by Vivian Wood
If she finds the lack of questions unusual, she doesn't say anything about it. In the back of my mind, I am trying to figure out what the best plan to save Stella would be.
“Sylvie?” I look up, wiping at my eyes.
She starts walking towards his door, smiling her particular little smile. “I think you will see that you made the right choice. I think you will be satisfied. After all, isn't it every little girl's fantasy to marry a real life prince?”
I don't say a word. I just cross my arms across my chest and look at her blankly. She smiles at me, gives me a head to toe glance, and then shrugs. “I'm sure we'll see each other soon,” she tosses over her shoulder as she heads out of the room.
After she's gone, I sit and stare off into space. I don't know how I will find the strength to do this. But I'm going to have to break up with him, no matter how much it tears my heart into pieces. Worse than that, I know that my secret, the one held closest to my heart for so many years, is going to get out one way or the other. I have a choice I suppose.
I can take my story to a newspaper and hope that they don't sensationalize who I am and what my father did. Or I can wait until someone else slips the paper this information.
God, if I could do everything all over again, I would tell Lars the whole and unvarnished truth on the day that we met. It might've changed the course of our friendship… But I wouldn't be staring down the barrel of this terrible decision right now.
It occurs to me that maybe Lars won't care about who I used to be. It's possible. But if I tell him, layout the whole tragic truth, there is always the possibility that he won't understand.
In any event, I will have to break off our engagement. No way will the royal palace let him marry someone who has lied about who she was for so many years. The daughter of an anti-monarchist terrorist?
Ja, I'm definitely not going to be welcome at any kind of family event.
I hear Lars in the hall and I suck in a breath. Do I have to do it right now?
On the other hand, can I stand to wait?
When Lars finally comes around the corner from the hallway, I can see the sadness written all over his face and in his slumped shoulders. My heart wrenches.
“What happened?” I ask him softly.
He looks up at me, shaking his head. “I didn't get into the space program,” he says. “My commander said it is because they need a prince more than they need me as an astronaut. The palace probably shot down the idea.”
He walks over to me, ripping off his tie. His eyes are so full of pain that I don't quite know where to start.
I open my arms to him and he steps into them, hugging me hard. He lays his head on my shoulder.
I close my eyes and suck in a deep lungful of his unique scent, thinking only that I can't possibly break up with him right now. Not when he's just gotten such terrible news.
When he straightens and cups my jaw, I lift my face to his and let my eyes flutter closed. His mouth finds mine, his tongue teasing my own. And I think that just for now, just for today at least, this is enough.
33
Pippa
I shiver and invite him to come closer. His lips find a pulse point at my neck, his big body coming down on top of mine. My breath stops when he grinds his cock against my pubic bone.
Ohh. Yes, I had almost forgotten how delicious every single touch could be. Addictive, almost.
Lars’s lips touch my collarbone, trailing down to my breast. I gasp and arch into his kisses, making him chuckle.
“You missed me,” he says, pulling back. His expression is amused, but his bright blue eyes are hungry.
“Maybe,” I tease.
He kisses me, making me lose my breath as his tongue slides against mine. Then he pulls away again, standing up fully.
“I want you naked and in my bed before I’m out of the shower. I hope you don’t have anything planned because I’m going to fuck you so hard that you won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow.”
My cheeks turn scarlet as my eyes widen. With that, he turns and bounds up the stairs. I can hear him as he goes, taking the stairs two at a time.
It feels more naughty than usual, being left to prepare myself for him. For the specific purpose of readying myself for his needs. I climb the stairs slowly, heading into his bedroom and stripping down to nothing.
I lie on his bed, arranging and rearranging myself, trying to figure out which way to present myself to him.
When Lars steps out of his bathroom, drying himself with a towel, he is the only thing I can concentrate on. My eyes travel down his form, taking in his muscled, toned body. He ambles over to me, his eyes still ravenous, and he drops the towel on the floor.
I look at him, six and a half feet of perfect olive skin and well-toned muscle. He’s all arms and abs, pecs and muscular thighs. And his face, with those angular cheekbones, icy blue eyes, and his dark eyebrows.
Not to mention, he has the nicest cock. I don’t have much to compare it to, but when he fills me up with his cock, I almost implode every single time.
All in all, the perfect package. He comes over to the bed, grabbing me by the ankle and pulling me to the edge of the bed. But that doesn’t shut me up. As he nuzzles my neck, the question bubbles up to my lips.
Lars’s big hand slides around the front of my throat, squeezing. My hands come up to pull his hand away, but he growls so loudly I can feel it where our bodies touch. The sound vibrates over my naked skin, sending out goosebumps.
“Oh, little witch.” He leans close, inhaling the sudden scent of my fear. Knotting his fingers in my hair, he seems almost amused. “I’m going to fucking ruin you tonight.”
Yes. God, yes.
His fingers tighten in my hair, making me moan. He smashes his mouth to mine, as much kissing me as showing his dominance. He pulls on my hair again, making me gasp, and then uses that moment to invade my mouth. He licks and rolls his tongue around the entirety of my mouth, biting my lower lip until I groan.
When he pulls his mouth away, I gasp for breath. He doesn’t let up on his grip on my hair. Instead, he sits down on the bed, forcing my head down to his lap. I can barely open my mouth before he’s shoving his cock in it, pushing my head down onto his long, thick dick.
Lars moans a little. He keeps his thrusts shallow, his cock coming just to the point of making me gag, then pulling back.
“Christ,” he mutters, keeping my head moving steadily. “Pippa, holy fuck. I love watching you. Fuck, I love knowing I’m giving you exactly what you need.”
The whole time, he just bobs my head up and down on his massive cock. He groans and leans back a little, watching my mouth traveling up and down his cock intently. There is so much saliva that it starts to drip down to the base of his dick.
For some reason, that is the thing that flips a switch for me, turning me on. I close my eyes, loving the feel of his slick flesh in my mouth. But before I can really do anything crazy, he stops me.
“Enough,” he grates, pulling me off of his cock. My mouth makes a satisfying pop sound as he pushes me off.
I can’t go far though, because he moves to flip me over onto my knees. He leans down and spreads my legs, pushing my head down. As he strokes my clit from behind, I can feel myself grow wet.
Fuck, with Lars teasing me just like this, I can’t help but give in. He’s dominating me, giving me pleasure while exerting control. And I love it.
I can feel his clever fingers skating over my pussy. I shiver.
He surprises me by pushing his face against my pussy forcefully. He presses his hand on my lower back and puts his mouth to my pussy, his tongue finding my clit without fail.
He circles my swollen clit a few times, then traces his tongue to my aching entrance. He delves inside. I let out a moan, pushing back against his face.
Then he moves again, pushing me down on the bed. I feel him settle against the back of my legs, his big cock nudges my entrance. I moan.
“Yes,” I whisper, closing my eye
s.
He thrusts into my pussy without a second’s hesitation, filling me to the hilt, stretching my pussy out in the best way possible. We both make a sound as he drives his cock all the way home.
Lars grips my hips, slamming himself into me, heedless of me. His touch is brutal, the swing of his hips frenzied. I can just barely hang on, riding the waves of pleasure building inside me.
When I come, it’s sudden and unexpected and bright, a burst of magnificent color and melodious sound. Lars is right behind me, groaning his release.
34
Lars
When I wake in the morning, Pippa is still asleep beside me. She faces away from me, scrunched into a ball. Her amazing curls look like nothing so much as a bright fire. I sweep them off her neck, placing a kiss at the place where her collarbone and her neck meet.
She awakens sleepily, yawning and stretching as she rolls over. Then she sees me and her whole face falls. I frown, reaching my hand up and touching her hip.
“What is that about? Don't make that face at me.”
She bites her lip and swallows. “I have to tell you something.” Her eyes fill with tears. “It's serious.”
Propping myself up on my hands, I look at her with mock seriousness. “Okay. I'm ready.”
She wipes away her own tears, shaking her head a little. “Don't joke right now. Please.”
She pins me with that blue gaze of hers. A little wrinkle of worry appears in her forhead, right between her brows.
I push my cheek out with my tongue, exhaling along breath. “You can tell me anything, Pippa.” I catch her hands, squeezing her fingers together. “Don't you know that by now?"
A shudder runs through her. She squeezes my fingers, releasing them. She looks so damn guilty that I don't even know what to say about that.
“A story is going to come out about me in the press. A really bad story.”
I squint at her. “A story about what? Not that it matters. You know I don't care about what's in the press.”
She looks at me, her gaze scanning my face. “I'm afraid to tell you what I have to tell you because I don't want you to stop looking at me the way that you do. I don't want you to stop loving me.”
I frown, reaching out for her. I pull her close, shaking my head. “Just tell me. It can't be that bad, whatever it is.”
A fresh round of tears fills her eyes and she wipes at her face, not stopping them in the least. “You may not care… At least I hope you don't. But I think it will keep me from ever being able to marry you.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Tell me. What could possibly be that bad?”
She looks down for a beat, her eyelids fluttering closed. Then she looks back at me, her eyes filled with pain. “I'm not Pippa Welch. Pippa Welch is a complete fabrication.”
I blink a few times. “What?”
She licks her lips, her hand finding mine. She clenches my fingers. “I'm not Pippa Welch. I was born under a different name. I've been lying for most of my life.”
I know that she is looking at me and saying these words, but I shake my head in disbelief. “No, that's not right. I mean, you were Pippa Welch when I met you. We have known each other for ages.”
She grips my fingers so hard that it's almost painful. “I'm telling you the truth, Lars. I was brought to St. Matthews after being smuggled out of France. My father was Ansel Martin, the terrorist who bombed French Parliament. He killed people.”
I squint, trying to make sense of her story. “So what? So your father was a terrorist? I don't understand why that qualifies you to change your name and move to another country…”
She swallows heavily. “I was just a little girl. I was only twelve when it happened. A family friend took my sister and I in for a while. She thought that eventually we would stop being harassed by everyone that we met… But after a year, she made the decision to split us up and change our identities.” She shakes her head. “I agreed to it. I agreed to be separated from my sister and to go live a new life under a new name. None of this would ever have come out except…” She bites her lip, her eyes steady on mine. “Except for you are a prince.”
She falls silent then, tears overwhelming her once more. I sit up, shaking my hand a little. She lets go of it and I make a fist to regain blood flow. “So you're… you're not Pippa Welch.” I look at her, frowning. “Are you even from England?”
Her cheeks burn red. “My mother was. She died a few years before my father… killed all those people.” She dropped my gaze, looking down at the sheets.
“What's your real name?” I ask.
“Sylvie. Sylvie Martin,” she whispers.
I crack my knuckles, shaking my head a little. “I guess I am in shock of some kind. Why didn't you just tell me? Literally you could’ve told me anytime in the past thirteen years. You could've told me before we got engaged, for christ's sake. I think it would be nice to know that you are not really who you say you are.”
She sits up, pulling up the sheet with her, and touches my arm imploringly. “That name… that girl is dead. She died on the way to St. Matthews. I am Pippa. I've only ever been Pippa since I met you.”
I blow out a long breath. “Why are you telling me this now?”
She looks down again. “Because your grandmother found out somehow. And she's been blackmailing me for months.” Pippa glances up at me, tucking her hair behind her ear. “It's a long story, but essentially she has known since before we were engaged. And she's been… trying to get information on you, I guess.”
I stare at her, feeling like for the second time in as many minutes she's speaking a language other than my own. “What? We…” I shake my head angrily. “My grandmother has been blackmailing you?”
Pippa's face grows anguished. “Yes,” she answers simply. “I didn't know at first that she was behind the person blackmailing me. But it turns out that she expected me to play along with her and her schemes. Your grandmother had a woman name Mrs. Olson come visit me. She wanted to know everything that you said to me.” She bites her lip. “She had pictures of my little sister. She had photographs of you and I in a compromising position. And she threatened me that if I didn’t obey her rules, she would hurt you or my sister.”
I squint at her. “Momse threatened you? Seriously?”
Her cheeks turn bright red. She nods. “Mrs. Olson threatened me first but when I didn't comply with her, your grandmother quite openly said that she would deal with me and I wouldn't like it.”
“And what does the press have to do with this little story of yours exactly?” I ask.
Pippa dashes away her tears. “The story is out there now. If Mrs. Olson knows, chances are that other people know. And while you may not care about who I am, the royal press office is going to have a lot to say about me and how I can't be trusted. The story will get out one way or another. It would be better if I were the one to tell it to a friendly journalist.”
I stand up, feeling like the world is shifting beneath my feet. “Maybe you can't be trusted. I mean, for all I know, you're not Pippa or Sylvie or… whoever.”
She looks down on her the hands in her lap. “I'm sorry, Lars. Really I am. The only reason I didn't tell you before because it just seems… easier to forget who I used to be, I guess.”
Reminding myself to breathe, I walk to the huge glass window, looking out at the dark and city skyline. I have a million questions, I feel like. I try to go through them methodically, to sort out what I absolutely need to know right now. One thing that sticks out in my mind though.
I turn to her, a frown on my face. “You said my grandmother asked you about what I said and did?”
She swallows. “Well, mostly Mrs. Olson asked me. But yes, she asked me for reports on you. I refused, but she wouldn't let me go that easily. I told her as little as I felt I could.”
“Did you tell my grandmother about me trying to be an astronaut?”
Look of surprise on her face is complete. “Well, ja. I did. I thought that was kind of an open
secret.”
“And did you tell her about any of my other job details? Any of my confidential conversations that I had with Royal Air Force personnel?”
Her cheeks flush. “I… I don't know. I don't I don't think so but… I could have. Is that important?”
My lips twist. “I don't know Pippa. I don't know about that. I just… I shake my head. I need to think. I need to… run or something.”
Heading to my closet, I grab a t-shirt, a pair of running pants, and a light windbreaker. I change quickly, my mind racing. When I leave my closet and return to my room, Pippa is sitting on my bed, tears in her eyes. She looks so sorrowful that I desperately want to wrap my arms around her.
But I don't. I can’t yet. I'm going on a run.
I just walk right by her, stalking out of the apartment, needing to clear my mind and digest all the information that I have just received. I head onto the darkened Copenhagen streets and push myself, running as fast and as far as I can handle for almost two hours. By the time I am jogging back into my apartment lobby, the sun has risen.
I’m fucking exhausted. I'm still not sure what I'm going to say to Pippa, but I am a lot more centered than I was two hours ago.
But when I get into my apartment, it's still and silent.
“Pippa,” I call. No response. “Pippa?”
But she is nowhere to be found. I grab my phone and try to call her but there is no answer there either.
Pippa Welch or Sylvie Martin or whoever she is… She's definitely not in this apartment anymore.
Fuck.
35
Pippa
I'm standing outside in the freezing cold, looking out over the frosty majesty of landscape. I don't know what exactly drew me to this skiing cabinet again. When I left Lars's house, tears streaming from my face, I had no place to go. I suppose that I came here because I only have good memories associated with this cabin.
But those good memories have driven me out onto the balcony, away from the memories of everything that happened in that bedroom, on the couch, on the dining room table…