the other cars. “Bond is known for wearing a tuxedo, if I’m not mistaken.”
Her lips tip upward. “Tell me about this James Bond. I’m afraid I’m not familiar with him, seeing as how he is only my country’s most famous fictional spy and all.”
There it is. The banter that I’ve so greatly missed for the past week seems to have returned. I roll my eyes, taking a deep breath. “Who do you imagine I have to charm and dazzle to get the keys to one of these cars?”
Pippa pulls the ends of her pink cardigan closer, shivering. “Maybe that gentleman?”
She points behind me. I turn and spot a blond man in a dark winter coat approaching. He doesn’t seem to recognize me until he’s only a few feet away. Then he slows his pace, his gaze sliding between me and Pippa.
We’ve been splashed across the front page of every tabloid for a few days. His expression grows tense as he approaches.
“Your royal highness,” he greets me. “Do you have a question about one of the cars, sir?”
Taking a step toward Pippa, I grab her around the waist. “My fiancée here was wondering if we might test drive one.”
Pippa shoots me a flat look, elbowing me in the ribcage. I grin at her.
“Oh, I’m not sure… I mean…” The man grows red-faced. “Let me ask.”
I nudge Pippa. “See?”
She shakes her head at me. “You are so spoiled. You know that, right?”
I wink at her, enjoying holding her close for a moment. “If you don’t complain about it, I will let you drive a bit.”
She wrinkles her nose. “I can’t drive.”
Nodding to the returning employee, I disagree. “He’s got the keys right there.”
“No, I mean—“
I cut her off, raising a hand to the dark-jacketed man. “Toss them!”
He looks vaguely nervous but he does toss a set of keys high in the air. “Here you go, your royal highness. I didn’t realize that this car collection belonged to your father, sir.”
Pippa glances at me, her eyebrows rising. “Wait, really?”
I shrug. “It’s okay. Tell me, which car do these belong to?”
He gives a tiny bow. “The lime green Porsche, sir.”
My eyes land on it, a few rows away. There is certainly no mistaking it for anything else. I grin. “Oh, that’ll do nicely.”
Jerking my head toward the car, I wiggle my brows at Pippa. She scrunches up her face as she follows me over to it. I go to the passenger side door, getting in.
“Lars!” I hear Pippa complain. “Seriously, I can’t drive. I don’t know how.”
“And I heard you the first time. Get in. There is no time to learn like the present.”
I pat the leather seat beside me. She huffs but reluctantly climbs in the car, sitting in the injection-molded seat. She glances around, the keys still clutched in one hand.
“Are you sure that this is okay?”
I point to the ignition. “Yes. Put the key in.”
Scrunching up her face, she does. She turns the key, as if expecting the car to start up.
“It’s a manual transmission, little witch,” I tell her. “Look at the gas pedal.”
She bites her lip, looking down. “I see three pedals.”
I lean over, touching her leg. It’s very little contact, but still enough to make my pulse race. “Look, the one closest to me is the clutch. The gas is in the middle. The brake is on the far side.”
She arches a brow. “Why don’t they make it simpler?”
I smirk a little at her. “Why ruin the fun?”
“Okay.” She wrinkles her nose. “What now?”
“Push down on the clutch and hold it down. The one near me. Ja. Now the key should turn.”
She does it a bit clunky, pressing down the clutch and the brake all the way to the floor. When the engine turns on, she looks at me. “Did I do it right?”
“Ja, ja. I mean. You got the thing running, at least. Ease up on the clutch. It only takes a light touch…”
She lets up completely and the car dies. She looks at me, panicked. “Oh god!”
I wave my hand. “No big deal. Do it again. Only don’t stomp all the way to the floor. And don’t let up on the clutch completely.”
Her brow furrows as she does it with a tiny bit more grace this time. Then she looks over at me, awaiting instruction.
“The next part is tricky,” I say, moving a bit closer. “You have to press the brake a little, keep pressure on the clutch, and shift into first.”