by Vivian Wood
“I'm not feeling well,” I tell him. “Will you take me home?”
He looks surprised, striding up to me and taking one of my hands. It's only then that I realized my fists is still balled up. He looks down at my hand and then catches sight of his grandmother in the office. She inclines her head but otherwise says nothing.
Lars slides his gaze back to me, trying to figure it out. But I don't give him that kind of time.
?Can we go please?” I ask him softly. “Please, Lars.”
He gives his grandmother one last glance and then puts his arm around me, pushing me toward the exit. “Of course,” he says.
I've never been so glad to leave the royal palace as I am at that moment.
31
Lars
I sit in my kitchen, brooding as I stare out at the early morning light falling onto the city of Copenhagen. The city is quiet right now, in my view is breathtaking. But I'm in no mood for the dazzling panoramic views. I sip my coffee, sighing silently.
Behind me, I hear Pippa’s bare feet padding into the kitchen. I turn, casting and eye over her form. She has bed head and wears nothing but one of my overlarge t-shirts. She nods to me quietly and then goes to pour herself a cup of coffee.
“Are you feeling any better today?” I ask.
She turns to me, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. “Yes,” she says quietly. She looks down at the floor as she answers, making me wonder if I'm getting the entire truth. I hate that feeling, sloshing around in my stomach like acid. Still, I try to make conversation. “Do you want to talk about what happened with between you and my grandmother?”
She sips her coffee, shaking her head a little. “I'd rather not. It was just a petty disagreement about my wedding dress. Nothing to be worried about.”
I walk over to the kitchen counter, setting my coffee down. I straighten my tie, trying to read the expression on her face. She glances at me, her blue eyes pinning me in place for a moment.
Something electric shivers through the air, bouncing back and forth between us. I don't understand exactly why she is so morose and withdrawn, but I'm willing to bet that it has something to do with Momse.
“If there is something wrong, you would tell me, wouldn't you?”
She ducked her head and drops her gaze again, nodding. “Sure.”
“Pippa,” I say. “Look at me.”
She looks up, her eyes flashing with emotion. If I didn't know better, I would think that she was feeling guilty about something. But what could she possibly be guilty for?
She sets her mug down too hard on the counter, sloshing coffee over the edge. She mumbles a curse and turns around to get a wad of paper towels, mopping up the mess. I watch as she moves around the kitchen, that strange acid washing around in my stomach again.
The feeling that she's not being truthful. I hate that.
I clear my throat. “I have to go meet one of my commanders for coffee this morning. Will you be okay here by yourself?”
She nods, swallowing. “I'm fine. I'll be fine. I just need some self-care, I guess.” She frowns. “When you get back, we should talk about your royal schedule. I think… I think it's just too demanding for me.” She looks up at me, tugging the hem of her oversized T-shirt down.
My eyebrows rise. “That's what you're upset about? Jesus, Pippa. You had me worried. Of course we can talk about paring my schedule back.”
She blows out of breath, nodding. “That would be great.”
I walk over to where she's standing, reaching out and sliding an arm around her waist. She comes easily to my side and I place a kiss on the crown of her head, my nose probing her coppery curls. “I have to go,” I say. “Be good.”
She looks up at me, a small smile appearing on her sweetly shaped face. “Should I plan for you to be back by lunch?”
I can't help but smile when I looking at her. “I think you should,” I say.
She wrinkles her nose. “Okay. I'll miss you.”
I pull her in for a final kiss, loving the way she fills all my senses. Her scent tickles my nose, she feels so good under my hands, she tastes even better than she smells. I open my eyes, gaze deep into hers, and then it just pops out of my mouth.
“I love you.”
The second I say it, my eyes widen. Pippa gives me a shocked expression, as though she couldn't possibly imagine why I would say such a thing to someone like her. My neck heats.
“Lars I…” She bites her lip.
I can't stand here and have her tell me that she doesn't love me back. My heart thunders in my chest. I released her from my hold suddenly, clumsily, and straighten my neck tie. I look in any direction that isn't right at her face. “I uh, I have to go. I… I'll be back.”
“Lars, wait…” she says in a pleading tone.
I look back at her, biting my lower lip. She blushes, dropping her gaze to the floor. “I love you too. You know that, don't you?”
On the last word, she looks up and pins me with that blue gaze. I'm a little dumbfounded. She loves me?
Like really loves me?
The thought breaks over me like the sea over a boat's stern. I stand there for a few seconds, staring at her almost blankly. She gets that weird guilty look on her face again, dropping her gaze. “I know you have to go,” she says. “I know that. But when you get back, we should really talk. There are things that you don't know about me, things that you probably have every right to know…”
I stop her in her tracks, putting my hand on her upper arm and pulling her towards me. I still don't have the words to communicate what I feel exactly. But when my lips seek hers, my kiss hungry and searching, I pour all those feelings into the kiss. She responds immediately, raising up on her tiptoes and curling her hands into my lapel. She makes a soft sound of want against my lips. I slide my hands around her and take her up, needing her to feel how much I love her.
A moment later, she gently breaks off the kiss, looking me deep in my eyes. “You have to go. You don't want to be late.”
I groan a little, not wanting to put her down. “I don't want to though.”
She gives me a small sad smile. Running her hand through my hair, she kisses my lips ever so briefly. “I'll still be here when you get back. I'm not going anywhere. I promise.”
I kiss her one final time before I put her down, checking the time on my watch. Fuck. If I don't hurry, I'm going to be late. And there is nothing that I want less then to show up late to a meeting with my commanding officer when I'm trying to prove that I'm an outstanding member of the Royal Air Force.
Letting my eyes travel down her body, I step back. “Do me a favor. Don't change clothes. I want you to be in this exact outfit when I get home. I want to tear it off your body.” I arched a brow. “Okay?”
She blushes, smiling a little bit. “Okay, okay. Now go. You’re going to be late.”
Luckily as I hurry out the door and into the waiting car, I only have to go a couple of miles. The second the car pulls to a stop outside the coffee shop, I burst out the door and run into the shop. I'm looking at my watch as I hurry through to the door. I am exactly 1 minute late.
My commanding officer, Gen. Ted, is sitting at a corner booth, drumming his fingers on the table. I push my hand through my hair as I stride over to the table, saluting the general.
“Sir. Sorry I'm late, sir. It will not happen again.”
“Capt. Løve,” the general greets me with a nod. “Please, sit down.”
I slide into the booth, my eyes scanning the general's face for any signs. I don't know why I was called here exactly, but I have a feeling that it's either very good news or very bad news. I sit up straight and try not to appear nervous.
The general frowns at the cup of coffee sitting before him. His expression is unreadable. “I called you here today because you applied for a promotion to our space force.” He glances up at me. “I'm sorry to say that you have not been chosen. Not because of any shortcomings about you as a person, soldier. But because of your r
oyal rank.”
My heart freezes in my chest. I stare at the general’s lips, willing him to not tell me what he came here to tell me. But he just continues anyway.
“Are you listening, soldier?”
I look up, but you my bottom lip. “Sir. Yes, sir.”
He puts his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers. “After talking to Royal Air Force high command, it was decided that you were simply more valuable down here on earth then you would be as a potential astronaut. This is a reflection of your value as a royal prince. It's not a reflection of your performance or any inability on your part. You understand that?”
I feel numb as I nod. “Sir. Yes, sir.”
He clears his throat. “I believe that if you are still interested in moving up the ladder, there is a position available for you. That is, if you decide to continue with the Royal Air Force. I knew a lot of men in you are position that probably would not.”
I glance at him, meeting his gaze had on. “Because I am a prince?”
He just inclines his head.
I shake my head, trying to pretend like he didn't just smash all my dreams. “I'm not so spoiled and materialistic as to want to leave the Royal Air Force, sir.”
He smiles coolly. “No, I suppose you are not.” He checks his watch, clearing his throat. “I have to be on my way now. I suppose I will see you on the base later?”
I slide of the booth, my body immediately stiffening into a salute. “Sir. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
He slowly climbs out of the booth and slaps my back, walking away. I turn and watch him walk out the doors, my heart pounding in my chest.
After a moment of staring, I walked to the door, heading out to the street. It's not so busy here, it's far from downtown and the middle of the work day. I don't know what I'm supposed to do or feel, so I just stare blankly down the street, trying to wrap my head around the fact that I will not be an astronaut.
I clench my fist. I've been lying to myself for a long time. I thought that if I was smart enough, if I was fit enough, if I devoted my life to being the best that I could be, I would escape my family somehow. That I would be chosen to train as an astronaut because I had made myself worthy, not because of some stupid title from of a made up hierarchy. But no, now I see all too clearly.
I am still worth more as the spare to Stellan's heir then I am as me, just a person trying to rise through the ranks. It stings like hell, that thought stated plainly.
Looking down, I start walking back to my apartment, ambling slowly while I turn my thoughts over in my head.
32
Pippa
After Lars leaves, I sit at the kitchen counter, looking listlessly out at the Copenhagen skyline. I'm going to have to come clean to him when he gets back. I know it.
After thirteen years of lies, I'm finally about to tell him that I was born someone else. That thought makes me shiver.
As I finish my cup of coffee, I head to the sink to put the mug down. I hear a bell chime and I cock my head. That's certainly a new sound that I haven't heard before.
I wander into the hallway, where it the chime sounds again, louder this time. I think somehow it's a doorbell, though I don't know exactly where or how to address it.
I run into the bedroom and grab one of Lars’s robes, pulling it around myself before I head down to the very end of the hallway near the elevator. A panel of lights is illuminated there, where normally it would blend in with the beige colored walls. I reach out a hand and touch it as the bell chimes again, revealing a screen.
Mrs. Olson stares up into the camera lens, her mouth set in a grim line. My whole body runs cold. What is she doing here?
I look around for a second, wondering if I can just claim that I wasn't at home. Then again, now that I know that Mrs. Olson works for Queen Ida, it probably goes along that Mrs. Olson will know exactly where I am. Exhaling a long breath, I press the button at the bottom of the screen labeled admit.
Mrs. Olson quickly appears as the elevator doors open, a little smirk on her face. “Hello, Sylvie.”
She doesn't ask, she just barges in, her shoulder bumping mine.
“Excuse me,” I say. “This is the prince's house. You can't just come in whenever you feel like it.”
She throws a smirk over her shoulder, heading toward the kitchen. “I can do whatever I please, Sylvie. The sooner that you hear my demands, the sooner I will be out of your hair. So let's hurry it up.”
I trail after her, my eyes widening. “Are you serious right now?” I ask as I walk into the kitchen. “Did they have to pick someone who was such a bitch to deal with me? Because I am not inclined to work with you. Actually, scratch that. I'm not inclined to work with anyone. I wish that you spies would all talk to each other and get your stories straight.”
She checks her silver watch, looking bored. “We have your sister, Sylvie.”
I look up at her, my expression puzzled. “What do you mean you have her?”
Ms. Olson pulls a phone from her pocket, showing me this screen. A video starts playing of a younger version of myself, standing in front of the Royal Palace. The cameraman says something inaudible to Stella. Stella smiles right into the camera and says, “Bonjour! My name is Stella and I am here in Copenhagen, on the first leg of my European tour…”
Mrs. Olson turns the phone off, looking at me pointedly. “We have her here. She doesn't know that you even exist. She thinks that she has won a songwriting contest and is now on the tour to represent France.”
My heart beats loudly. I stare at the phone though the screen is powered off, not quite able to put it all together. “And what are you going to do with my sister, exactly?”
“That's up to you. If you do what you are supposed to do, Stella will continue on her European tour and nothing will happen to her. But if you don't, the man that filmed this video will hurt her. You understand that? Stella's life is in danger.”
I stare at her face, trying to weed her expression. But she is solemn and there is nothing more to read there.
I lick my lips. “And what is it that you want from me?”
She smirks a little. We want you to behave yourself. That means that you'll acede to any and every demand that is put to you by the royal family. You will wear the wedding dress that has been picked out for you, dance to the song that has been selected for you, and generally be a perfect princess all through the wedding. And then, the real work starts. You will keep track of Lars’s movements and report everything back to me. Oh, and you will absolutely have Lars is children. That's not in question.”
My heart sides. My first inclination is just to laugh in her face. But my gaze is drawn down to the phone again. I don't know that the video that she does showed me is even really Stella, although they did find a young woman that looked remarkably like the photo I saw on the internet. If she's an actress, she's a good one.
I must take too long think to think about it because Mrs. Olson claps her hands at me, startling me. “You are taking too long to respond. I'm not here to offer you a plethora of decisions. I'm here to tell you exactly what is going to happen from here on out.”
I squint at her. “How do I even know that this the woman that you have on video is really my sister?” I give my head a tiny shake. “I mean, for all you know, that may not be the way to control me. I may be heartless. I may not care.”
Her lips twist into a cool smile. “I think we've already established the fact that you do care for Stella.”
I narrow my gaze at her. “You're threatening me with the harm of someone that I am not even sure is actually my sister. I'm trying to tell you now that I could very easily just tell you to shove off.”
Her eyebrows rise. “Is that so?” She reaches down to the phone, turning it on and dialing a number. She puts the phone on speaker.
A man answers. “Hello?”
“Kill the girl,” Mrs. Olson says. “Make sure you capture her death on film.”
“Are you sure?” the man asks.
<
br /> Ms. Lowe's and looks at me, raising a brow. “I don’t know. Am I sure, Pippa?”
I stare her down for a good five seconds before slowly shaking my head. “No,” I mutter.
She smiles at me and tells the man on the other end of the line not to worry about it.
As she hangs up, I swallow nervously. There's no way of knowing whether she's serious or not about killing the girl. There's no honest way of telling whether or not Stella is in fact my sister. But one thing is very clear to me: it's obvious that I am bringing danger and pain into Lars's world by continuing to pretend to be his fiancée.
So, Ms. Olson says, folding her arms across her chest. “Do we have an understanding then?”
I nod. I would've said just about anything to get her to call off her dogs. And knowing that, I realize what must be done.
I have to break up with Lars. I can't risk being an enemy to him while I was supposed to be engages to him. I would never put him in any peril. And I fear that by remaining his fiancée, I'm putting him in danger.
So I have to break off the engagement. And the sooner it's done, the better.
That realization makes my eyes well up with tears. My heart breaks, thinking about the conversation that I'm going to have to have with Lars.
He is my heart, love of my life, but in the grand scheme of things I would rather know that he is safe then to risk putting him in danger over and over again just him with my presence.
Mrs. Olson looks pleased with herself. “Well then, “she says. “I've already made an appointment for you with the royal tailor. He will fit the royal wedding dress on you. And don't feel the need to respond to any wedding planning invitations, because everything has already been dealt with. There will be no detail left unattended.”
I nod a bit glumly. Mrs. Olson looks satisfied with herself and picks up the phone, putting it in her pocket. Under normal circumstances, I would ask her more questions about where my sister was and what she intended to do with her. But today, I don't.
