Page 13

THIRTEEN

KENJI

After Landry stormed out of the kitchen, Cora and I talked. And talked.

She told me enough about Landry’s visits “home” for me to realize just how complex it must’ve been for him to hide his second life all these years. It wasn’t that he’d walked out of his life as a member of the esteemed Davencourt family and pretended to be someone else instead. He’d been both Everett Davencourt and Landry Davis.

The man had spent years running the Davencourt holdings, managing investments, hiring and firing land stewards, and consulting Cora on projects at the foundation… while also running around the globe as one of the world’s most in-demand male fashion models, taking part in events on behalf of Sterling Chase, and staying actively involved in his friends’ lives.

And I’d never had a clue.

All that time, I’d thought he was fucking off to the Med to spend a few days on a yacht with booze and boys or spending a long weekend in a luxury hotel somewhere, catching up on sleep.

Never in a million years had I imagined he was in a stuffy office in Regent’s Park reviewing performance reports and signing legal paperwork to expand the family’s real estate holdings. Or helping his father navigate the ever-changing landscape of British politics and critical alliances.

“I can tell this is hard for you,” Cora had said kindly, handing me a mug of tea after the tailor had finished sticking me with dozens of pins. “We begged him to tell you.”

I’d pressed my lips together. “Landry couldn’t trust me.”

She’d disagreed, but it was true. And I couldn’t blame him. I’d never given the man a real chance.

I’d slept horribly after that, waking over and over from stress-fueled nightmares that interspersed terrifying scenes from San Cordova with scenes of me panic-running through an empty city, unable to find Landry.

Before the sun rose, my eyes opened in the darkness as a memory served itself up with particular cruelty.

Landry and I had been hooking up for about six months when he’d begged to stay over at my place after we’d fucked.

“I’m bone-tired, and it’s cold as balls out there,” he’d murmured, eyes already closed.

“Tired? Haven’t you just spent the past week on the coast holding down a sun lounger? Get up. I have to be at the office before six tomorrow.”

He’d turned and snuggled into my shoulder. “Kenj, please. I was up for three days straight trying to navigate an easement deal in Torquay.”

It had sounded so ridiculous I’d assumed he was already half-asleep and dreaming. “We have an agreement,” I’d insisted, nudging him off me to keep from wrapping my arms around him and begging him to stay. “You nut, then you go.”

He’d hauled himself out of my bed with a sigh.

“You never let me stay long enough to talk to you,” he’d complained as he’d yanked on his clothes.

“This isn’t about talking. I don’t need you to talk. I get enough of that during the day,” I’d said, scrolling through my phone to keep from watching his beautiful abs disappear under a sweater and jacket.

His pale abs, I realized now, years too late. Not the sun-kissed abs of someone who’d been in Puerto Vallarta but the winter-pale abs of a man who’d been on the coast of England in Devon.

As I lay there in the darkness, I remembered another time, when I’d overheard Landry and Silas talking out by the pool at Bash’s house in the Hamptons. Landry had asked Silas a question about real estate investment trusts.

My attention had floated in and out, but I remembered hearing Silas explain REITs were like mutual funds but for real estate.

Landry had replied, “I understand what they are and the tax advantages. My question is how to optimize the structure of a REIT. If seventy-five percent of its assets have to be in real estate, cash, or government securities and seventy-five percent of its income has to come from things like rent, interest on mortgages, or property sales, and ninety percent of its taxable income has to be distributed to shareholders annually, is it possible to structure a REIT around historic properties with strict preservation regulations? How do you ensure an adequate occupancy ratio in order to meet the requirements?”

Silas had seemed just as surprised by the question as I had. I’d pretended to be engrossed in my work, sitting off to the side at an umbrella table, but it had been one of a handful of moments when I’d stopped and reminded myself this guy had been admitted to and had graduated from Yale.

Landry wasn’t stupid.

So why the hell did he act like it sometimes?

I wiped my leaky eyes with the duvet, then tossed it aside. Today was our first command performance as a couple. The plan was to take a simple walk, hand in hand, to a local place for brunch and then enjoy our food while acting like normal newlyweds. The press would be tipped off to find us there and shout questions at us as we prepared to leave and walk back to the house. We would pretend to be surprised when encountering Jim and Jamie Winthrop on their way in for brunch, and we’d agree to linger for another cup of coffee.

Considering Landry hadn’t spoken to me since yesterday afternoon, I was unsure of the success of the plan. But the official press releases had already gone out, and the game was afoot regardless of how I felt about it.

I dressed in another of the outfits Landry had purchased for me when we’d first arrived in London. Well-fitted jeans, surprisingly similar to a pair I owned at home that he’d complimented me on several times, and a white turtleneck sweater.

If I spent a little extra time at the vanity, it was only because I was going to be on camera later today, and I needed to be attractive enough to make it at least semi-plausible that someone as beautiful as Landry Davis… Davencourt, would actually choose me.

After an hour of fighting with my hair and face, I gave up and made my way downstairs to the kitchen.

Nan’s face lit up when she spotted me. “Kenji, you look wonderful, dear. How are you feeling?”

Landry’s luminous blue-green eyes glanced up at me, but his face remained expressionless.

My breaths came a little quicker than before… because I’d just walked down the stairs. Obviously .

“I’m fine,” I replied belatedly. “Thank you.”

Cora moved her laptop out of the way and pointed to the seat next to her. She set a Starbucks cup in front of it. “Sit here. Landry got you a coffee.”

I glanced at Landry to thank him, but he’d already turned his attention back to his phone.

“Thanks,” I murmured anyway.

“Mph,” he grunted back.

I closed my eyes and inhaled. This wasn’t going to work.

Cora pulled her laptop closer. “Okay, I’m writing up some profiles for our media kit. Kenji, I have all of your education and work history. Can you give me some interests outside of work?”

I opened my eyes and blinked at her. “What, like hobbies?”

She nodded. “Yes. Like… gardening, hiking, reading, crossword puzzles, swing dancing lessons… you know, that kind of thing. What do you like to do for fun?”

“I’m kind of a workaholic. I don’t have hobbies.”

“We need something to put here. Surely you have some kind of interests? Are there any shows you like to watch or charities you volunteer with?”

I thought of the charity runs I did every holiday season, but they seemed too silly to include. “I took a shodo class once. It’s like Japanese calligraphy.”

Landry didn’t look up from his phone. “It’s a type of Zen practice. He also practices mindfulness and meditation, specifically following the wisdom of Chaska Inira, who believes that fostering peace and understanding can create a world of greater connectedness.”

I stared at him. “Yes,” I breathed.

Cora typed into her laptop. “That’s good. I like that.”

Landry took a sip of coffee. “He also raises money for LGBTQ military groups by doing virtual 5Ks during the months of October, November, and December, but he donates anonymously. And he volunteers at a youth suicide hotline, but he’s not going to let you write that down. And he sends strongly worded letters every quarter to a particular senator, but that obviously can’t be included. He’s an incredible chess player who was once ranked, even though he won’t say how high, and he rarely plays anymore. Oh, and he also sends strongly worded letters to the company that makes the copy paper we used to use in our corporate office, even though they already changed their policy on?—”

“I take pictures of sunsets,” I blurted. “And I make birthday cake kits for a local food bank.”

Cora typed happily into her laptop as I let out a breath and took a sip of my coffee. After a moment, I could swear I felt Landry’s eyes on me, but when I looked up, he was focused on his own cup.

“I also house-sit for friends,” I admitted, watching him. “I swing by their place when they’re out of town and do their laundry, change their sheets, grab a few grocery essentials before they come home. That kind of thing. And sometimes I… I go into their Netflix and click around in it until their suggestions are full of things I think they’d like.”

Landry’s eyes slowly lifted from his cup to meet mine. My heart skipped erratically like it was going to wing itself off the nearest overpass.

Cora made a dismissive sound in her throat. “No offense, Kenji, but that last part sounds a little OTT.”

She was probably right. Thankfully, Reg distracted me by setting a plate full of food in front of me. “The full English. Cora said you’ve got a busy day ahead.”

I murmured my thanks out of habit before remembering our morning “date.”

“Aren’t we eating breakfast out?”

Cora waved a dismissive hand in the air. “You won’t be able to eat much, and you have to order specific menu items that you may not like.”

Landry took another sip of his coffee, which was no help at all.

“Specific menu items?” I prompted.

She nodded. “To cause the least amount of offense to viewers as well as not looking disgusting in a photo. The PR team has settled on the french toast with banana and berries for you. Don’t put too much syrup on it. If you must have it, drizzle sparingly. And Landry will get the acaí bowl. Then he’ll adorably ask to take a bite of yours.”

Landry didn’t seem surprised by any of this. “And do not eat any food with a skin or a leaf unless you can swallow it whole or bite only with your back teeth. I went semi-viral once with a blueberry skin stuck between my teeth. Haven’t eaten blueberries in public since.”

I dug into my full English while I had the luxury of privacy.

Cora continued to outline the reminders from the PR team, even though I’d already read through them in my email during one of my midnight wakings. Touch Landry, but not in strange or “exotic” places like his inner thigh or armpit. Smile a lot, but not maniacally or showing too much teeth. Be sure to listen to what the other says, but remember, active listening includes eye contact, avoiding interrupting, and leaning toward the speaker rather than away from him.

By the time Cora herded us out of the kitchen toward our command performance, I was convinced I was going to fuck it all up.

“You’re trembling,” Landry murmured as he reached for my hand in the foyer. “Do you need a warmer coat? I have one in my?—”

“No, no. I’m fine. I’m not cold.”

Landry’s eyebrows dipped together before winging apart in surprise. “You’re nervous!”

“I’m not good in front of a crowd.”

“Neither am I,” he insisted. “But you get used to it. Smile and look pretty. Works every time.”

I rolled my eyes. “It works for you because you’re beautiful.”

Cora bustled past us and opened the front door just as Landry turned and cupped my cheeks in his warm hands. “You are the most gorgeous man I know, Kenji,” he insisted. “Do you remember when I hurried you away from that lunch restaurant in the Village last year? And you got angry thinking I didn’t want to be seen with you in public? You were right, but not for the reason you think.”

His voice was low and calm, as if there weren’t suddenly cameras and reporters only feet away on the sidewalk.

“Why, then?” I breathed.

“Because I was meeting with my agent and the hiring director for a project. The Breitling job, remember? And I was afraid if the man saw you, he’d want you instead.”

Something about that didn’t sound right. “First of all, don’t be ridiculous. Second, I would have never accepted an offer for a modeling job. And third…” I stopped because I was surprised by my own thoughts, even though they were true. “You’d never begrudge a friend an opportunity like that. Especially me.”

“The man is a player. He would have wanted you not only for the project but also in his bed,” he growled.

I blinked at him as he continued.

“And I wasn’t about to share you.”

His mouth came down on mine, hungry and possessive. The crowd around us went crazy. For a split second, I wondered if he’d orchestrated that moment for maximum effect, but then I quickly realized Landry Davis, my Landry, wasn’t quite that good of an actor.

The kiss was quick but borderline feral. When he pulled away, it left me gasping and off-balance. He reached for my hand and threaded our fingers together before pulling me forward and grinning at the cameras.

“Ya found me,” he said with a bright smile as if this was all so much fun .

A reporter in the front could be heard above the rest. “Landry, are you, in fact, Everett Davencourt, Viscount Hawling?”

He nodded. “I am, and I’m on my way to breakfast this morning with this beautiful man, so I only have time for one or two questions.”

Another reporter asked, “Is it true the two of you are engaged? Can you introduce us?”

Landry released my hand and slid his arm around my waist. “I’d be happy to introduce you, but we aren’t engaged.” The collective group seemed to deflate a little. “We’re recently married.”

Maybe Landry was a better actor than I gave him credit for. He seemed to have a flair for dramatic timing.

The reporters began shouting again until one won out over the others. “When did the two of you marry?”

“Kenji and I met through work many years ago, and we married over the holidays with only friends and family in attendance.”

“Is the rumor true about your father retiring? Are you going to try to take his place in the Lords?”

He tilted his chin down, not taking his arm from around me. “My father is retiring. As to whether I might find myself in Parliament, well, that is a question for the people and for the leaders of our government. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I’d like to get my beloved husband out of the blustery cold. Thank you, everyone.”

He clasped my hand again tightly and pulled me forward. I tried to project an air of friendly and polite calm. An agreeable helpmeet rather than an awkward math nerd who had a secret collection of handy spreadsheet formulas tucked away in a file labeled SumThingSpecial.xlxs .

I was not the kind of guy who had fancy London brunch with a supermodel boyfriend.

Husband .

“I can’t feel my legs,” I said almost too softly for my own ears to pick it up.

“You’re doing fine,” Landry murmured, tightening his grip on my hand. “It’s only two blocks away.”

“They probably think I’m mute.”

“I can assure them you are not,” he said in a particular tone. I glanced up at him and noticed his plastered-on smile didn’t meet his eyes.

“You’re still angry.”

He turned his unsmiling eyes on me and grinned wider. “Darling, I could never be angry with you.”

And then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to my lips.

I stared at him as he pulled away to continue walking. I think I’m going to be sick.

“I’m sorry,” I breathed.

“For what, sweetheart?”

My eyes stung, and I tried to think of something else, something besides hurting the one man in the world who loved me unconditionally.

“Did you know that Excel will let you undo up to one hundred actions?” I asked.

Landry’s smile wavered. “Excel… the spreadsheet software?”

I looked off to the side, taking care to continue smiling even though I worried the gesture wouldn’t be good at containing vomit. “It also has over five hundred built-in functions, including one for gamma distribution, which I’ve never really understood. But there’s also the Unique function, which quickly deduplicates lists and helps with things like RSVPs. That one I use often.”

“What are you… Kenj . Look at me.”

I turned reluctantly to face him, taking great care to look at the place where his red spot had been carefully covered with concealer. His mouth was still smiling playfully, but his eyes showed concern.

“I’m making conversation,” I explained softly with my smile in place.

“You’re scaring me,” he grumbled, turning away and continuing our progress. Thankfully, the security personnel Nan had arranged for us were keeping the reporters far enough away from us not to hear our conversation. “I forgot spreadsheets were your security blanket. Continue. Maybe you can explain why every time I change a cell’s format to currency, it automatically shifts everything to one side.”

I happily explained the importance of aligning the decimal point in a currency column, and by the time we reached the restaurant, I probably looked as happy as a clam, even though my heart still felt like it was being squeezed in a giant vise.

We took a seat at a small table for two by the window. Everything had clearly been arranged ahead of time, and I was grateful the paparazzi wasn’t allowed inside.

“Thank fuck,” I muttered, exhaling and perusing the menu. “Think I’m allowed a hot chocolate?”

“No whipped cream unless you want an adorable spot on your nose I can kiss off,” he said blandly into the menu.

I reached across the table and took his hand in mine. His eyes widened in surprise as he looked up at me.

“I’m sorry I messed up your plans,” I said. “I’m sorry I blurted out the marriage thing and I’m…” I sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. I’m having trouble?—”

“Welcome to Drunch. What can I start you with? Coffee?”

Landry turned on the charm like I’d seen him do a million times. “Hello! I’ll take some coffee, but my husband here would like hot chocolate with extra whipped cream, please.”

I blinked at him and opened my mouth to correct him but felt the warning squeeze of his hand. I clamped my mouth closed after murmuring my thanks.

Once she was gone, Landry glanced back at me. “You’re having trouble…?”

I felt the eyes of the media on us through the window. This wasn’t the time to explain that I was having trouble sleeping. Having trouble breaking the habit of holding him at arm’s length. Having trouble not throwing myself into his arms and begging him to build a life with me for real.

The weight of everyone’s expectations pressed down on me, and I remembered the purpose of this outing. We were supposed to be selling our romance.

I picked up Landry’s hand and pulled it to my lips, kissing each knuckle one by one without taking my eyes off his.

“I’m having trouble keeping my hands and mouth off of you,” I said with a teasing, flirty smile.

Landry’s eyes heated, but his smile didn’t return. I reached for his other hand and began doing the same.

Until I came to a warm gold band on his ring finger.

My stomach lurched with a silly, lightning-fast worry he’d somehow either gotten secretly married when I wasn’t looking or he’d been married all along. But then my brain kicked back in, and I shot him a look.

“Fuck,” he hissed, pulling his hands back to fumble in his pockets. “I have one for you, too.”

“Baby,” I said between my teeth, still fronting a smile as the server approached. “Tread lightly.”

He spoke at a normal volume as he pulled something out of his pocket with a dramatic flourish. “I just got this back from the jeweler. Apparently, the delay was due to its age and historical significance.” He reached for my left hand and began sliding a ring onto my finger. “In the Victorian era, men wore wedding rings on their pinky fingers. Those would have probably fit your slender ring finger, but I didn’t like any of the ones in our family collection.”

It took a minute for the paparazzi to realize what they were seeing through the window, but once they did, they quickly scrambled to get closer.

I concentrated on keeping my hand from shaking. “So this one is…?”

His eyes bored into mine. “It is a gimmel ring from the eighteenth century. It’s actually formed of three separate gold bands. My ancestor, the eighth earl, had it made as a symbolic gesture for his lady love. During the betrothal, he wore one of the bands, she wore the other, and the person who’d introduced them—who happened to be her brother and his friend—wore the third. During the wedding ceremony, all were placed in the bishop’s hand for a marital blessing and then placed together, as you see here, on the groom’s finger. There was a matching one for the bride, but it was lost after her death. We believe it was actually buried with her.”

I glanced down at the design. Two hands were clasped together, almost like a Claddagh ring design but more primitive and blocky.

“There’s a heart inside,” Landry murmured. “Hidden beneath the hands. Each hand is on a separate band, and the heart is on the third. You can separate them to see when you take it off.”

As soon as he released my hand, I pulled it close to my heart and covered it with my other hand. “Thank you,” I said, forgetting for a minute that none of this was real. “I mean… I’ll, uh… I’ll take good care of it.”

I stood and leaned over the table, grasping his face and kissing him tenderly. “Thank you,” I murmured again softly. “You are a good man.”

He stretched his head from side to side and cleared his throat. “Don’t know about you, but I’m in the mood for an acaí bowl!”

As the performance brunch continued, I couldn’t help but glance down from time to time to see the antique ring on my finger. No one had been within earshot when he’d told me the details of the ring. His description of its history hadn’t been for the press. It had been for me.

My mind reeled with this new reality, the one in which Landry Davis, my Landry, was heir to a long and storied earldom complete with a rich, chronicled history as evidenced from this piece and everything in Hawling House, as well as the kind of familial expectation and pressure I couldn’t even wrap my head around.

I’d been under family pressure myself. Pressure to go to college, to graduate and get a good job. And then, when I’d given up the “good” job as an entry-level market research analyst to move to New York, pressure to find an even better one and meet a successful gay man I could settle down with, too.

Within a month of moving, I’d run out of money, not because I hadn’t saved properly for my move but because I’d fallen for an apartment rental scheme and had been too mortified by my own stupidity to ask my parents or grandmother for help. I’d plastered the city with resumes and had taken a temp job as an assistant in the meantime… which was how I’d ended up at Sterling Chase.

“What are you thinking about?” Landry asked, shaking me out of my memories.

His hair was perfectly styled to look messy. His eyes were bright with curiosity, but his mouth was still set in a fake smile. My hand was loosely held in his as his fingers toyed idly with mine, rubbing every now and then across the patina of the old ring.

“I was homeless when I started working for Sterling Chase,” I admitted.

His fake smile evaporated with the steam from his coffee.