Page 36 of An American in London

Tonight isn’t a date. Ben and I are just meeting for a debrief, but it’s all I’ve been able to think about today.

I haven’t seen him this week because he’s been busy at work, and I’m trying to keep my head clear so I can think straight, but the abstinence hasn’t ripped the Band-Aid off. It hasn’t even lifted a corner.

I’m fully dressed and sitting on my bed, waiting for him. My phone buzzes and I jump to my feet like it’s someone knocking on the door.

I slide my finger up the screen and see a message from the duchess saying she’s heard our news and would like the two of us to meet for tea.

I close the message, just as another one arrives from Ben, telling me he’s in the lobby.

A ripple of something radiates from my stomach, pushing out and up every limb, over every inch of skin. I don’t know if it’s nerves or excitement, but I bite back a smile and head out the door.

There’s only me and one other couple in the elevator.

They’re American, and from her Valley girl twang, I’d say they’re Californian.

Tourists. They’re going to love it here.

I don’t feel like I’m visiting anymore. I know my corner of London too well.

Plus, I’ve been invited to tea with a duchess, and I’ve hooked up with a British guy.

At this point, I’m a step away from trading in my American passport.

The elevator doors open on the lobby, and I lock eyes with Ben.

He stalks over to me and kisses me on the cheek. He does it with a little too much force, like he’s been impatiently waiting the entire week to kiss me and overcompensates. I step back to steady myself, and he catches my elbow.

“You okay?”

I nod. “High shoes,” I say, plus the giddiness I feel whenever he’s near. “Too much time wearing sneakers.”

He glances down at my footwear. I’ve worn dark jeans and a white shirt. I’ve tried to keep the vibe non-date-like. The only thing that dresses it up are the shoes. High and strappy, and by the look in Ben’s eye, the right choice.

“They look good on you.” His voice is so thick I can almost feel it wrap around my waist.

“Thanks.” We’re not pretending anymore; there’s no one to overhear or impress. I appreciate the compliment. I know Ben well enough to understand he doesn’t give them out easily.

We head to the bar and it’s weird. I’ve only known the man next to me for a few weeks, yet to anyone watching, we probably look like we’ve known each other for years. That’s how it feels too.

The waiter immediately appears and I order a glass of wine. Ben orders a martini. Even his drink order speaks volumes about who he is. He doesn’t give a crap what anyone else thinks, he just knows what he wants.

“Before I forget,” I say, “I have something for you.”

I dig into my jeans pocket and pull out the ring box.

“Are you proposing?” he asks with a smile.

I tilt my head to one side. “This is yours.”

His expression doesn’t change and he doesn’t say anything. He just picks the box up from the table where I placed it and tucks it into his breast pocket, almost like he doesn’t want anyone to notice what he’s doing.

My fingers trace the space on the table where the box was, and I’m not sure if it’s deliberate, but as Ben reaches for his drink, his fingers scrape mine. Our eyes lock, and I want to ask him to come back upstairs with me and spend the night in my bed.

But I don’t.

I wish I knew what he was thinking. I want to ask him what he’s going to do with the ring. Will he keep it for the woman he actually proposes to? I feel a little queasy at the thought. I need to distract myself. “So what happened? You spoke to the duke?”

He nods. “Yes.”

“How was that?”

He pauses. It’s his thinking pause, and I sit back patiently while he decides what to say.

“Overdue.” Most people would look at him and say he is unreadable, but I know him well enough now to catch the slight softness in his gaze, and the way those lips sit with a little dip on the left, to know he’s disappointed.

I wish I could have helped him more. But we would have actually had to be engaged and gotten married for things to have worked out.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say that again. I should never have asked you to be part of this ridiculous charade. I lost sight of what was important.”

“But getting the hotels is important to you,” I say, leaving room for him to tell me why.

Neither of us says anything as the waiter places our appetizers in front of us.

But when we’re alone again, without prompting, Ben says, “I lost sight of the end goal. Without my integrity I undo everything I’ve worked to achieve.

” I’m not quite sure what he means by “end goal,” but before I get a chance to ask, he says, “He asked after you.” He pauses again, and I know he’s trying to find exactly the right thing to say. “They’re good people.”

“Wonderful people,” I reply. “You might still have a chance at buying the hotels. The duchess is desperate for the duke to sell. Why not to you?”

“You were there for the conversation with Nick. He wants a family man.”

Isn’t it better to have a man of integrity? That’s what Ben is.

“I got a message from the duchess earlier.” I pull my phone from my bag to see if I missed something in her text that might help. “She wants to meet me for tea.”

“I’m sure you can think of an appropriate excuse.”

“Maybe I should go,” I suggest.

“You don’t need to,” he says.

If I went, maybe I could persuade her that Ben is a good man who’d do a great job running the hotels.

She might influence the duke to sell to him anyway.

“I can sing your praises and tell her how wonderful you are.” Because that would be the truth.

“How you keep your word and do exactly what you say you’re going to do. ”

He doesn’t look convinced, but there’s a chance.

The only problem is, I’m not sure she’ll believe I’ve walked away from Ben.

He’s the entire package. Good-looking and sexy, which are two entirely different things.

Jed was good-looking, but I never found him sexy.

Maybe it was because we’d been together for too long.

Ben exudes a confidence, a self-assurance, that has nothing to do with how handsome he is.

It just rings out to anyone who listens.

He’s got a core of steel. He’s also kind and thoughtful and one hell of a dancer.

No one would leave Ben if they didn’t have to.

“Tell me about your work at the bank,” he says out of nowhere. Does he not want to talk about this? Is he completely heartbroken about the hotels?

“What do you mean?”

He frowns and shakes his head. “Tell me how you started there, what you hope to achieve.”

“What?” But what I mean is, Why ? We’ve spent countless hours together over the past few weeks, and this is the first time Ben has asked for specifics about my job.

I assumed he was avoiding the topic because of how painfully boring it is, but maybe he’s looking for a quick exit from the subject of the hotels.

“I’m interested. How did you get the job in the first place?”

I sit back, trying to remember how it all began.

It feels like forever ago. “I was an undergrad. I was thinking about teaching, or even going to law school. Then I went with Jed to the job and internship fair on campus. I think I just got caught up in it. He said if we both got good jobs right out of college, we could move to the city. I loved Sarah Lawrence, but it felt too much like home. I wanted to get away. New York City was new and so far removed from Madison County ... I thought maybe I’d forget about my mom.

No, not my mom—just my grief, I guess. I wanted to put it behind me finally. ”

The server takes our plates. Ben’s silence suggests he wants me to go on.

“I applied for a few internships, a couple of jobs, and the bank said yes.”

“They chose you.”

I shrug.

“But you could have said no if you wanted to teach,” he adds.

“It was a great opportunity,” I say. That’s what my guidance counselor at the time had said.

“The entry-level salary was more than I’d have gotten teaching, even after years in the classroom.

Jed got a great offer from a big law firm, and he was so excited we’d both be starting work and earning a good salary. It made sense.”

“Were you excited?” he asks.

I twirl the stem of my wineglass. “Is anyone excited about starting work? Why do you want to know all this stuff anyway?”

“You like to please people,” he says like it’s the explanation I’ve been looking for. Except that’s hardly a revelation to me. But does it make me so different?

“Everyone likes to please people.” It comes out a little more defensive than I intend. I like people I’m with to be happy. I’ve seen too much sadness. If I can help turn the dial up on their joy, why wouldn’t I do that?

“Maybe,” he replies. “To some extent. But do you ever decide what you want, or do you get bundled along with everyone else’s decisions?”

His question is harsh, but I know he’s not trying to hurt me.

“I said no to you the first time you asked me to be your fiancée.”

He nods. “You did.” He smiles, and it’s so warm and genuine, it confirms my instinct that this line of inquiry comes from a place of caring and kindness. “When a perfect stranger asked you to go away with him for a weekend, you said no.”

“Why do you care that I don’t have the job I thought I wanted out of college?”

He nods, considering his response. “It’s a good question. And I’m sorry, I’m not meaning to cause offense.”

I bite my cheek at his apology. It’s unexpected and it gives him a vulnerability that makes me ache.

“You’re a beautiful, clever, funny woman with a strange name, Tuesday.” His gaze meets mine. I feel like he wants me to say something, but I’m not sure what. “I just want you to be happy. I want you to choose something, someone, who’ll make you happy. I’ve ... enjoyed our time together.”