Page 25 of An American in London

“Oh, you’ve found it. Good.” The duchess rushes over, and we both get to our feet. “I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to leave you. George has got himself into a tizzy, and I need to go back to the house.”

“No problem at all. Is there anything we can do to help?” Ben asks, saving me from having to speak.

She waves her hand in the air. “Nothing at all. See you inside for lunch at twelve thirty. Make sure you visit the walled garden. It’s on the other side of the house.”

We stand side by side in silence as we watch the duchess head back to the house.

I pull in a breath and steady myself, refocusing on the here and now. “This is a bit of a wasted morning for you,” I say. “No duke or duchess to impress. We can go back to the house if you want to catch up on emails or something?”

“Are you okay?” he asks, ignoring my deflection completely. “Is it your mum?”

“I’m fine,” I say with a shrug. “I just ... I just miss her sometimes.”

His large hand smooths up my back even though there’s no one to notice. “I’m sorry.”

“She died a long time ago, but she would have gotten such a kick out of me being here. Even the bit where I’m fake-engaged to a hot, moody Brit.

She’d think it was a huge adventure.” My voice wobbles as I finish my sentence.

Ben steps in front of me and envelops me in a hug.

Instead of pushing him away and telling him I’m fine, I sink into him and just let myself breathe.

He smells delicious, like wet pine forests and cinnamon. He feels safe, like a big old oak tree that’s been here for three hundred years. How can I feel so comfortable with him when I’ve known him just a few days?

“I’m usually stronger than this,” I say, needing him to know I’m not always such a crybaby.

He just pulls me tighter, and I burrow deeper into his jacket, laying my face on his chest. He doesn’t move, doesn’t try to pull away.

We stand like that for what seems like hours.

I flick through the various expressions my mother would have if I told her I met a duke and duchess, if I described staying in a place like Fairfield, if she saw the ring on my left hand.

If I told her I was sharing a bedroom with a man like Ben.

When I let myself surface from all the wishes and should-have-beens , I press my palms against Ben’s chest and step back.

“Sorry,” I say.

“No need to apologize. You’ve been going through a lot recently.”

I can’t help it—I start to laugh. From the outside, I might look like I’m bouncing from one extreme emotion to the next.

Maybe my laugh is an expression of complete terror.

“What, because my career is on the brink, I have nowhere to live, and my real fiancé dumped me?” I shake my head.

“Things could be worse. I’m in a wonderful country, staying at the very fancy house of a real-life duke and duchess. And I get to hang out with you.”

He cups my face, sweeping his thumbs across my cheeks. It’s as if he’s using his body to say, It’s okay, I’ve got you, and I feel it in my bones. “Is hanging out with me in the plus category or the minus category?” He gives me a half smile and raises his eyebrow as he releases me.

I nudge him. “Oh, you’re in a swing seat. Depends on the hour.”

We start to wander back toward the house. I really hope we’re heading to the walled garden. The scene filmed there lives rent-free in my brain, and I must see it.

“You’re going to be thirty thousand dollars richer by the end of the weekend,” he adds. “That has to be in the plus category.”

I’d almost forgotten about the money. “You see? Life’s so good that didn’t even feature in my Top Three at the moment,” I say.

“Good to know.” He looks at me for a beat too long, and I can’t decide whether he’s feeling sorry for me or if it’s something else. “Shall we head to this walled garden you’re so excited to see?”

Without thinking about it, and without anyone watching, I slip my hand into his. He squeezes like he’s been waiting for it.

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting from a walled garden, but I’m not disappointed.

It might be the prettiest place I’ve ever seen.

The crumbling, redbrick walls are covered in climbing roses in pink and white and yellow and red, like daubs of paint in a toddler’s artwork.

Down the middle of the oblong-shaped garden, there’s a runway of grass three or four yards wide, stretching from the pretty wrought-iron gate we’ve just come through right to the other end about one hundred yards away.

On either side are large borders of flowers—more roses and other blooms I don’t recognize.

There are so many it looks like a bouquet in a vase, like they’re growing together in a floral rainbow.

It might be September, but this garden seems to be at its peak—overflowing with color.

Every now and then, grass walkways run at right angles to the main stretch of grass, leading through the beds and to the side of the garden so visitors can see the blooms from every angle.

Despite never having been here before, it looks entirely familiar. It looks just like it did in the movie.

“It’s so pretty,” I say. “Really breathtaking.”

“It helps that the sun is shining,” Ben says. “The upkeep on this place must be astronomical.”

I can’t help but smile to myself at the typically practical lens through which he sees the world.

He’s right about the sun, though—the bright-blue, cloudless sky helps bring the place to life.

The light reflecting off the brickwork makes the walls almost sparkle and injects an air of magic to the place.

I’m so lucky to have gotten to come here—not only because of the Daniel De Luca connection but also because it’s just so special. I’m genuinely having a great time.

“It’s worth every penny,” I reply. “It’s the most beautiful house and grounds. Completely magical.”

“You like it? I thought you were a city girl?”

“I love the city, but I grew up in the country. I have both in me. The duke and duchess have the perfect balance, what with a town house in London and then this place to retreat to whenever they wish. If only I had millions in the bank. That’s exactly how I’d live my life. ” I let out a laugh at the idea.

He nods but doesn’t say anything.

“It seems heartbreaking for the place to go to someone else eventually, after being in their family for so long. What will happen to it if they don’t have any children?”

“No idea. I suppose it will get sold by whoever inherits it.”

“You should buy it,” I say. “You seem to have more money than God. If you promise to keep it and not make it into a hotel or something, the duke might sell the hotels to you as well. Like a package deal or something.”

“It’s a good idea, except if he won’t sell the hotels, he’s not going to part with the house they both have such affection for.”

Grumpiness notwithstanding, Ben has an uncanny ability to understand people.

“True,” I say. “What is it about the hotels that makes you want them so badly? Surely there are other things to invest in.”

“I have my reasons,” he says.

Another thing I like about Ben: I ask him a question he doesn’t want to answer, and he doesn’t lie to me.

He doesn’t even skirt the question and give me a nonanswer.

He just tells me he’s not going to tell me.

My dad would answer the exact same way. It would be so easy to make something up— It’s a great investment or I suspect there’s oil in the grounds —but he doesn’t.

I haven’t known him long, but I suppose it’s one of the reasons it feels like I can trust him.

One of the reasons I feel so safe around him.

“Aha,” I say. “I’ll have to dig deeper if I want my answer.”

But I don’t dig. He’s not in the mood to share, and I respect that.

Instead, I twirl an entire three hundred and sixty degrees, taking it all in.

“I’m going to make you watch the movie when we get back to London.

It’s so romantic. They’ve married under pressure from their families and have no time for one another in the beginning; they’re both resolved to endure their lives rather than enjoy their marriage.

The night before the scene in the garden, they’ve hosted a ball, and when they dance together in the ballroom, she realizes she’s fallen hopelessly in love with him.

She comes to the garden and relives their dance, going through the steps and even mimicking the conversation they had.

And then he finds her. He watches for a while from the gate, and then as she spins, she sees him. ”

He arches an eyebrow. “Embarrassing for her if he’s not feeling it.”

I let out a small laugh. “Except he is feeling it. He pulls her to him for a waltz around the roses.”

“Like this?” He grabs my hand, hooking his thumb around mine, and holds our arms up like we’re about to dance.

I suck in a breath, trying to will away the blush I know is coming from being so close to him.

After lifting my other hand to his shoulder, he presses his palm to my back.

Suddenly there’s no space between us, his hard stomach pressing against my rib cage.

My heart thumps in my chest so loudly, I’m sure he can hear it.

We’re two strangers, pretending to be lovers, standing body to body, like we’re actually lovers.

I try to control my breathing because I don’t know how to act. I don’t know what to do.

“Ben.” I can barely say his name because I have no air in my lungs.

“Just relax and let me lead you.” He inhales and seems to grow another two or three inches before stepping forward, taking me backward.

Suddenly we’re dancing. He leads me in small, rhythmic steps, almost like we can both hear music. I can feel every muscle in his body, his thigh is against mine, and I have to bend backward to look up at him. I’m no virgin, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt so intimate with a guy.

Despite feeling exposed, Ben’s so unfazed, like our closeness is no big deal, that I do what he says and relax.

I let him lead us up and down the pathway between the rose bushes.

He guides us so I’m floating. My feet barely touch the ground.

Maybe I missed my calling and I should have been a dancer all these years.

But of course, it’s all Ben making me feel so good.

All of a sudden, he twirls us around, and this time, my feet actually do hover in the air. I squeal and close my eyes.

He sets me down and I look up at him, willing him to keep moving because I’m not ready for this to be over.

We sway left, then right, and then he begins to move his feet.

The pace is slower than before, and it’s easier to keep up.

He drops his frame, and it’s like he’s unzipped his old ballroom costume, stepped out of it, and Ben’s back—except we’re still dancing.

It’s just a little more equal this time.

It’s how we might move if we were dancing at a wedding or something.

We’re just an engaged couple in a garden who have decided on an impromptu waltz.

Because that happens all the time.

I smooth my hand over his shoulder and look up at him, pulling in a breath as I take in his sharp jaw, his full lips, and how close he is to me.

He’d only have to move his head a little, and we’d be kissing.

I fight the urge to burrow under the soft wool of his jacket, to feel more of him, to be even closer than we are.

I don’t know what it is, but something has shifted between us this morning. There’s an easiness, a knowing between us that wasn’t there before.

“You’re a fabulous dancer,” I say. Of all the talents I could imagine Ben having, ballroom dancing wasn’t one of them.

“You’ve got good rhythm,” he replies, looking away and over my shoulder as our movements get smaller and smaller. “And now you’ve reenacted one of your favorite scenes.”

“Day made. No—life made.” More and more, Ben’s featuring in my favorite parts of this trip. And it’s not just because of how much time we’re spending together.

A grin unfurls on his face, revealing his rarely seen dimple.

“How many people know you can dance?”

He narrows his eyes like he’s looking into my soul. “It’s my secret superpower.”

I laugh. “I bet there’s a small club of women who know the truth. It’s got to be the world’s easiest way to get someone into bed with you.” If I didn’t think Ben was the most attractive man I’d ever laid eyes on before today, I certainly do now.

He doesn’t say anything; we just dance in silence. The smell and feel of him is solid, familiar. Almost like he belongs to me. I could stay like this, in this weird filmlike reality, forever.

We’ve drifted apart a little and he pulls me closer.

I lean my head on his chest, enjoying the warmth of his hand on my back.

He seems in no hurry to go back to the house, and neither am I.

I can’t think of anyplace better to be other than swaying in my fake fiancé’s arms. For a few minutes, maybe real life can ebb away, and I can pretend the fantasy is all there is.