Royal Fake Fiancé (Dirty Royals Book 4)

by Vivian Wood

  “I don't want you to think that I am some shallow young princeling,” I utter, scanning her face. “If it wasn't already obvious, I like you for a lot more than your looks.”

  Her eyebrows go up just a little. “Really? You're not just…” She swallows. “You’re not just sleeping with me?"

  “Oh, little witch…” I sigh. “I am very much in this for more than just your body. Okay? I mean, don't get me wrong. I fucking love your body. Every inch of you is absolutely incredible. But I like you for more than the sum of your parts. The fact that you didn't know that already makes me think that I am doing something wrong.”

  She puffs out her cheeks for a moment. “Are you going to apologize for staring at Kalindi?”

  I nod very slowly. “I apologize. Especially for making you feel less than you are. Because you are incredible. That's an absolute fact.

  She gives me a tiny smile then presses up on her tiptoes, catching my lips with her own. I respond in kind, dominating the kiss, grinding my lower body against hers. Backing her against the wall of the spring, I trap her and enjoy her soft sighs of pleasure. And before I know it, we are lost in each other for some time, forgetting the entire world exists.

  26

  Pippa

  “And so I told him, why don't you just buy both houses? I know it's the most basic rich girl thing to say, but honestly. I was just tired of hearing about it. Lake house, ski lodge, who cares?”

  Nika throws her arms up in the air, looking frazzled. I walk down the sidewalk beside her, peering at Margaotto see her reaction. Margot does in fact look a little bit puzzled, even though she's by far the richest one among the three of us.

  Her face wrinkles. “I assume that Erik set you straight. Normal people don't go around buying houses left and right, you know.”

  Nika shoots her a look. “He said something similar, as a matter fact. I told him that it didn't matter to me which house he bought or whether he bought any house at all. We can live on an abandoned oil freighter for all I care.”

  I snort. “I don't think that Erik took you very seriously, Nika. Of the three of us, you are the one who was raised with unimaginable wealth.”

  Nika sighs. “I know, I know. I just couldn't hear one more word about where we were going to vacation. It's like… rent a house, buy a house. I really don’t care. Just don't bother me with it.” She pulls a face. “Anyway, thanks for letting me vent. I know it's silly.”

  Margot leans over and brushes a fleck of dust off of Nika's long wool jacket. Her breath fogs a little in the air.

  “It's quite all right. We all need to vent about the man in our lives now and then. Don't we?”

  The last it is definitely directed at me, which she lets me know by pointedly staring at me. My cheeks flush and I look ahead on the street, not really wanting the conversation that Margot is seeking from me. “Um…”

  “Oooh! Look!” Margot pulls her attention away from the conversation, pointing across the street. Where she points there is a large shop with a beautiful glass display case, filled with wedding dresses of every style imaginable. My eyes widen but Margot already has her begging face on.

  “Oh, please, please! I know that you'll probably get your wedding dress designed by someone famous, but please say you'll let us pick out a silhouette together? It's basically like the perfect moment to do it, and I do still love playing dress-up.”

  I open my mouth to say no, my mind reeling. The last thing I want is to be plied with gorgeous white dresses right now. After all, the girls still don't know that the whole engagement is completely fake. But before I can say a word, Margot yanks me across the street, a determined look on her face.

  “That's what we have to do,” she mutters. “We have to make sure that Pippa falls in love with the dress and the wedding as much as anything else. That's how you can trick someone who's both a clothes horse and a commitment-phobe into planning their wedding with you.”

  “I really don't think…” I tried to butt in. But the two women shushed me, pulling me into the fancy shop.

  A bell tingles as we walk into the store. My eyes widen as I take the shop in at a glance. I have there are ten mannequins all done up in their wedding dresses and gorgeous veils and pretty stands of pearls. I'm attracted to the first one I lay eyes on, a skintight lace number that feels good underneath my fingertips. My lips twitch. It's not the dress for me, but I could definitely see myself wearing it somewhere else.

  Then again, where else you need a full length lace wedding dress?

  A plump blonde woman looks up from sewing the him on a dress mannequin. It only takes a second for her to recognize Margot, the Queen of Denmark. Her dark eyes dart over Princess Annika… then they land on me. She quickly realizes that I must be the one marrying into the royal family. A look of pure, unadulterated joy comes over her face.

  “Ladies!” She curtsies awkwardly. “Or should I say your highnesses? I'm Brigid. Welcome to my shop. Please, come in and make yourself comfortable. Tell me what I can do for you.”

  Nika and Margaret obviously each have their own dresses in mind, because they start talking at once, at full volume.

  “I was thinking something like strappy top and full at the bottom…”

  “I think Pippa needs something simple, something with no sequins or anything shiny…"

  I roll my eyes. Brigid seems unfazed by the girls talking over each other. She hustles us to a large fitting room area, with several seats surrounding a runway of sorts with a three way mirror at the other end.

  “Please, sit. Would you like some champagne?”

  “Sure,” I say, relieved to at last be presented with something that I can say yes to. Nika and Margot immediately decline, causing me to raise my eyebrows.

  When Brigid is off getting my champagne, I look at Nika. “Is there reason you're not drinking?”

  Nika flushes. “Nothing so exciting as that, I'm afraid. I just have a dress fitting next week and I am trying to maintain my figure, that's all.”

  I look at Nika's perfect, petite body and I pull a face. “Well, all right then. I guess I will drink alone.”

  Bridgid returns with my champagne and askes for what I am looking for exactly in a dress. I wrinkle my nose delicately.

  It's not as if I have not dreamt of exactly what my dress would look like. I'm a very girly girl and I'm into fashion already. But it just seems wrong to even talk about that when I know that I won't be wearing any dress.

  She sees the hesitation on my face. She leans over, pats me on the shoulder, and says, “Should I just pick some things out for you? We can go from there.”

  My cheeks flush. I nod a little. “That would be great, thank you.”

  I sit back, sipping my champagne and looking at Nika and Margot. Margot is eyeing me, trying to figure out what I’m feeling so weird about.She peels off her white woolen coat and straightens the hem of her pink skirt.

  “What's going on with you and Lars? I sense that there is something that you aren't telling us.”

  I take another sip of champagne as I decide how to answer that. “What do you mean?” I finally settle on.

  Margot leans forward. “I've seen you two together. It's obvious that you are both in love with each other. But you aren't excited about trying on wedding dresses? That's not the Pippa I know.”

  Nika shoots me a smirk. “Wasn't it just yesterday that we were sitting together at a fashion show? Surely you should be inspired by the dresses, at least.”

  I suck in a breath, trying to figure out how to thread this very thorny needle. I don't want to lie to my friends. But I also don't want to tell either of them the truth. I would hate for them to know that I am just playing a part.

  Then again, I have been playing a part for so many years now that it's hard for me to tell the difference.

  I opt for changing the subject very slightly. “Lars is fine. I just haven't slept much in last month. You know how that is, surely.” I raise a frank brow at both of them.


  “That we do,” Margot agrees.

  “So, it's easy dating Lars, then?” Nika asked. “I always imagine that it would be sort of a nightmare. Seeing him settle down with you instead of running around with a new blonde supermodel every week is just sort of… gratifying, yes. But also somewhat mystifying. I genuinely thought he would never get it together.”

  Margot sits down beside me, shooting Nika a glare. “I'm sure what she means is that we're very glad for both of you. I just want to make sure that you know that you have us to talk to, no matter what.”

  “Seriously, just knowing that I have you two to vent to does worlds of wonder.” Nika says.

  “Thank you, girls.” Trying to hide my discomfort, I smile and take another sip of my champagne.

  Brigid returns with a rolling rack full of dresses, smiling brightly. “Do you want to come look, ladies? Er… Your highnesses, I mean.”

  Margot and Nika bound to their feet, eager to look at the dresses. I am slower to move as I follow them, wistfully touching the first dress on the rack, an off-shoulder cream number with full skirts. I run my hand down the satin, my mouth twisting sourly. “This dress is lovely. Actually, all the dresses I've seen today have been.”

  Margot peeks her head out from behind a rack, her eyes bright. “Pippa, tell Brigid your size. Let's start trying on some dresses.”

  I set my champagne aside and give Brigid a little smile. “Do you have a restroom that I can use?”

  She smiles back at me. “Of course! If you go out this door, it's all the way at the end of the hall. Will be waiting for you when you come back.”

  I press my lips into a smile and rush out the door that she pointed to, my face heating. I'm not a very good liar, not in the average proceeding of things anyway. I rush down the hallway to the ladies room. When I find it, it’s quite nice, all granite inside with a large mirror over the sink and a beautiful looking antique chair separate from the stall. Walking over to the mirror, I run a little bit of water and what a paper towel, pressing it against my face. I look in the mirror, my eyes scanning my own expression.

  “This is too much,” I say to my reflection. “No one ever said that I was going to end up lying to Margot and Nika. What do I do about it?”

  I sigh, steeling myself. If I can just get through this little part of my girls day out, I think I will be happier.

  I turn and march to the door, opening it.

  And I come face-to-face with Mrs. Olson, her arms crossed across her chest. She arches a brow.

  “I haven't heard from you in some time, Sylvie. Did you forget about me?”

  My skin flushes hot. I begin to tremble. “What are you doing here?” I drop my voice to a whisper, peeking out into the hallway where she's standing. “It's almost like you want be caught by the royal family.”

  Ms. Wilson smirks at me. “I thought it would be better if you were motivated to give me what I want so I leave.”

  Shooting her a glare, I reach out and grab her arm, pulling her roughly into the bathroom with me. I close the door, rounding on her. “This has to stop. I don't know anything. I don't want to be your spy. If you don't leave me alone right now, I'll call the authorities. I'm not joking.”

  She gives me a cool little smile. “Aren't you going to ask me how Stella is doing?”

  Her question catches me off guard. I frown. “I… I don't know…” I shake my head. “Just because I'm curious about this girl that you keep talking about doesn't mean anything. You think that you know who I am but you don't.”

  Mrs. Olson clicks her tongue at me. She shakes her head. “I'm not here to listen to your lies, Sylvie.” She looks at her watch. “I do have to be running along. But I came here for reason. Your fiancé is going to get some very precious news at work today. And I need you to find out exactly what that news is. It's too sensitive to just talk over the phone, so I will be dropping in again on you, Sylvie.

  I ball my fist up. Stepping closer to the middle aged woman, I show her my teeth. “I don't want to see you again. If you leave right now and don't come back, I can forget that all of this ever happened.”

  Mrs. Olson doesn't even blink. “Oh, Sylvie. You need a display of force? Really? Something to show you that I'm not full of hot air?”

  She pulls out his cell phone and types of brief message. I give her a look, turning to open the door. This woman is unbalanced and I should have already reported her to the police. There's nothing stopping me from doing that right now.

  And yank open the door, sticking my head out. “Nika, Margot? Will someone please call the police? I think I have a stalker…”

  Mrs. Olson gives a little sniff as she pushes past me, turning right and heading to the exit. Just before she gets there though, she stops and turns around. “I would check my bank accounts if I were you. When you find your money missing, call me. You'll know I am serious and I'll know that you are going to be a good girl.”

  She whirls and pushes out of the back door just as Margot and Pippa arrive in the hallway, Brigid at their heels.

  “What's going on? Who was that?” Margot demand.

  I turn to her, my eyes filling with tears. “I don't know,” I tell her honestly. “It isn't the first time I have seen her though…”

  Margot rushes to my side, hugging me hard. And I hug her back, taking a small matter comfort in her gesture. But I feel a strange pull to check my bank account, even though I'm pretty sure that Mrs. Olson is full of crap.

  When I finally go home, I do just that. And sure enough, one of my accounts is overdrawn, missing thousands of dollars. I bite my lip, trying to decide what to do.

  Should I just tell the bank that my money was stolen?

  Maybe I should tell Lars what’s going on.

  I sit down on my couch, unable to decide. My phone chimes, alerting me to a new text. I check it, finding several photos of me and Lars in bed together. We obviously don’t realize we are on camera, because we are smiling and laughing in a few of the photos.

  Another text comes in. Are you sure you want to ruin this?

  My heartbeat races. I’m not sure. I’m paralyzed.

  So I do nothing for now, although this situation clearly needs some kind of resolution… I am just too scared to make the wrong move and put Lars in jeopardy.

  27

  Lars

  The next week is made up of seven days of nonstop royal visits. I drag Pippa along to open factories, speak at schools, see various cultural exhibitions, and just generally just try to represent the royal family as well as we can. Pippa, for her part, seems very distracted. She's right there by my side, holding the giant ribbon cutting scissors for me or tasting the newest wine. Always with a smile plastered on her face.

  But she's not really there, not completely.

  After a week of touring, I surprise her with a getaway to Monte Carlo, feeling like the only cure for whatever Pippa is experiencing is somewhere out there in the white sand beaches and yacht parties.

  “Whoa,” Pippa says, staring out the window as we arrive at the palatial beachside mansion I've rented. It's three stories high, beautifully made, and looks like the home of a tech billionaire. She turns her eyes to me, almost disbelieving. “Is this ours?”

  I grin at her. “Permanently? No. But for the weekend, it is.”

  Her phone chirps and she looks down at the screen, frowning. I reach over into her lap and take her phone, turning it off and then pocketing it. She glances up at me, her expression mildly alarmed.

  “Hey, I might need that. There are a lot of things still happening in Copenhagen even though we are not there.”

  I shoot her a coy smile. “It can wait until you get back. Can't it?”

  She bites her lip, her frown increasing. But she does nod. “I guess it can.”

  Our car stops outside the big entrance to the house. We slide out of the car and I slip my arm around her waist, hugging her body against mine. She looks up at me, her expression unreadable. But instead of pulling away as I thought sh
e might do, she leans up, puts her hand on my cheek, and kisses me firmly on the lips.

  Her kiss is the kiss of a desperate woman, hungry for my touch, demanding my attentions. I sink into that kiss a little, letting it go on for too long. When the limo driver clears his throat beside us, indicating that he is ready to leave, I finally pull back from her in brace.

  I nod towards the house. “Let's go inside. We should technically make it into the house before we start fucking.”

  Her lips quirk at that. “If we must.”

  I hustle her inside. I wait until the door closes, then rip off her clothes and have her right then and there, on the cold hardwood floor in the foyer. There's a desperation to our sex, a unspoken worry underlying every moan. I bury myself in her curves, worshiping her, the very act of being inside her feeling like some sort of sacred ritual.

  “Faster,” she whispers. “Please, Lars. Harder. I need you. I need this.”

  I thrust into her, my hips moving as fast as I can go, every single thrust like a prayer. The whole time, I restrained myself from saying what I really want to say.

  That I love her.

  That I need her.

  That being with her, being inside her, completes me in a way that nothing else can.

  We come together, her breath drawn ragged, our cries rising to the high ceiling. After we catch our breath, I help her up and pull her along to the main bedroom, touching her and kissing her as we both get in the shower.

  We're both spent by then. She allows me to undress her and stands under the water with me, pressed against me. Her eyes are closed as she enjoys the simplicity of my touch and the heat from the shower.

  I kiss her, not knowing quite what is going on in her head. When I cup her cheek and raise her face towards me, she opens her eyes a slit.

  “This is nice,” she murmurs. “I didn't think I would be glad that we came away for the weekend… But I think I really needed it.” She pauses. “I think I really need you most of all.”