Page 7 of An American in London

“The duke is notoriously private, but his wife is a little more extroverted. It’s the duchess who’s encouraged the duke to host the shooting party.”

“But the duke will definitely be there?” Ben asks.

“Absolutely,” Nick confirms.

“Do we go up on Friday?” Ben asks.

“It depends who you’re referring to as ‘we.’” Nick winces, like Ben is going to start putting the pieces together any moment now and lose it.

“And who is ‘we,’ Nicolas?” His tone is one hundred percent Daniel in The Lady Loves a Loser —wry and skeptical. Maybe that explains my sudden urge to rewatch after all these years.

“Well, that depends. I’m finally going to get you in front of the duke; it’s going to be your chance to sell yourself.”

“My offer sells itself. It’s more than generous.”

“He doesn’t need the money. I don’t know how many times I need to explain to you that the duke is all about legacy. Not money.”

“Everyone’s got their price.”

Nick pauses, shakes his head, and rolls his wineglass in one hand and then the other. “No. He doesn’t. You could offer him double what you’re thinking, and the answer would still be no.”

“Then why am I wasting time going to a shooting party?” Ben asks.

I’m ready for the answer. This sounds like the start to a cozy mystery, and I’m here for it. Daniel De Luca’s brief foray into television with Hamish McPhee Investigates might not have had the ratings to secure a second season, but my mom and I loved it.

“Family means everything to him,” Nick says.

“So you keep telling me.”

“As you know, the duke and the duchess’s son died in a boating accident when he was just two,” Nick says.

The mention of death sparks a flash of memory—the summer I turned fourteen, and the last vacation Dad, Mom, and I took together before everything changed.

I thought we’d have those lakeside summers every year, because I didn’t understand yet that nothing lasts forever.

Life can’t always be rowing in lazy circles on calm water, toasting marshmallows while watching the sun go down. Not always. Maybe not ever.

“I heard the reason he won’t think about selling the hotel business is because he always expected an heir would run it before taking on the entire estate. He’s always wanted to pass it down to the next generation.”

“Does he have nephews?” Ben asks. “Nieces? A daughter?”

Nick shakes his head. “No one. If you really want to buy the hotels, you’re going to need to go in there and prove to him you’re a worthy successor.”

Ben pulls in a steady breath. “Okay. That’s not a problem. I’m committed to owning the business long term. I’m not some private equity house that’s going to prop it up with debt and drain it of cash. I’m certain I can convince him I deserve it.”

“No, not on your own, you can’t,” Nick says. “You need to become a man who thinks like he does, who thinks family is everything. Someone who’s all about creating a legacy to pass down to your children.”

“Children?” It’s like someone has put sour milk under his nose. “I’m not thinking about a family.”

“Then you won’t get the hotels. It’s as simple as that,” Nick says. “You need to paint yourself as a family man, working to create something your children can one day inherit. The duke wants to find a home for some of his assets, but he won’t make compromises to do it.”

“So what do you suggest? I kidnap a baby and bring it along for the weekend?”

Nick tilts his head one way and then the other, as if considering Ben’s suggestion. “Probably not the best idea.”

“Okay, so I’ll kidnap a woman instead and take her to Gretna Green.”

Nick winces. “Kidnapping probably shouldn’t be part of your plan. And Gretna Green isn’t Vegas. You’d still have a two-week wait to get married.”

“So what’s your suggestion?” Ben asks.

“A fiancée would do it. You’re looking forward to the big day, can’t wait to start a family, you want five kids and to move out to the country—just like him.”

Ben chuckles, takes another sip of wine, and then picks up the drink list. “No problem. You think they have fiancées on the menu?”

Nick fixes his mouth in a straight line, raises his eyebrows, and then looks pointedly at me.

It’s like someone’s pressed “Pause” on the scene. While the men are busy not speaking, my brain catches up to what Nick’s thinking.

He can’t be serious.

“Absolutely not,” Ben says at the same time as I blurt out something slightly less eloquent.

“Why not?” Nick asks. “You’re following each other around. You need someone who isn’t actually trying to get you to commit. Because we all know how that goes.”

I like Nick. Ben is clearly rich and powerful and in a permanent bad mood, but Nick doesn’t pull any punches with him. Ben needs someone like Nick in his life.

“I don’t need a fake fiancée,” Ben says.

Nick winces. “I beg to differ.”

“Well, I’m certain I don’t need a fake fiancé,” I say.

These next weeks are about keeping a job.

Stopping my life from completely falling apart.

They’re not about pretending to date a stranger, even if that stranger has biceps of steel and cheekbones I want to lick.

Even though my default position is to say yes if I can help someone, this time, I have to say no.

We fall silent as the waitress clears our plates and tops up our wine.

“You heard her. Even if I was prepared to entertain your harebrained scheme, Saturday Afternoon here won’t hear of it.”

“Name’s still Tuesday,” I mumble under my breath.

“You can solve that problem,” Nick says, ignoring me. Does he know something I don’t? “You said it yourself: Everyone has their price.”

“Nick! I’m not for sale, no matter what you might think.” I push my chair out and scrabble in my bag. This is getting weird and I need to get out of here.

“He didn’t mean that.” Ben places a hand on my upper arm, and I freeze. All I can feel is the heat of his hand and the way it rockets through my body like a firework.

“He’s out of line and thinks money can buy everything—and most of the time, that’s true,” Ben says, his voice low and serious. “I don’t think that of you. And neither does he. Please stay.”

It’s the most he’s spoken to me since I met him, and there’s something so reassuring, so knowing, so completely protective to his tone, that I put my bag down.

Our entrees arrive and our table is completely silent.

“I’m sorry,” Nick says. “I was out of order. I thought it might be the perfect solution ... and I wasn’t trying to imply you were ...”

“A prostitute?” I suggest.

Nick shrugs. “It’s just like Ben says. Most things can be solved with money. We need to think of someone else, though. What about that Paula you were seeing?”

Ben gives a brief shake of his head, and Nick doesn’t push it. I focus on the cod. The sauce is really salty, but I’m not that hungry, and I don’t want to upset anyone by complaining. I eyed some cashews in the minibar in my room. I’ve been wanting an excuse to open them.

“What about her friend Rosemary?”

Ben’s jaw tightens. “No.” He glances at me. I pull my mouth into a smile. He looks down at my plate. “You don’t like it?”

“I’m just not that hungry,” I say with a shrug.

“If none of your exes, then who?” Nick asks.

Ben beckons over the waitress, and I send up a silent prayer, hoping he’s not going to say anything more about my cod. I really hope I haven’t offended him.

“We’d like another main course. What would you prefer?” he asks, looking at me.

I smile at the waitress. “I’m fine. Really.”

“A selection of starters, then,” he says to the waitress. She nods once and disappears.

I start to apologize. “I’m sorry, I—”

“No apologies.” He turns back to Nick. “We need to come up with a different solution,” Ben says. “I’m not getting fake-engaged to anyone.”

“I’m telling you, there is no other solution, and not even transforming into the ultimate family man is a guarantee.

The duke isn’t driven by logic when it comes to his hotel group.

He’s entirely driven by emotion. If you’re not willing to be the man he wants to sell to, then you need to give up on your desire to own those hotels. ”

“Never,” Ben says.

I try to focus on the embossed pattern on the tablecloth and my plans for the next day and the way my arm still buzzes, even though it’s been at least twenty minutes since Ben touched me.

Nick and Ben continue to argue about the approach to take with the duke.

I’m happy to not be included at all in their discussion.

I’m not pretending to be an almost-stranger’s fiancée just so he can buy some hotel.

“Accept the invitation on my behalf,” Ben says. “And I’ll bring a plus-one.”

“Finally,” Nick says.

Well, it won’t be me, I don’t say, just as a selection of appetizers appears.

“I’m planning a day trip to Stonehenge this weekend.

It’s where Daniel De Luca filmed the most heartbreaking scene ever—when his wife dies in Antonia .

” I wasn’t actually planning on that trip, but I happened to notice it listed on the convention roster, and it sounds plausible. Ben doesn’t seem to be listening.

“That was a terrible film,” Nick says.

Everyone thought it was a terrible film, but I still feel like I should defend it. “That movie showcased some of his greatest acting.” I take a forkful of rice studded with pine nuts and fat, green olives. It’s delicious.

“Would twenty thousand dollars be useful?” Ben says out of nowhere, and I do a cartoon gulp, visible to everyone in the restaurant.

“Are you asking ... me?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer but continues to hold my gaze in a way that might be terrifying if he wasn’t so completely attractive.

I look away because my lips begin to buzz like they’re impatient for a kiss, and I’m a little concerned I’m going to lunge at Ben. “When isn’t twenty thousand dollars useful?”

“That’s a very good point,” he says. “So would you be my fiancée for the weekend for twenty thousand dollars?”

I open my mouth but words don’t come out.

Of course I don’t want to disappoint Ben.

I never want to disappoint anyone, which Melanie would tell me is both my best and worst quality.

Twenty thousand dollars is a lot of money.

Money that’s particularly useful to someone with no savings and an apartment in Manhattan to find and finance.

But I can’t take money for ... lying. It seems wrong.

And I can’t provide a girlfriend experience. Even for free. Ask Jed.

“I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Ben looks disappointed. It sounds like he really wants these hotels and has to have a fiancée to get them. I need to leave. Right now. Or I’m going to find myself doing something I shouldn’t and saying yes to something I should definitely and completely say no to.

“Please excuse me ...” I hold my hand to my ear. “I can hear Netflix calling my name. See you tomorrow morning at Coffee Confide in Me, Ben. Nice to meet you, Nick.”

And before either of them can say anything to stop me, I race toward the life-size cutout of Daniel De Luca that’s been placed by the elevator.