Page 40 of An American in London
Despite the glass of champagne I had with the duchess, I head straight to the bar when I get back to my hotel. I need to think through all the thoughts bubbling through my brain. Most importantly, if I’m in love with Ben, I need to decide whether that changes anything.
Maybe it changes everything.
I slide onto the same barstool I was on when I ran into Ben for the third time, just before I shared dinner with him and Nick.
I order a martini and pull out my phone.
I’m going to list out all the evidence that I’m in love with Ben, then all the reasons why I couldn’t possibly be.
It’s the advice my dad would give me in this situation.
If my mom had made it to my dating years, she would probably tell me to go watch the sun go down from a rooftop somewhere, then take a cab to Ben’s place.
But the DNA that came from my dad, together with all the years of following someone else’s plan, won’t let me do anything quite so impulsive.
Someone slides onto the stool next to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the edges of a navy wool suit. My heart begins to race.
It couldn’t be, could it?
I snap my head around and break out into a smile. If Ben’s here, I’m no longer going to say I don’t believe in signs and fate, because what else could it be?
And then I realize I’m not looking at Ben, just someone who looks an awful lot like him.
“Hi,” Daniel De Luca says, lifting his glass.
He might not be Ben, but this is definitely a sign. Or maybe a message from my mom. A message that says I should still be chasing my dreams.
“I’m sorry,” I say, trying to explain why I’m grinning like a fool. “I thought you were someone else.”
He grins a one hundred percent movie-star smile. “I get that a lot.” He thinks I don’t know who he is, but of course I do.
This is the guy I was going to marry when I was fourteen years old.
This is the guy I tucked away in the back of my brain, along with my childhood and teenage hopes and dreams. Along with the grief for my mother. Along with my feelings.
But now I’ve allowed myself to breathe, look back, and feel. And this guy isn’t the man who will make me happy. Not the fantasy of him. Not the reality of him.
And it’s not a man like Jed either.
All I can think about is Ben.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks.
If my mom were still alive and Daniel De Luca slid onto a barstool next to me and offered to buy me a drink, I would have said yes before he’d gotten the words out of his mouth.
But not today.
Not now.
“Good to see you, Daniel. I’m a big fan.” I drain my glass and slide off my stool. “But I’ve got somewhere to be.”
Even if our love story is only going to last a few more days, I want to make sure I don’t miss a frame.