Page 21 of An American in London

He doesn’t look like he’s moved; he’s still standing, looking out the window.

Except he’s changed into a blue suit and white shirt with a .

.. I do a double take when I see his tie.

It’s exactly the same pink-and-blue polka-dot tie I bought Jed for Christmas, which he returned.

He said it wasn’t him . But it looks great on Ben.

I glance up at his face, and he’s staring back at me.

“You look—”

“No need for compliments when there’s no one to overhear,” I interrupt, crossing the room. I need to remind myself that we’re not actually a real couple. But the closer I get to Ben, the thicker the air seems. I stand in front of him, lift my hands, and adjust his tie slightly.

“You look beautiful,” he says, his voice low. The timbre vibrates across my skin. I feel a blush blooming on my cheeks.

I brush my fingertips across his jaw because I can’t not touch him. His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “Thank you,” I reply. “I like your suit.”

There isn’t an item of clothing in existence that would stop Ben looking like a god, so giving him any kind of compliment is almost ridiculous—an understatement.

Nothing could convey quite how incredible he looks.

It’s like saying there are seven days in a week.

It’s true, but it doesn’t say enough . It doesn’t mention that those days are stuffed full of sunshine and sapphire-blue skies.

That they’re spent splayed on a blanket, watching boats go by and making daisy chains, dreaming about who you might become when you’re grown.

“My tie straight?” he asks, his eyebrow raised.

I reach up to his hair and push a stray strand back. “I think you’ll do.”

He grins that boyish grin I’ve only seen from him once before. “Let’s go.” He holds out his hand.

I slide my palm against his, and the buzz is unmistakable. Does he feel it too? I glance up, and his brows are knitted together like he’s trying to work out a complex math problem.

“If we get a question we haven’t rehearsed, then we stick as closely to the truth as possible,” he says. “Just like you suggested. Okay?”

I exhale. “Agreed. I just hope the discussion is about hotels and business and not our relationship.”

“It seems the two are inextricably linked.” Almost like a yogi’s chant, the guttural vibrations of his grumbling somehow relax me.

We meet Nick at the top of the stairs.

“You’re here,” he says, stating the obvious. “How are things going?”

“We met the duke and duchess briefly.”

Nick nods. “Excellent.” He turns and watches an elegant woman come toward us.

“Here’s Elizabeth, my wife.” Her hair is swept up and she’s wearing flat shoes and a bright-red lip.

She looks like she lives here and doesn’t seem to have any of my nerves, but then again, I suppose I’m hiding more than she is.

Ben and Elizabeth obviously know each other, but Nick introduces us and we exchange air kisses.

“How are you feeling?” He glances at our joined hands. “Good? You make a handsome couple, if I do say so myself.”

“Stop,” Ben says. He tugs my hand and we take the sweeping staircase down. Grant appears from nowhere to meet us at the bottom with a tray of champagne.

We didn’t live in a mansion and have holidays in Europe when I was young, but we weren’t poor—or I never felt it until right now. Even being toured around Ben’s house didn’t intimidate me. But the kind of life that involves a butler who appears out of nowhere with drinks is slightly intimidating.

“His Grace is out on the terrace,” Grant says. “At the end of the corridor, on your right.”

The terrace is covered in roses of every color and size, growing over the pergola at one end and in pots and raised beds at the other. We’re not the first to arrive. There are three other couples standing on the far end, the duke and duchess waiting by the door for people to arrive.

The duchess is wearing a soft-pink skater-style dress with a string of pearls and her hair up in a chignon.

At least I feel like I’m suitably dressed.

The duke’s in a navy suit that looks like Ben’s, so that’s another tick in the box, although Ben’s sartorial suitability was never really in question.

We’re all so dressed up for dinner, and we’re not even going out.

But this is obviously normal for them. I can’t help but wonder if this is normal for Ben too.

He says he doesn’t come from money, but is this a life he’s become comfortable with?

Does he throw lavish dinner parties or go hunting for the weekend often?

He doesn’t seem the type, but I don’t know him very well.

“Tuesday is such a beautiful name,” the duchess says as Ben drops my hand.

My knees fizz with nerves at the loss of his support. Even if I were actually engaged to Ben, I’d still be a little nervous. Life with Jed in New York was incredibly glamorous at times, but I’ve never had dinner in a stately home with actual nobility.

“It’s so unusual.” Her eyes are sparkling and full of interest.

My name gets me plenty of attention and not always in a good way.

There are a lot of snobs in New York—mainly Jed’s friends and work colleagues—who used to love to make snide put-downs about my name.

I’m fully attuned to backhanded compliments, but this isn’t one.

The duchess is being completely authentic.

“Thank you,” I say. “I love it. It was my mother’s choice. Ben loves to tease me about it.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Sunday,” he says, quick as a flash.

Smiling, I roll my eyes, like I’m well used to his jibes. Which I kind of am.

“So how long have you two been together?” the duchess asks.

“Less than a year,” I say—technically, not a lie. “It’s been a whirlwind.”

Ben isn’t a talker. Anyone who’s ever met him knows that. He can’t start gushing over our fairy-tale romance because it’ll sound fake. Most of the relationship questions have to be answered by me.

“It’s a cliché, but when you know, you really know,” I say.

The duchess is smiling like she knows exactly what I mean. “I agree. I see couples together for four and five years and then they split up, and I think, ‘What were you doing? If you knew it wasn’t right, why did you waste all that time?’”

I can’t help but think about Jed. We’d been together nearly a decade and hadn’t made it down the aisle.

I always made the excuse that we were young and had plenty of time.

But maybe he’d been dragging his feet a long time because he didn’t believe in us.

Or maybe I’d been the one with doubts. Maybe on some level, we knew we weren’t each other’s forever.

“You’re right,” I say. “Though I guess sometimes you can be happy enough to stay in a relationship, but not happy enough to turn it into forever.” I lay a hand on Ben’s upper arm and squeeze.

“Absolutely,” he says.

I laugh because he’s clearly so uncomfortable, and it has nothing to do with me being his fake fiancée. Even if I was the love of his life, the woman he was going to marry, he’d be just as uncomfortable. It’s just who he is.

The duchess laughs as well. “I know how that feels,” she says, nodding to Ben’s rigid demeanor. “I can count the number of times George has told me he loves me on one hand. It’s the British stiff upper lip you’ll have to get used to.”

“I don’t see the need to remind you,” the duke says.

“You’re an intelligent woman. It’s not likely you’re going to forget.

Excuse me.” He moves away to greet another couple who have appeared in the doorway.

I never thought to ask how many people were coming this weekend.

So far it’s six couples and the duke and duchess.

I expect the duchess to make her excuses too, but she just shakes her head in a way that says she loves her husband but can find him completely hopeless. “Do you have a date in mind for the wedding?”

“We’re mid-discussions. Ben would have us elope tomorrow.” I shrug. “It’s not like I want something really huge, but I think it would be nice for our friends and family to share the day with us.”

“Are your parents excited?” she asks.

“Nothing much excites my dad. As long as I’m happy. My mom died when I was young, so—” I get a sudden and unexpected lump in my throat, which silences me for a couple of seconds.

The duchess puts her hand over mine and mouths, I’m sorry .

I’m used to talking about my mom and it rarely gets me emotional when I mention her in passing, but she would be excited for me if Ben and I were getting married.

No doubt, she’d be making plans for her and Dad to move to England for at least part of the year, and she’d be helping me with preparations.

One day, when it finally happens for me, I’m going to find it tough without her.

Dad’s input alone isn’t going to cut it.

“As long as we don’t wait too long,” Ben says, rescuing me from having to form a sentence. The duke rejoins us as Ben says, “I don’t see the point in protracted engagements. We know we’re getting married, so let’s get on with it.”

The duke gives a firm nod of his head. “My thoughts exactly.”

I take a steadying breath and smile. “Your home is quite lovely,” I say, keen to steer the conversation away from our relationship. “Has it been in the family long?”

“Since 1679,” the duke replies. “The year construction was completed. The seventh Duke of Brandon commissioned it, and it’s been in the family ever since.”

“That’s wonderful,” I reply. “I love the idea of creating and maintaining history that can be passed down through the generations.”

“Yes, the title shall pass to my cousin or his son,” the duke says in a clipped tone. “Do you have a big family?”

“Not yet,” I say. “I’ve always wanted lots of children, though. Ben agrees.”