Page 30 of An American in London

Daniel De Luca’s most successful film, Dinner for Two , takes place in a restaurant where he plays a chef.

Julia Alice plays a waitress who comes to London to study at the Royal Academy of Music.

Daniel is hot-tempered and foul-mouthed, and Julia hates him.

Everyone does. But Julia isn’t scared of him, even though he tries to intimidate her.

When she dares to tell him the sauce he serves up with the duck is bland, plates fly.

Literally. It’s probably my favorite scene from any Daniel De Luca movie.

I love it so much that for my fifteenth birthday, my mom and dad took me to a Greek restaurant in Albany just so we could smash plates. It was my favorite birthday ever.

There’s no way Ben could know any of that. But still, here we are in front of the blue-and-white awnings of what looks like The French House, the restaurant in Dinner for Two .

“Do you recognize it?” he asks me. His brow is slightly furrowed.

“Of course I do,” I say. “I just didn’t think it was actually a restaurant.

I assumed it was made up for the movie.” My gaze catches on the sign above the door that says The French House .

I don’t remember seeing the restaurant on the Daniel De Luca map.

I would have definitely put it on my London to-do list.

Ben frowns and leads me inside.

The restaurant is empty.

I glance at Ben, but his expression gives nothing away.

The host greets us with a dramatic bow. “Mademoiselle, monsieur, let me show you to your table.”

Doesn’t he want to know our names? I know Ben has a Wikipedia page, but he’s not Daniel De Luca himself.

The tables are set out just how they were in the movie.

The host seats us at the table where Daniel De Luca and Julia Alice have their first date after they finally realize they don’t actually hate each other.

The only time they can both fit dinner in is after the restaurant closes.

He cooks her duck à l’orange, and she says it’s the best sauce she’s ever tasted.

The host presents us with our menus, and when I open it to see duck à l’orange, I realize what’s happening.

He’s done this for me.

I dip my head and lean forward so no one can hear. “Did you hire out this entire restaurant?”

He stares at me for a beat, then says, “Sort of.”

I narrow my eyes. “Sort of? What does that mean?”

“I kind of ... bought the place. The owner didn’t want to make the changes—you know, to the name and the awnings and the tables—”

My head is spinning. I can’t make sense of what he’s saying. He’s going to need to break it down. “Wait, you bought the place?”

“I thought you’d like it. You know, because of the movie. It’s from the Daniel De Lu—”

“I know the movie. It’s a favorite of mine. Are you telling me the restaurant didn’t actually exist before ... you bought it?”

“There was a restaurant here. It just wasn’t called The French House, and it didn’t have these tables or”—he nods toward the staff—“the uniforms. And they did some decorating.”

“Who did some decorating?”

“My people.” He shrugs. “I wanted tonight to be ... I wanted you to have fun. And I know how obsessed you are with all things Daniel De Luca. I thought you’d get a kick out of this.”

I reach for him without thinking, pressing my palm against his cheek. Nothing about tonight’s dinner is about Ben. It’s all about me. He’s just done everything he could to make me happy. “I’m getting a huge kick out of this. The biggest of all kicks.” The corners of his mouth twitch.

Yes, it’s amazing to be at a restaurant just like the one Daniel De Luca and Julia Alice had their first date in, but the biggest kick of all is that Ben would do so much just to make me happy for a single evening.

“So you finally watched a Daniel De Luca movie, huh?”

One of the waiters comes over with the house cocktail—the one from the movie, obviously. He takes our order. We both opt for the duck à l’orange.

“Yeah, I like to prepare for . . . important . . . things.”

I laugh. “I know that about you,” I say, thinking about the questionnaires. “Which movie is your favorite?”

He takes a breath. “I’ve not watched them all.

Mr. De Luca has been rather prolific in his career.

But ... I have his complete collection back at the house set up in the screening room.

Along with the popcorn you mentioned. I thought you might like the second half of this date to involve a movie. ”

“The classic date combo of dinner and a movie.” There’s nothing typical about this dinner. He bought the freaking restaurant and recreated a scene from my favorite movie. When do things like that happen outside of an actual Daniel De Luca film?

“I don’t want you to think that if you come back and watch a movie, we have to—I mean, I don’t expect ... anything.”

Awkward Ben is adorable. But the joke’s on him, because I’m expecting it all when I go back to his place. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ll be ready to skip to the good part and miss the movie entirely.

He must see the desire in my eyes. He slides his leg between mine and takes my hand across the table.

I want to ask him whether it feels different between us, now that he’s not paying me to be here, but I don’t get a chance. Our food arrives and we’re forced to drop our hands.

“I confirmed dinner with the duke and duchess tomorrow,” he says. “I suggested taking them out. They’ve insisted on hosting us at their town house.”

“They’re such great hosts. What should I wear?”

“I’ll send you something.”

“No, there’s no need.” It’s weird. When I was being paid for the weekend, going to Ralph Lauren was a little odd but okay because it felt like Ben was buying me a uniform for a job.

But when I’m going to dinner with the guy I’m interested in, it’s more than weird for him to buy me the dress I’m expected to wear.

My phone buzzes with a notification, and I pull it out from my jacket pocket.

“Sorry, I just want to get it in case it’s my dad. ”

“Go ahead,” Ben says.

It’s not my dad. It’s a message from my bank. Normally I’d ignore it, but something makes me swipe up.

There’s been an unexpected deposit into your bank account. Please contact us immediately.

A feeling of dread circles my ankles like fog in a horror movie. He didn’t, did he?

Quickly, I log into my banking app.

Oh, yes he did.

“Ben?” I say. “I didn’t give you my bank account details because I told you I didn’t want your money. I was really clear about that.”

His frown is back. The dimple that’s been on display all evening has disappeared. “You earned that money. We had a deal. I don’t back down on a deal.”

“It’s too much money. I had fun.”

“Compensation wasn’t contingent on you being miserable.”

“But it wasn’t a job. I enjoyed myself. I had an experience I would never have dreamed of if you hadn’t taken me there.”

“Then that’s a perk. You negotiated that money. It’s yours.”

“It was two nights at a fancy country house. It wasn’t worth thirty thousand dollars.”

“It was to me. You were perfect.”

I groan. “I wasn’t perfect. I don’t know how I’m going to convince you to take that money back.”

“I don’t want you to convince me. That money is yours. You deserve it. If it makes you feel better, you can purchase your own dress for dinner tomorrow.”

I pause, mulling over whether or not I could live with taking money from this man. It seems so wrong.

“I’m serious.” I glance up at Ben. “I don’t want your money.”

“Then give it to charity. But we had a contract. I’m fulfilling my obligations the same way you did.”

I groan. He’s so freaking honorable. Why couldn’t he take his money back when I offered it to him? I could like him a little less.

“It’s very ... charming that you offered.” He fixes me with his gaze, and I’m out of arguments. He’s not being weird about it, so why should I be?

“I’m buying my own outfit for tomorrow. Don’t send me anything or I’ll be mad.”

“Not even underwear?” he asks.

A frisson of electricity sparks between us.

“Especially not underwear,” I reply. I’d rather surprise him.