Royal Fake Fiancé (Dirty Royals Book 4) Read online

  It’s nice. It’s just been done so many times before.

  “Ummm, what is King Stellan like? Ohh, and Queen Margot! You must love spending time with them.”

  My gaze wanders to Anya again. I put zero thought into how I’m going to answer that question.

  “Stellan is the same asshole he’s always been. And Margot is as sweet as sugar for putting up with him.”

  She laughs, leaning in and putting her hand on my forearm. “That’s amazing. Tell me, how is it that you are still single? I mean, you’re very handsome and very eligible…”

  My gaze slides over to the brunette, who has pulled out her phone and isn’t paying attention anymore. I take another sip of my water. “I don’t know. I’m only twenty five. That leaves me plenty of time to settle down, I think. Besides, I’m incredibly choosy about the girls I sleep with.”

  That’s just a bald-faced lie, but it slips past my lips unchecked and unheeded. Anya laughs again, gripping my arm.

  God, I’m so tired of how meaningless this conversation is. So deeply, deeply exhausted.

  I open my mouth to excuse myself, looking out across the bar. And that’s the moment when I see Pippa.

  She’s wearing a billowy beige lace dress with a dramatic slash of cleavage in the front, an enormous black faux-fur coat, and black high heels. Her beautiful copper hair is wound in braids around her head; her blue-green eyes stand out even from this distance; her delicate pink mouth is twisted in an almost-grimace as she heads straight toward me.

  For a moment, my stomach flip flops. The two girls I was talking to are all but forgotten as I rise, sure that my height will call Pippa’s attention more than my black leather jacket, black cotton t-shirt, or dark jeans ever could.

  I would wave, but I’m certain that I would look like a complete fool. So I just stand for a second, a head above the next tallest person here.

  It does the trick. She looks my way. Our eyes clash.

  She gives me the most sheepish smile, biting her lower lip as she rushes over to me. Warmth splashes through my insides like warm water, filling me to the brim.

  Thank god.

  “Sorry! I’m so, so late!” Pippa exclaims, elbowing two guys out of her way. Her accent is British, her o’s short and her a’s choppy.

  She stops short, hugging herself nervously as her eyes dance over me. There has always been an unspoken rule between us, ever since we were kids.

  No hugging.

  No touching.

  Trust me, it’s been a savior for me, time and time again.

  I shrug, pointing to a booth. “Want to go sit down?”

  I can see hesitance on her heart shaped face. “What about your, uh… friends?”

  I turn my head, only at this moment remembering that the other girls are still at the bar. The blonde is currently looking at Pippa with judgmental, jealous eyes.

  “Oh. You girls don’t mind if I go talk to my friend, do you?” I paste on my fakest, most charming smirk. “I’ll be back in a bit, if you’re still here.”

  It’s not really a question. I’m not interested in their input, really.

  I lean in, brushing against the blonde and wink as I scoop up my glass of water. Then I make eye contact with the bartender, holding up two fingers and pointing to the booth where I’ll be at. He nods and I walk away, swaggering over to the dark little booth where Pippa is making herself at home.

  I slide into the other side of the cracked black leather booth, peeling off my jacket. Pippa pushes her coat off, spreading her palms flat against the dark wood of the table. She sighs, craning her neck.

  I let my eyes wander down her pale, graceful neck and slip down to her pronounced collarbones. I don’t look at her slash of exposed cleavage; that’s another unspoken rule.

  Don’t touch her. Don’t even look at her.

  And if you do look, don’t get caught staring.

  “It has been the longest day ever,” she declares, running her hand over her face. “When did other people become so bothersome?”

  My laugh leaves my chest in a rumble. I tilt my head at her. “I’ve always thought they were pretty awful.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “Some of them are.”

  The bartender brings us two fresh drinks. We come here quite a bit, enough for him to know what we drink. A fizzy cocktail for Pippa, a whiskey soda for me.

  “Thanks,” I say, lifting the glass at him.

  Pippa’s lips curve and she raises her glass, clinking it against mine. “Here’s to people being the worst.”

  I smile as I take a sip, the honeyed sweetness of the whiskey balanced by the bubbles and sharp tang of alcohol. Rolling it around in my mouth for a moment, I sit back.

  She makes a satisfied sound. “That’s a nice cocktail. Speaking of which, I thought you were laying off the liquor for the next few months.”

  “Thanks, mor. I am bending my own rules a little, ja. But I will be the one who pays the price when my alarm goes off at five. Besides, I wouldn’t even still be here if you weren’t so late.”

  Her cheeks color a little. “I said I was sorry. And anyway, you seemed to have found your own company, as usual.”

  She arches a brow and gestures to where I left the girls sitting at the bar. The corners of my mouth curl upward. “You left me to fend for myself. What can I say?”

  She sighs, shaking her head. “You are a womanizer, through and through.”

  I shrug, sipping my drink. “I think we can both agree that I’m not the best choice for anyone. Fathers, lock up your daughters!”

  I chuckle to myself. Pippa rolls her eyes.

  “Yes, yes. You’re a big, brooding bad boy. I get it, okay? Trust me, everybody gets that it’s your thing.”

  I laugh at her dismissiveness. “Ja, ja. I just tell it like it is.”

  Her lips quirk. “I think you’re just afraid to let yourself get comfortable. Every night, a new bed. Every day, you’re doing some harebrained, dare-devil stunt for the sake of… I don’t know… adrenaline, I guess?”

  She shudders.

  “Hey, don’t act like I haven’t grown up in the… what, eleven years you’ve known me?” I smirk at her.

  “Twelve years,” she says, toying with the rim of her glass. “Okay, example one. You’re still a pilot in the Royal Air Force. Example two, I know about you applying for the European Space People, or whatever. The royal family may think that you’ve matured, but I am not fooled so easily.” Her eyes sparkle as she sips her cocktail.

  I lean in, liking the feistiness of her words. “I’ll have you know that I only race expensive yachts and go base jumping on weeks when I’m not scheduled to fly in the RAF.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You are so irresponsible. Perpetually, I fear.”

  “You wound me.” I smirk again, belying my own words.

  Her slow smile tells me everything I need to know. She shakes her head. “Hey, speaking of which. Did you get the invitation for St. Matthew’s winter celebration?”

  I snort. “No. Maybe our alma mater realizes I live here in Denmark and have no interest in flying back to the Swiss Alps in this weather.”

  “I am wholly certain that they sent it to you and you just didn’t read it. It’s okay though, because I’m pretty sure that they’re just asking alumnus to come back as a fancy way to open our checkbooks.”

  I nod slowly. “It is always about the money with them. In any case, I’m sure that the royal family just writes them a big fat check every year. The next time that they donate, I should just have them add your name to the roster.”

  Pippa glances down into her drink, frowning for a split second. I realize I’ve accidentally tripped over my own tongue. Pippa and I both went to an elite boarding school, but we went under very different circumstances.

  Pippa is an orphan who attended the school thanks to a mysterious benefactor.

  And me?

  I attended because I was such a bad kid at thirteen that I had been kicked out of every notable prep
school in Denmark.

  I clear my throat, changing the subject to cover my gaffe. “You’re coming to the palace tomorrow, ja?”

  She smiles softly at me. “If you want me to be there, I will.”

  “I always want you,” I say. The words just tumble out of my mouth, unchecked.

  When Pippa’s cheeks go pink, my neck heats. I look down at my drink, shaking my head. “You know what I meant. Just come, please. Save me from my own family like you do every year.”

  She smiles. For a moment, I can’t tell if her expression is genuine or not. “I will come. Thanks, Froggy.”

  Her use of my childhood nickname draws a laugh from my lips. “Anything for you, little witch.”

  She looks up, catching my gaze for just a second. She bites one of her soft, full lips.

  Those kissable, perfectly plump lips. So close and yet…

  So very, very off limits.

  I swallow. Just now, I know a moment of pure want.

  God, I could just reach across the table right now, drag Pippa over here, and plunder those sexy fucking lips.

  Then she breaks the spell by tipping up her glass, finishing the last drops, and grabbing her voluminous coat. “All right. I should get home. And you should too, though somehow I don’t think you will find yourself there anytime soon…”

  She tips her head toward the bar. I look over and see the blonde from earlier still waiting there. I squint, looking back to Pippa with a shrug.

  “Let me drive you home,” I say, yawning. “I’m tired anyway.”

  Pippa stands up, shaking her head. “No. You stay. Have a good time!” She gives me a quick grin, touching my shoulder as she passes me. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lars.”

  I move my hand up my chest to touch hers as it lands against my skin. I’m too slow, though. She’s gone before I can do anything else, leaving my heart aching just a bit.

  Isn’t that always the way of things? Pippa slipping away, while I’m still trying to tamp down my more dangerous emotions around her.

  Quaffing the rest of my drink, I stand up, turning to watch Pippa’s elegant form disappearing through the crowd. Taking my wallet out of my pants pocket, I toss a wad of cash on the table. Then I make eye contact with the simpering blonde from earlier.

  I only have to cock a brow and jerk my head toward the exit. She positively beams at me, nodding her head enthusiastically. I grab my leather jacket, putting it on.

  There is something wrong though.

  I know it even as I head for the door.

  The blonde’s smile doesn’t light me up inside the way Pippa’s does.

  No one else even comes close.

  As I push the heavy door open and try to put that thought out of my mind as I escort the blonde out to my waiting chauffeured car.

  3

  Pippa

  God, how beautiful the world is right now. I blink up into the winter sky, thankful that it’s actually clear and sunny. It’s still cold as all get out though. Huge snow drifts are everywhere I look. As I hurry down the cobbled streets of Copenhagen, a hushed sort of wonderland is all around me.

  Most of the cars are still snowed in from last night. Lights twinkle nearly everywhere I look. This is the fanciest part of town, full of lavish window displays and signs proclaiming Jul cheer. Every window I pass has cute gingerbread men or simple red and white paper hearts pressed against the glass. All the shops and businesses are closed for Julaften, the Danish version of Christmas Eve.

  When I turn the corner, I see Amalienborg palace rising just at the end of the street. The snow has been all but vanquished here, shoveled away by unseen hands. There are four massive beige brick buildings all huddled in a circle, all saluting a rather large statue of a man on a horse. With their white-trimmed windows, dark roofs covered by snow drifts, and guards dressed in scarlet, the palaces definitely proudly exude money.

  I check my slender silver wristwatch as I scurry up to the palace, stopping at the newly-installed guard station. It’s made entirely of plastic sheeting and PVC piping, looking like a strong enough gust of wind might blow it away entirely.

  I try not to voice my frustrations out loud; the palace has been implementing more stringent rules lately because of elevated threat levels, whatever that means.

  Two scarlet-clad guards are standing between me and the palace door. I can’t help but start to feel nervous as I clear my throat, reaching into my bag and fishing out my identification.

  The new checkpoint has nothing to do with you, I remind myself calmly.

  “Haj,” I greet the guards. “Glædelig jul!” I say brightly. Roughly translated, it means Merry Christmas.

  The guard is all business. He holds out his hand, expectant. I can’t help but notice my hand is trembling ever so slightly as I offer them my driver’s license. “Here you go.”

  “Taak. One moment.” One of the guards bows his head, takes my ID, and then disappears into the little tent.

  Breathe, I reprimand myself. You are not of any interest to these guards. No one is going around, digging up fifteen year old secrets. They are just doing their job.

  The guard is taking his time with my ID, though. I can feel a few droplets of sweat start to break out on the back of my neck. I clench and unclench my fists, trying not to seem agitated.

  The guard that is waiting outside with me shoots me a polite smile. “It will just be another minute, I’m sure.”

  I shiver, wrapping my coat more snugly around myself. The guard in the booth emerges at last, my identification card pinches between two fingers. His gaze narrows on my face.

  My stomach drops as he stalks over to me.

  “I’m sorry, frøken, but the system doesn’t recognize your ID. It says your records don’t exist. I can’t let you into the palace without the proper clearance.”

  My eyes go wide. I stammer out, “What?”

  They can’t know. It’s impossible. My identification card is real. Pippa Welch might not have existed when I took the name at thirteen, but definitely exists now.

  “Pippa!”

  I glance up to find Lars bursting out of the heavy double doors on the other side of the guard booth. With his dark hair, his intense blue eyes, and his ruddy complexion, he looks like he just walked off a damn runway. His black cable knit sweater and casual black jeans fit him like a glove.

  And he’s about to find out that his best friend in the entire world is a liar.

  Oh god, this is the last thing I want.

  He can’t find out like this.

  I open my mouth, trying to explain away the guards. But Lars just storms up to the guards, taking them to task.

  “What is the problem here?” he snarls at the guard closest to him. He snatches my ID card out of the man’s hand, his eyes flickering with anger.

  Lars has a fiery temper, to put it lightly. Usually I would step in and defend the poor guard, but in this case… I just lick my lips nervously and say nothing.

  “Your highness, I am just following protocol…” the guard says, turning pink.

  “It’s Julaften,” Lars says, tilting his head. “In the spirit of the holiday, I’m going to restrain myself.” He steps closer to the guard, making him step back. “Pippa Welch is here as my guest. She is always welcome. If you’ve got a list of names somewhere, you’d better write hers down. I don’t want to have this conversation again.”

  The guard swallows, nodding. “Yes, your highness.”

  Lars shakes his head, turning to me. He beckons to me, his voice still curt. “Come on, Pippa.”

  I walk toward the heavy wood double doors, my heart pounding, my palms still a bit damp. Lifting my chin, I stride through the doors as they are opened for me. I don’t even give the guard stand a second glance.

  As we walk inside, I feel Lars put his hand on the small of my back. My stride breaks for a moment.

  Cool down, I tell myself. Be a lady, for god’s sake.

  I exhale and shed my coat, handing it off to a servant.
Lars eyes me as we start climbing the white marble stairs that lead up into the palace proper. I feel his gaze on my slinky gold dress, judging me like I’m a prize heifer.

  “Stop staring,” I correct him, not even looking over to see if it’s true or not. “I’m wearing a perfectly presentable dress, if that’s what you are worried about.”

  I hear the smile in his voice. “I wasn’t thinking about that.”

  “Then why are you looking at me?”

  I turn, shooting him a glare. He shrugs, his little smirk maddening. “You look nice, that’s all.”

  Wrinkling up my face at him, I huff. “Well, quit it. I’m not some blonde at the bar. You can’t chat me up and take me back to someplace dark for a bit of fun. We’re best friends, not fuck buddies.”

  Lars chuckles. “Fair enough, little witch.”

  I shoot him an irritated look and pick up the hem of my dress, holding it up as we keep climbing.

  We make it up the steep stairs and I stop, my eyes widening. The palace is always something to behold. Gray marble floors, gray marble columns flanking both sides of the hallway, an incredible arched and carved white marble ceiling.

  I’ve never seen it decorated quite so thoroughly, though.

  Towering trees stand between each column. Each one is festively decorated with delicate red paper hearts, crisp white paper snowflakes, and shimmering gold tinsel. There is a cheerful red runner on the floor and garlands of tiny red and white flags strung overhead. At the far end of the hall, I can just make out the shapes of gingerbread men and toy soldiers plastered against the floor to ceiling window.

  “Whoa,” I say.

  Lars rolls his eyes at the decorations, pulling at my hand. “Margot went a little nuts with the decorating. Come on, the sooner we get into the sitting room, the sooner we can leave.”

  A laugh bubbles to my lips as I let him lead me toward the party. “Where have you got to be? Everyone you know is here.”

  He gives his head a shake, not interested in explaining. There is only one door open in the grand hallway. Light spills out and as I get closer, I can hear laughter.