Page 27 of An American in London

I fold the note Ben left me on the nightstand, put it in my wallet, and then head out.

I’ve slept in and it’s nearly nine. In his note, he said he would come and wake me if I needed to be up, but I feel terrible lazing away the morning in bed.

I’m getting paid to be here. The least I can do is be awake.

When I think back to last night, I can’t help but smile at the memory of his lips, his hands, his body against mine and the unspoken promise that we’ll pick up where we left off another time.

I see Grant coming toward me as I reach the bottom of the stairs. “They’re in the breakfast room,” he says with a smile. “Just down on your right.”

Moving down the hall, I glance at the wall opposite, covered in paintings.

There’s a gold label attached to some of them, and I lean in to read Duke of Brandon .

The painting is clearly hundreds of years old.

I can’t imagine what it must be like to fill the shoes of your predecessor, to grow up knowing exactly what life has planned for you.

I have to call my dad as soon as I’m back at the hotel tonight.

Farther down the hall, I hear chatter behind a closed door.

I twist the brass doorknob and open it an inch so I can see whether I’m in the right place.

Someone pulls the door wide. It’s the duke.

“Good morning, my dear. Welcome, welcome. We’re still waiting on my wife, but we’re not standing on ceremony. Let’s get you some tea.”

I catch Ben’s eye; he smiles and heads over. It’s the same smile as yesterday—the one with the dimple—and it’s completely infectious.

“Good morning,” he says as he approaches.

I grin back at him reflexively, like I’m under his spell.

I’ve spent enough time with Ben to know he’s not this good of an actor—he’s pleased to see me.

And the tingling in my body that travels from every corner of me and heads right to my core tells me I’m pleased to see him too.

“I didn’t want to wake you.” He lowers his voice so he speaks just to me, and it feels so intimate I could be standing there in my bra and panties.

He places his hand on my shoulder, and the heat from last night roars back to life.

We lock eyes and I know he feels it too.

He presses a kiss to the top of my head like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I slip my hand to his waist and hook my thumb over his hip bone.

Boundaries have begun to blur. I can’t tell what’s for show and what’s real. I can almost believe we’re a newly engaged couple, come to stay with friends for the weekend.

Except I know I’m being paid.

He takes me by the hand and leads me around the table.

Covered in a bright-white linen tablecloth, it’s set like we’re in a gigantic Victorian doll house, complete with a large fruit display in the middle, silverware I suspect is actually silver, and plates decorated with blousy flowers and gold accents.

I say good morning to those we pass. When we reach Nick and Elizabeth, Nick gives me a nod and a grin like he’s in on some kind of secret.

Ben pulls out my chair and I take a seat.

Immediately a waiter appears, offering me a choice of teas.

I glance up at Ben, looking for him to guide me.

I’m a little dazed from our greeting, and I’m not sure if there’s an appropriate tea I should be drinking.

“Green or ... nettle maybe?” he suggests, like the most attentive fiancé on the planet.

I nod. “Yes, nettle would be lovely.”

“And what can I get you for breakfast?” a man, younger than Grant, wearing a suit asks.

The duke has asked Ben a question, which takes his attention. I’m not quite sure what someone orders for breakfast in a stranger’s house. Yesterday, everything was brought to the table.

“Can I suggest eggs benedict and fruit?” the waiter says. “That seems to be a popular choice this morning.”

“Sounds great,” I say.

Everyone sits and then we all leap to our feet again as the door opens and the duchess arrives.

“Good morning, everyone,” she says, smiling and nodding at us all. Then she exchanges words with the waiter and we all sit. “Another beautiful September day,” the duchess says. “I’m just sorry you’re leaving us today. I’ve really enjoyed having you all stay.”

“I’ve had a really wonderful time,” I say, and the sentiment is completely genuine.

It’s surprising how easy it’s been. I guess it’s not hard to fake being in love with a man like Ben Kelley.

“Thank you so much for your incredible hospitality. Getting to see the English countryside from the viewpoint of this magnificent house ...” I shake my head. “It’s been an honor.”

The duke and duchess exchange a look, and my stomach roils. Was I too effusive? Did I seem insincere? I glance at Ben, but he’s looking at the duke.

“My husband and I have had a discussion,” the duchess starts. “We would like to host part of your wedding celebrations if you’d let us. We’d love to have the wedding breakfast here or, if you don’t feel comfortable, perhaps the engagement party?”

My heart inches higher in my chest. What a wonderfully generous offer.

This can only be good news for Ben, right?

The duke must like him if he’s prepared to host his wedding.

I glance at Ben, and my heart swoops and crashes into my stomach.

There’s just one problem—I’m not actually marrying the man next to me.

“That’s incredibly generous,” Ben says, his voice a little tighter than I’ve heard since we got here. I can tell he feels awkward. I need to be a good wingman here.

“It’s beyond generous,” I say. “I can’t think of a more magical place to celebrate our marriage than Fairfield House, can you, Ben?”

He shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”

The duchess smiles. “I knew, when I saw you dancing in the walled garden, you’d felt the magic of the place.

” She saw us? I thought she had returned to the house while we lingered in the garden.

“Some people come and appreciate the landscape and the history of the place, but since you walked in, I feel you see the soul of this wonderful estate.”

It’s such a huge compliment, and she’s not wrong.

“You two remind us of us when we were newly engaged. You’re so in tune with each other. I see young couples all the time, and I can tell the ones that are going to last from the ones who are getting married for all the wrong reasons.”

My stomach churns with guilt and regret. I’m so desperately sorry to be misleading her.

Ben slips his hand onto my thigh like he can hear what I’m thinking and wants to comfort me.

“That’s lovely to hear,” I say. “Ben is ... such a wonderful man. There’s not a better foundation for a partner, I think.”

The duke and duchess share another look. I glance at Ben to find him already looking at me, just like he did last night before our kiss. It’s a look that says, I think you’re lovely , and it melts me from the inside out.

“We’re just in the early stages of planning,” I say, pulling my gaze from Ben’s. “I’m not sure if Ben is going to win the elopement argument—”

“There’s no obligation,” the duchess says. “I just wanted to offer. If you decide to go a different way, then of course you must. Don’t think you’ll offend us.”

“Oh, I’m sure I can offend you,” I say. “I’m American, after all.” Everyone laughs, and thankfully the course of the conversation changes.

“Whatever happens, you all must come and stay again. The estate is quite marvelous in the autumn. The colors are astonishing, aren’t they, darling?

” The duchess turns to the duke, who nods and takes a mouthful of the eggs that were just placed in front of him.

“All year round. And especially wonderful at Christmas.”

“We would love that,” I say, genuinely excited, as if I’m actually going to be able to come back and see the changes to the landscape and holiday lights sparkling in the trees lining the driveway. “I can’t wait for a Christmas in England.”

“Ben, let’s see if we can set up a meeting this week at The Fairfield.” The duke dabs his mouth with his napkin. “I want to go through a few things with you.”

The Fairfield? I’m not sure what that is, but I try not to stare at either Ben or the duke. This has to be good news for Ben, right? Maybe the duchess has convinced her husband to sell the hotels. Surely, this is progress?

“Absolutely. I’ll call your office and get something set up.”

“Very good,” the duke replies.

“When I’m in town, we should have tea at The Fairfield,” the duchess says to Elizabeth and me. “Then we can pop to Fortnum’s for some shopping. I’m sure Ben and Nick are all work, just like my husband. I’d be happy to show you some of my favorite places, Tuesday.”

“Absolutely.” Taking tea with the duchess, followed by shopping, sounds like what daydreams are made of.

At first, I couldn’t think of anything worse than pretending to be someone’s fiancée.

Now, I don’t want to think about calling things off between us.

I like the sound of our life together, where I dine with duchesses, spend Christmas in London, and hang out with Ben every day.

I also like the idea of sinking into Ben’s touch every evening, his lips on mine every morning and in between.

We’ve been here less than forty-eight hours, and I want to stretch it out for as long as possible.

But in just a few hours, we’re going to get in the car and return to real life. Everything about this weekend is going to evaporate.

The feelings of loss and sadness are even more profound than when Jed and I split.

I’m unsure how that’s possible. Maybe it’s the realization that real life—the one where I’m fighting for my job and still in the shadows of my breakup—isn’t the life I want anymore.

I want to be a woman who waltzes around rose gardens and who Ben thinks is lovely. I want the fairy tale.

But fairy tales are fiction—lies we tell children to make them feel better about the harsh, real world.

Given my reality, maybe I’ve been trying to make myself feel better by letting myself believe this weekend was real.

Only now, I’m left with the unfortunate necessity to close this storybook once and for all—and it’s not going to end with Happily Ever After.