked out whatever he is saying. Not that it’s not important. But I’m too fascinated by looking around at everyone clustered on the balcony on this cold, bright morning.
I look up at Lars, biting my lower lip. He’s focused on a spot in the crowd. I follow his gaze to find that several young girls are holding posters with my picture pasted on them. They say “Pippa + Lars 4Ever” and “Team Pippa!”
I have to admit, I don’t even know who I am playing against in whatever team sport that young girl is so pumped about. I glance at Lars again and he looks at me, giving me a secretive smile. He nods towards Stellan, reminding me that the King is still speaking.
I yank my gaze to Stellan, who speaks for some length of time about the country’s values and how proud he is to be Danish. I smile and sort of check out for a while, coming around when the crowd starts to cheer once more. I applaud, looking around at Lars’s brothers.
Everyone seems to politely clap. No one has even a note of boredom on their faces.
Interesting. I know that Annika has not even the vaguest hint of interest in what Stellan was talking about. Yet I look at her pretty blonde features and she looks engaged.
That must be something learned over time, I guess. I’ve watched a thousand royal events as a member of the audience; it wasn’t until today that I really got to see the other side of things.
“Pippa,” Lars says, putting his hand on my lower back. He guides me back inside, following Stellan and Margot. As soon as we step inside, we are enveloped by warmth and the sound of cheering is immediately dampened.
I take a deep breath as Lars leads me down the stairs in the procession to the formal dining room. The dark wood room
has a single long table in the middle with an elaborate and decorative place setting. As we step through the doors, footmen wait for our coats. Lars has his off in a flash, revealing his suave black suit beneath. He smiles at me as he helps me take my coat off, his chilly bare fingers touching my nape for long enough to raise goosebumps.
A server approaches with a tray of champagne. Lars picks up two glasses, just assuming that I want one.
I accept it from him and look around at everyone milling about near the window. “So now what?”
Lars shrugs a shoulder and sips his drink. “Stellan will probably give another speech about how we are all lucky. Then we’ll have dinner.”
I raise my brows. “Is that it?”
“Pretty much, ja.” I see him wrinkle his nose slightly. “Fuck. My grandmother is looking at me like she expects something.”
His hand instinctively finds mine. I blush as his grandmother comes marching over, leading several aunts and uncles in her wake. It’s very difficult not to fidget as his grandmother looks me up and down. Her mouth turns down at the corner.
It’s hard not to take that personally. Nevertheless, I greet her formally, curtsying. “Your royal highness.”
Those bright blue eyes of hers pierce me. She’s wearing a blue skirt and a cream top that make her eyes seem to pop. “Pippa, I presume.”
“Momse,” Lars cuts in. “You promised to be nice when I let you meet Pippa.”
She touches the back of her silver hair. “Did I?”
He lets go of my hand. Before I can do anything else, he slides his arm around my waist and tugs me into his side. “Do we have to do this fifth degree business? Can’t you just be happy for us, Momse?”
Momse raises her chin. “How are we to know that she is really the girl for you, Lars? If she’s really your fiancée, that is.”
Lars bristles. “She is what I say she is.”
I cut in, trying to lessen the tension. “We went to the palace jeweler and got a nice ring.” I lift my left hand, showing the ring off.
The expressions mirrored back to me are confused. One tall, gray haired gentleman clears his throat.
“It’s very… nice. Very tame,” he allows.
I frown. This man, who probably has never worked a full day in his entire life, thinks my ring is too small?
“The diamond costs what a new car would cost. I don’t need or want anything larger.”
Lars’s grandmother shoots us an unreadable smile. “Very sensible of you.”
Lars squeezes me close. “Pippa is nothing if not sensible.”
Momse narrows her gaze on us, not impressed. “So it’s to be a marriage between friends then, is it?”
My eyebrows fly up. “What?”
“No, we… we love each other,” Lars declares, his hand on my waist flexing.
I know suddenly what I must do. Turning to Lars, I smile sweetly.
“They want to see us kiss, darling,” I say.
There is a flash of puzzlement across his face before it’s replaced with resolution.
“Ah.” He smirks at the crowd. “You want a show?”
Without warning, he dips me backward, pulling me into position for a kiss. My hands come up to his chest and I am about to protest.
But before I can utter a word, Lars zooms in and presses his lips against mine. For a second, I am lost in the sensation of the kiss.
His lips are hot. My whole body tightens at that. When he opens his mouth to me and I do the same to him, he tastes like clean mint and a hint of champagne.
My hands curl in his lapels. My eyes drift shut. I wish it were possible to get closer to him; if we were alone, I would definitely quantify the feeling I have as distinctly horny.
Lars slides his hands down from my waist to my ass, making me giggle. I open my eyes, staring deep into his…
He grins at me, a smile that promises naughty things to come.
For a relationship that is fake, this is starting to feel dangerously real. Every time he so much as touches me, it’s the kindling to my body, lighting the match to my soul. Even while I know in my gut that it’s not fucking real, it feels too good to be fake.
I stare into his eyes, trying to find a similar emotion in those cool blue depths. What does he feel?
Someone across the ballroom drops a glass, making me cringe. And that’s when I remember that the rest of the world still exists. I redden, looking at the people watching with wide eyes. Momse clears her throat and shifts her stance.
“Yes, all right,” she says, waving a hand. “I’m satisfied for now, Lars.”
He is quick to physically separate us, laughing a little. It sounds fake to me, but then again, I’m in on his big secret.
The sound of a glass being gently rung with a knife cuts through all the noise. “Everyone!” Stellan calls out. “If you would find your places at the table, I’d like to say a few words.”
Momse shoots Lars a last look before turning away and moving toward the head of the table. I exhale a shaky breath. Lars grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze.
“What do you say we try to sit far away from my grandmother?” he asks.
I nod, moving away from that end of the table. “She’s very direct and intense.”
His lips quirk. “Indeed.”
We find two seats at the end, far away from his grandmother, and listen to Stellan talking about how lucky the people gathered here should feel.
And I do feel lucky, moreso than most of the royals. But I watch Lars out of the corner of my eye, wondering.
Was that kiss merely for show?
It didn’t feel like I was faking anything.
Then again, I’m really in love with him, so… maybe that’s why it convinces people.
Blowing out a breath, I drag my gaze away from Lars, trying to focus on literally anything else.
14
Lars
Pippa looks over at me from her seat in the chauffeured limousine, giving an aggravated groan. “Three days! It’s been three days of nonstop royal visits and parading ourselves around to prove that we are really engaged. Does the palace just assume that we have nothing better to do with our time?”
I straighten my tie, sighing as I adjust my seat. “Yes. Traditionally, we are in positions that put us at the palace’s beck and call.”
She scrunches up her face. “I’m so unbelievably done with being a fake royal right now.”
“Oh Ja?” I ask, raising a brow. “Try doing it twenty four hours a day, seven days a week for twenty five years.”
Pippa picks at a bit of lint, flicking it off of her slinky black dress. “I honestly had no idea. No wonder you loved going to boarding school so much.”
One corner of my mouth turns up. “I did love St. Matthew’s. I was all but forgotten while I attended. I don’t know if you remember, but I campaigned to be allowed to remain at school through winter and summer breaks.”
She smiles a little at the memory, tucking a bright copper stand of her hair back. “Of course I remember. You were upset because the school refused. So you invited me home for the winter break as a sort of rebellion.”
I chuckle. “I did. Of course, my mother and father barely noticed. If I hoped to grab their attention by bringing home an orphaned scholarship student, I failed miserably.”
“Ja, sure.” Pippa’s cheeks warm and she looks away. That’s usually her reaction to hearing herself described as either orphaned or disadvantaged.
A muscle in her jaw flexes. She looks out the window, her brow furrowing. “If you’d told me then that I would be here now, faking an engagement with the prince of Denmark, I wouldn’t have believed you.”
My lips twitch. “Same.”
Out my window, I see the familiar-looking gates of the Air Base Karup looming. The whole base is ancient, a repurposed medieval fortress with a load of airplane hangars and landing strips surrounding it. All of it is neatly encircled by enormous iron gates.
“Is that the place we are going to?”
Pippa asks, leaning over to look out my window. She’s let her hair down today and the magnificent copper mass looks amazing. One particular curl seems to stand apart from the others; my fingers itch to smooth it down.
I swallow. “Ja. Ja, this is our last stop for the day.”
She straightens, huffing a sigh. “At least you will know the people here.” Her brow wrinkles. “Or does that make it harder? Since, you know… we are lying.”
The limousine driver pulls up to the base’s gates, rolling down the window. I watch him talk to the guard, distracted.
“I hadn’t given it that much thought,” I say, shrugging a shoulder. “We won’t be the starring attraction anyway. There is some sort of show being put on today that a lot of the soldiers have been talking about. It’s like a tame form of burlesque, I think.”
She nods, looking ahead. The limo is waved through the gates and soon we pull up to the fortress. I run my hand over my uniform one final time, preparing myself.
“Ready?” I asks Pippa.
She nods. “After your grandmother’s questioning, I feel like the military will be a breeze.”
I grin as I get out of the car and escort Pippa into the actual building. It’s gloomy inside the formal reception area. As soon as we step inside, a group of high ranking brass marches through, on their way from one area of the building to another. I pull Pippa toward the wall and salute them; one of the generals gives me a stiff nod as they pass.
Pippa cranes her neck to watch them go. “It’s crazy that in the palace this morning, everyone was bowing and scraping and calling you royal highness. Yet here, that doesn’t seem to matter at all.”
I nod to the receptionist and pull Pippa along, resting her hand on my inner elbow. “The RAF runs on their own rules. Everything here is decided by rank and merit.”
Pippa smirks a little. “I see. You aren’t seen as a prince here. I can tell by your tone that you like that.”
I nod to another group of lower ranking cadets who stop and salute me. “Yes, I’ve been allowed to thrive here. It’s a lot like St. Matthew’s, in a way. Whatever you are outside these walls, once you step inside, it all falls away.”
