Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Rhett
Pippa is almost bouncing on the balls of her feet, craning her neck and scanning beyond the ornate gates into the wide expanse in front of the palace. Her enthusiasm is contagious.
“You look like a kid at a theme park,” I tease.
“I am a kid at a theme park,” she shoots back, grinning her infectious grin. “Except the rides are the guards, horses, and the people taking selfies with the King’s Guard.”
I shake my head indulgently. “Fair enough. What’s the plan? Are we going to do a guided tour, or are we just wandering around like complete tourists?”
She tosses her hair over her shoulder and gestures broadly at the palace. “Wander around first. Absorb the magnificence. Then I’ll educate you.”
“You’re going to educate me?” I echo, arching an eyebrow.
“Yes. Buckingham Palace 101. You clearly need it.” She smirks.
I feel like I’ve signed up for a masterclass in history and charm all in one package.
Pippa takes my arm as we walk along the outer perimeter. The gold detailing on the gates gleams in the bright afternoon sun. Tourists line the perimeter of the palace. Cameras flash, and excited kids tug at their parents’ hands, their eyes wide with awe.
“Imagine living here,” she says dreamily. “All that history. All that marble. Those gates alone must cost ten times the price of my apartment.”
I glance down at her, catching the sparkle in her eyes. “I think the better question is: could you handle it? The guards, the tourists, the endless tours?”
“Obviously,” she says without hesitation, puffing her chest out. “I’d probably make a very charming queen. Queen Pippa. Everyone would love me. All the tea, all the scones, all the royal pomp and circumstance, and I’d do it all while looking effortlessly regal.”
I laugh. “Regal?”
She shoots me a sidelong glance, mock offended. “You’re not a very charming man, are you?”
“No,” I agree. “But you’re not exactly regal either.”
We are nearing the statue of Victoria Memorial. Pippa leans on the rail and strikes a pose.
“Not even with this giant gold monument as my background?” she asks cheekily.
“Sorry, but nope,” I say.
She looks over her shoulder, giving me a dramatic pout. “Don’t mind me. I’m just blending in with history. It’s a public service.”
I laugh. “Public service was when you dressed up as Jessica Rabbit.”
She takes a deep breath. “We’re never going to get past that, are we?”
“Never,” I agree pleasantly.
We stroll toward the palace gates again, and I notice how fluid Pippa’s movements are.
The sway of her hips, the easy grace of her body, the way her laughter draws attention without her even trying.
It’s ridiculous how magnetic she is. It’s almost impossible to believe that I am her fake boyfriend.
That I have actually offered myself up to make that loser jealous … so she can be with him.
She chews on her lower lip. “Wouldn’t it be grand if we ran into the King?”
“What would you say to him?”
“Oh, hi, Your Majesty. Fancy a scone? Jam first, of course.’”
I almost choke on a sip of my bottled water. “I’d pay to see that encounter.”
“And you must record it for posterity too,” she instructs while nodding sagely. “The world deserves to see me casually offering scones to royalty.”
We reach the front gates, and I notice the King’s mounted guards, expressionless and rigid. Pippa nudges me.
“Go on. Stand like a proper tourist next to them. And bonus points if the horse doesn’t bite you.”
“They won’t bite. These are highly-trained animals,” I say as I step into position next to the sentry, and cross my arms like a soldier.
She lifts her camera and takes several photos. “You look more like a bouncer than a tourist.”
I glance at her, and she’s laughing with delight, her cheeks pink with excitement. The way she moves, completely unselfconscious, is intoxicating.
“Done?” I ask.
“I think so.”
I go back to join her. “Your turn,” I say, taking her cellphone.
She shakes her head. “No, I’m ok.”
“What are you scared of? The man or the horse?” I tease.
“I’m not scared of either,” she denies hotly.
“So, do it then,” I prompt.
She rolls her eyes, but she goes and stands beside the guard on his horse and poses for the photo.
The horse turns his head towards her and licks her face, a long lick of his big tongue.
Pippa shrieks with surprise, then giggles in delight.
I snap a couple of great photographs of her mid-laugh, and the horse’s pink tongue pressed against her cheek.
She looks stunning, so happy and carefree that I wish I’d taken the photo on my own phone instead of hers.
She bounces back towards me, still laughing.
“Let me see. Let me see,” she urges excitedly.
She looks at the photos and squeals. “These are amazing. I can’t believe that horse licked me.”
“Come on, let’s go before you charm anyone else into licking you,” I say, and we both laugh as we head away.
We move along the side of the palace, and Pippa points out little details she’s read about the windows, the statues, and the intricate railings.
She’s animated and talkative, and like a moth to a flame, I fly closer and closer to her.
Every so often, she pauses dramatically, turning to me with a mischievous glint in her eye.
“You make a great tour guide,” I say softly.
“I know,” she replies with mock arrogance. “I have a gift for making history entertaining. And I don’t even charge for my services.”
I laugh. “You’re full of gifts, aren’t you?”
She shrugs, a little self-conscious but still playful. “Only the best ones, obviously.”
“You know,” she says. “Shame, I’m so terribly in love with George, because if we were really a couple, this would be so marvelously romantic. Scares and scones in the morning, followed by an afternoon of royal history and lovely sunshine. It’s perfect first date material.”
“George doesn’t deserve you.”
She grins slyly. “Of course, he doesn’t, but he’s got my love anyway.”
We take a short break from our wandering to watch the Changing of the Guard. Pippa leans against the rail, clearly fascinated by the precision and the ceremony. I feel an odd warmth seeing her so engaged.
Afterwards, we wander into the surrounding gardens, where smaller, manicured lawns and flower beds line the paths.
The sun is low in the sky, the golden light reflecting off the palace walls.
Pippa twirls once, letting her top catch the breeze, and I can’t help the lust that electrifies my whole body.
“Ok,” she says, stopping near a flowerbed, her hands on her hips. “Time for some more get-to-know-you questions. Book or movie?”
I grin. “Book. Always a book.”
“Of course,” she says, rolling her eyes playfully. “That one was too easy. Winter or summer?”
“Summer.”
“Same, but they need to move Christmas up because it’s my favorite holiday. Dogs or cats?”
“Gun to my head, dogs, but I like both.”
She laughs, the sound so bright I nearly forget I’m not allowed to pull her into my arms and kiss her. I glance at her and see her catching me looking at her. The lust must have shown because she raises an eyebrow.
“What?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I say quickly, though my lips twitch. “I’m just … enjoying the view.”
She obviously catches the double meaning, but she doesn’t call me out. Instead, she grabs my arm, tugging me along as we continue exploring the grounds.
By the time we leave Buckingham Palace, I realize two things.
One, Pippa is fun, smart, and impossibly charming.
Two, this fake date is starting to be more real than any of the real dates I’ve had in the past. The laughter, the playful banter, the little touches and glances, they feel totally authentic.
And I’m being pulled deeper and deeper into a swirling storm of desire for her.
As we step back toward the street, she flags down a cab. “Are you ready for our next stop?” she asks, smiling.
I smile back. “Lead the way, Your Majesty.”
She laughs, and I can’t help thinking that whatever the next stop is, it’s going to be just as unforgettable as the last one. Not because of the beauty or the history, but because of her. Because she’ll be there with me.