her hand against her lips and dry heaving.
Aww, shit. I hustle her toward a bathroom, grabbing an empty ice bucket as we go. She immediately throws up in the bucket.
I switch from party mode into medic mode, getting her into the bathroom and helping her kneel down before the toilet.
Then I try not to get too grossed out for the next twenty minutes as she wretches, throwing up over and over again. All I can do is hold her hair and feel bad.
After all, I’m pretty sure that she wouldn’t have gotten so drunk if I hadn’t come on so strong earlier.
I end my night by calling for a royal limousine and bundling her inside. Erik, Stellan, and their respective women are nowhere to be seen.
“Just take us to my apartment, please,” I tell the driver.
I sit back, letting Pippa lie in my lap, and feel very tired all the sudden.
10
Pippa
I wake up in the early hours of the morning, before the sun has even thought about rising. Opening my eyes a crack, I realize a couple of things pretty quickly. First, I am so completely and utterly hungover, it’s ridiculous. I think I remember being sick… but when I think too much about it my head really starts throbbing.
And second, I am in Lars’s bed. I have no memory of coming here. In fact, the last thing I remember was…
Ah. Getting absolutely plastered at New Year’s Eve. That tracks.
I’m not wearing the slinky silver dress from earlier. Somehow that has been replaced by one of Lars’s plain white tees. I can’t help but sniff it and rub it against my chin. It’s old and soft, washed so often that it feels almost fragile. I stick my hand down the covers, hoping against hope that I’m still wearing my little black thong.
Somehow I am. Thank god for that.
God, I’m so thirsty and I really, really have to pee.
I throw my heavy blankets off and stand up. My mind is still foggy as I stumble to the ensuite bathroom. Lights seem too bright for the moment. So I just close the door and use the light from the window as I sleepily try to put things to right.
I pee, use a little toothpaste to do a quick rinse or my mouth, and halfheartedly try to tame my curls. There is no point in the last; with my mane of red curls I look like a lioness, and not in a good way.
This is one of many reasons I don’t spend any nights over here at Lars’s place. No frigging hair products and nothing to even comb my hair with other than my fingers.
I feel vaguely silly when I drink straight from Lars’s elegant tap but the water tastes pure and so, so good.
At last I yawn, leaving the bathroom. My brow furrows as I take in the spectacular view of downtown Copenhagen. Lars showed me this view once when he first moved into this place. How many bedrooms have such a spectacular view?
Wait a second…
My eyes widen. I glance over at the bed, where Lars himself is stretched out on the bed. It looks like I stole most of his heavy comforter for myself some time during the night… leaving him with the barest edge to cover himself with. My jaw drops.
He’s perfect. At first all I can stare at are his abs, which seem like they are carved from frigging stone. Then I notice his long arms and legs are splayed out, covered in a fine layer of soft, sparse fuzz. His dark head is resting on a fluffy white pillow. And as I tilt my head to one side, considering how he’s only covered his thighs, one of his eyes cracks open.
“Pips?” he asks. He pats the expanse of bed beside him. “Come on, come back to sleep.”
My cheeks heat. I tug down the hem of his old tee shirt, conscious of my bareness. “I… uh… I didn’t think I was in your bedroom.”
He eyes close briefly. “I didn’t exactly put you in here. You found your own way.”
Lars pulls at the comforter, covering himself more. I’m at once terribly glad that he did and also sort of sad. It’s not very often that I get to admire… well, so much of Lars. Visions of him will populate my fantasies for years, I’m sure.
“Pippa!” he snaps.
My eyes widen. “What?”
“Will you please stop being so fucking weird? Get back in the bed. We’re adults. We can share a bed for