Page 18

EIGHTEEN

LANDRY

It had been three days since the sports day at Killian Prep.

Three days of Kenji’s attempts to pretend we were together, not only in front of the cameras but behind closed doors.

Three days of my blistering attempts at keeping myself so busy, so well exercised and distracted, I didn’t dare peel him out of his damned pajamas when I finally snuck back to my suite after stalling in the workout room and moved the stubborn man from the settee to my bed.

I might have appreciated that Kenji was respecting my need for distance by sleeping on the sofa, but all it did was give me the opportunity to prove to both of us over and over how fucking weak I was by moving him to the bed.

During the day, my self-control had reached masterful levels. But at night, I wasn’t able to sleep unless I was completely wrapped around him.

At least I could comfort myself that I did it without ever tearing his clothes off and begging my way into his body.

Kenji had tried at least ten times to talk to me about my motherfucking feelings, something I was absolutely not going to do. For three years, I’d hidden my hopeless love and feigned laughter to hide the sting of his rejections. Now, when everything in my life seemed to be teetering like my grandfather’s old spillikins tossed on a narrow window ledge, poised to crash to the pavement at the mildest breeze, I didn’t have it in me to laugh it off. Instead, I’d beg. I’d bargain. I’d sob.

If I shared my feelings with Kenji and he rejected me now, it would break me.

So maybe in a few weeks, after I’d finished my ill-fated attempt at becoming an MP, I’d be able to stomach some kind of final reckoning. I’d fly to New York and confess everything to him, and when he turned me down, I’d manage a dignified exit that allowed us to keep working together and remain friends. Then, I’d slink back to London and lose myself in family obligations.

But in the meantime, my self-control was all I had.

Unfortunately, that self-control didn’t include moments in which the press dared to disparage Kenji Toma.

“Don’t do it,” Nan warned as I shoved back from the kitchen table in a fit of rage.

“This is unacceptable!” I spat, poking the screen of her tablet with my forefinger so hard the joint bent back a little bit. That was fine—the flare of pain only fueled my anger. “They do not get to make up blatant lies about my husband!”

It was late, and Kenji had already gone to bed. I could only hope he wasn’t scrolling social media.

I’d come downstairs in search of ice for my recovery shake after my workout and found Cora, Dad, and Nan sharing a bottle of wine. It hadn’t taken much convincing to swap my recovery drink for a glass of cabernet, and I’d enjoyed the normalcy of settling down to a bit of gossip.

Until Nan’s tablet had buzzed with a salacious headline.

SLEEPING WITH THE HELP? NO, MARRYING THEM! LORD HAWLING GIVES HIS COMMONER SECRETARY A NEW TITLE—HUSBAND! BUT TOMA IS ALREADY CONSIDERING OTHER OPTIONS…

Under the headline was a photo of Kenji standing next to Jamie Winthrop, beaming up at him. Jamie’s face was creased in a grin, making it look for all the world like the two of them were flirting. Instead of the actual reason for their grins, which had been the fact the proffered cups of hot chocolate had featured soccer-ball-shaped mini marshmallows, for fuck’s sake.

Now, obviously, I needed to murder a few people.

“Nan, get the crisis management people on the phone. No, don’t tell me it’s too late at night,” I insisted when she opened her mouth to argue. “What’s the point of having gobs of money if you can’t get immediate response? I want this headline removed before the rest of the world wakes up, and I want a printed retraction and personal apology from this reporter, whoever they are. If they refuse, get our legal team involved. I will sue them so comprehensively their fate will become urban legend?—”

“To be fair,” Cora said mildly, swirling her wineglass in the air, “You are sleeping with the help. And Jamie Winthrop is attractive and charming.”

I pierced her with a glare. “Kenji and I are not sleeping together.”

Cora lifted an accusatory eyebrow.

“Fine,” I gritted. “Technically, we’re sleeping together. But we’re not…”

Nan winced. “TMI, darling.” My father grunted his agreement.

I ignored them since my face was already on fire from anger. “Kenji Toma would no more cheat on me with Jamie Winthrop than… than…” I blew out a breath. “Than he’d be caught dead at an all-you-can-eat buffet, or cut in front of a little old lady in a queue at the market, or put mayonnaise on literally anything. Or be late for a meeting. Or wear acrylic knits. Or sleep on microfiber sheets. Or marry me for real.”

Now, it was Nan’s eyebrow of judgment that winged up.

I deflated. “He just wouldn’t. Not now. Not while he’s pretending to be my husband. Kenji Toma bleeds integrity. He deserves better than this disgusting gossip-mongering.”

Cora set her glass down with a plink . “You’re acting like it’s the first time any of us has been the subject of a disgusting headline.”

Nan nodded and patted Dad’s arm. “Cora’s right. I remember your father asking me what a ‘situationship’ was when there was a rumor about you dating that singer friend of yours a couple of years ago.”

If I wasn’t so angry, I would’ve laughed at the memory of those rumors. Zane and I had been arrested together for causing damage to a hotel room, and even though plenty of other people had been involved, someone had snapped a chance photo of me with my arm around Zane. My head had been turned—shouting an expletive at one of Zane’s misbehaving fans—causing the photo to look like I was kissing Zane’s head.

I’d given a framed copy of the photo to Zane for Christmas recently with the innocently stated hope he’d hang it in his new place in Majestic. His bodyguard boyfriend had growled and toed the photo under the sofa in Dev and Tully’s living room, and I’d laughed my ass off.

Now that Kenji was the one in the media’s crosshairs, though, I understood Ryan’s irrational anger and desire to salt the earth. It wasn’t funny at all.

“It’s more than one awful headline.” I tried to explain. “After having his face splashed all over the internet and gossip magazines, he’ll be recognized in public. Whispered about. He won’t be able to move on after this without long-term repercussions.”

Cora lifted her shoulders. “It’s part of being a Davencourt. He’ll get used to it.”

“But that’s just it—he’s not a Davencourt!” I reminded her.

Kenji had a life to get back to, and I didn’t want our fake marriage to ruin it.

My father leaned back in his chair, bringing his wineglass with him. “He could be. It’s clear the two of you have serious feelings for each other.”

I shook my head. “Not him. And he wouldn’t want to be an MP’s spouse or settle full-time in England anyway. Kenji has dreams that don’t involve living in the center of a three-ring media circus.”

My father tilted his head at me as if to understand. “Did I ever tell you how your mother and I met? Funny story, that. She was here on a school trip.”

There was a silent, collective groan of disappointment in the room as he began one of his favorite story repeats.

I tried to focus on a centering technique I’d overheard Kenji describing one time— Breathe in. Feel your feet. Exhale slowly— but all I could think about was that my feet felt hot and humid in my running shoes after my workout.

That was a shit centering technique.

“What you may not know,” my father continued, “was that I deliberately didn’t pursue her at first.”

I blinked at him in surprise. This was a new verse to his usual song. “You wrote her, like, a hundred letters.”

He nodded. “That’s right. But that’s all I did. I was afraid if I pursued her, if she came back over here and married me, all the parts of her I loved, all of her spirit and playfulness, would be stifled under formality and the pressure of trying to fit into my world.”

Nan didn’t look surprised by this information, but Cora and I sure were. “I never knew that,” I admitted. “So what happened?”

He scratched at an old scar on the table with a short fingernail. “She showed up on my doorstep.”

Cora shook her head. “We know that part, but why didn’t you turn her away if you were worried about it?”

His face softened with memory and old affection. “You must not remember your aunt. She wasn’t the kind of woman who allowed anyone to turn her away.” He looked up at Cora and then me. “I told her I hadn’t wanted to throw her to the wolves by asking her out. She implied that she didn’t need anyone making decisions for her, and she pointed out that if I liked her enough to write her a hundred letters and discontinue seeing other women for those five years, that was evidence enough that I was interested in her as more than a friend. And of course, she was right.”

Their love story had been romantic and epic. Years after the press had gotten hold of it—leaked by one of my mother’s American school friends—they’d gone on to compare Charles and Diana’s love story to my parents’, which had become more and more offensive as details of the royal couple’s true relationship had come out.

It had taken them fifteen years—and countless losses—before my mother had become pregnant with me. My mother had always said the wait for me allowed her more time to spend with the love of her life.

Looking into my father’s eyes reminded me that he’d had to spend the past fifteen years without his Kenji. How the hell had he survived?

His gaze was lucid and piercing. “Do you know what she told me that day? Sometimes choosing the path of happiness comes with unexpected sacrifices.”

“I don’t want him to sacrifice. I told you that.”

Dad leaned forward and gripped my hand. “Darling boy. Whoever said I was talking about him doing the sacrificing?”

I stared at him. “I don’t understand. You make it sound like I’m not willing to sacrifice anything for him, and that’s simply not true.”

He took a slow sip of his wine, the liquid leaving defined legs as it slid back down the bowl of the crystal glass. “Then why are you here in London playing a game only Teddy Baines will win?”

Once again, I looked at my father in shock. And once again, Nan didn’t look surprised.

“I thank God every day that you are your mother’s child, Landry,” Dad said with a wink. “And your mother would advise you to choose happiness.”

He turned to Cora with a smile and asked for details about her recent archery win, as though he hadn’t just set my whole world on its ear… and called me Landry while doing it.

Nan shot me a warm look of understanding. “He meant what he said, Landry. Ed has only ever wanted your happiness. If you want a seat in the Lords, he wants you to have that. And if you want a life with Kenji, well…”

“It’s a moot point what I want if the guy doesn’t want me.” I shook my head to clear it. “Meanwhile, this hasn’t distracted me from the main point, which is this ridiculous media speculation.” I pointed back to her tablet, where the headline and photo were no longer visible since the screen had gone to sleep. “We’re going to ruin this reporter’s career?—”

Nan sighed and stood up, tucking her tablet under her arm. “We’re not. Not tonight, anyway. Instead, we’re going to put this in the hands of our crisis PR team tomorrow and let them respond with brains instead of…” She waved a hand at me. “Whatever this is.”

I rubbed my face with both hands. “Fine.”

It wasn’t fine, but Nan deserved her rest. And I was perfectly capable of contacting the crisis team myself.

After retrieving my phone from the workout room, where I’d accidentally left it, I poked my head in to make sure Kenji was asleep.

The little fucker was on the settee again. Of course .

Instead of risking waking him, I slunk back out of the room and closed the door.

And then got to work.

The following morning, Kenji came striding into the kitchen, bright-eyed and gorgeous in a new outfit of wide-legged black trousers and a trim-fit toffee-brown sweater so soft it had to have been cashmere.

If I hadn’t been so tired, I would have wanted to parade him around town and then pose with him for the cover of a magazine with the feature cover line claiming, “Legal Experts Agree: Kenji Toma is Off-Limits To Other Men.”

“Good morning, everyone,” he said cheerily, breezing past me to grab the sole Starbucks cup remaining in the carrier. “I would include my darling, devoted husband in that greeting, but he’s currently dead to me.”

“I am devoted to you,” I corrected with a sleep-deprived grumble. “Devoted to your protection.”

“ Mpfh . I assume that’s the reason Zee Barlo and an unknown woman from the Vista Bonita Active Seniors Community happened to leak photos of a certain viscount’s cheaty husband within hours of each other?”

“You’re not a cheaty husband,” I muttered. “You’d never. That was the whole point.”

“Oh my god, Landry, what did you do?” Nan asked, peering over Cora’s shoulder at the laptop screen.

After a late-night Brotherhood strategy session, we’d come up with the right media distraction to pitch to the crisis PR manager.

Zane had, with his irresistible “oh shucks, he’ll kill me for this, but you just have to see it” charm, sent old photographs of a knock-kneed chess geek winning prizes at various tournaments in the greater mid-Atlantic area circa 2002 to 2010.

Additionally, Kenji’s grandmother, who’d still been awake, thanks to the time difference, had “accidentally” changed the security settings on a few Facebook posts featuring her chubby-cheeked grandson as an infant and as a gap-toothed second grader at Old Line Elementary School.

Cora gasped and clutched her chest. “Oh my god, the cowlick.”

Nan leaned over and grinned. “That shirt collar makes your neck look as skinny as a pin. Aren’t you just the sweetest .”

Kenji’s glare was laser-hot against the back of my head as I turned to grab a breakfast sandwich from the tray. His voice was dangerously sweet. “This aggressive memory-lane campaign seems incredibly reactive, but I look forward to seeing the equivalent photos released of the Right Honorable Judas Iscariot in his infant dinner jacket and his prep-school tweeds. Maybe a shot of him playing polo, hmm? I heard he was incredible at it, and I, for one, would love to see a heretofore unseen shot of the viscount in his awkward prepubescent years.”

Cora snorted, preparing to tell him the truth of my polo experience before I stopped her with a look.

Nan ignored the tension. “Look at you with your gran at your graduation. Och, such a lovely photo. She’s obviously very proud of you, Kenji.”

He took a breath. I imagined him doing a hard-and-fast scroll through his mental list of helpful Chaska Inira wisdom.

So I decided to help him out.

“ Fire cannot put out fire. Let the flames of anger pass before you speak, and you will not burn what you wish to protect .”

His eyes widened in slow motion. “Did you just Chaska me?”

I bit back a smile. When an angry Kenji Toma was the match, I was happy tinder. “I simply believe in a tempered response. Consider meditation and reframing before?—”

His slender nostrils flared with anger as he clapped a hand over my mouth. “Did it occur to you to consult with the person who was being smeared in the original headline? Did you ever stop to think that I make a living putting out fires and managing messes like this full-time? Or that we—” He made a jerky arm motion between me, Cora, Nan, and himself. “—have a crisis PR team on call right now who actually specializes in responding to ridiculous headlines like this?”

“I had their approval,” I tried to say from behind his hand. But it came out sounding more like M’adder proovuh .

He yanked his hand away when I finally licked it. His voice was calm but with a clear thread of danger underneath. “Watch your back, my lord . You are on a very short list of extremely long and detailed revenge plans.”

My dad wandered into the room with the Times under his arm and a mug of tea in one hand. After seeing everyone gathered around the laptop, he leaned over and lifted his glasses to get the right angle before asking, “What are we looking at, and why is my purported son-in-law upset?”

Kenji cleared his throat. “Sorry, sir. But you’ve raised a man-child who still needs scolding from time to time. I’m happy to take the duty off your shoulders.”

I couldn’t hold back a snort of surprise. Cora’s face lit up with approval. It was nice to know Kenji wasn’t intimidated by the fifteenth Earl of Davencourt.

“Don’t I know it,” Dad said with a grin before looking back at the laptop screen and Kenji’s chess picture. “Wait a moment. That’s a FIDE tournament. Just how good a player are you, son?”

Kenji suddenly lost his nerve and fiddled with his wedding ring. “I, ah, didn’t make Master. I stopped playing in tournaments halfway through college.”

Dad reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “That’s impressive. I’d love to take a lesson if you have time for a match with an old Cambridge lad. I’ll certainly lose, but it will not be for lack of trying, only lack of practice. Maybe it will give the two of you a chance to cool off.”

Kenji turned back to smile at him. “I’d love to play. I’m rusty, too. With the exception of playing against my grandmother a couple of times a year, I haven’t played regularly in over a decade.”

Dad clapped his shoulder and tilted his head toward the door to the rest of the house. “No time like the present. Come on, then.”

He didn’t give Kenji much choice, which brought back memories of my father’s more commanding years. He’d mellowed quite a bit in the time I’d been away, but it was nice to see Kenji get a glimpse of who Edward Davencourt had been when I was younger, when he’d gone toe-to-toe with Lord Orren over critical energy proposals, changing the way England relied on foreign oil, or when he’d spent several days closed up with Dr. Frey and her husband hashing out details of a health initiative that provided additional funding to the NHS for research into rare diseases seen in combat veterans. In both cases, he’d argued staunchly in support of his proposed programs and won over an impressive amount of opposition to his causes.

I selfishly wanted Kenji to know that man. The smart, friendly, powerful fifteenth Earl of Davencourt. The man who’d made his mark on Parliament and on the legacy of our family.

The man whose reputation had made it so incredibly clear to me that no sane person would select me to take his place in the House of Lords when there were men like him who would do it a thousand times better.

I truly hadn’t thought I had a chance at actually being elected as an MP, but after meeting with Teddy Baines yesterday, I had to acknowledge it was a possibility. Teddy was a smart man who hadn’t ascended to the top of the government without being strategic and well supported.

While Kenji accompanied Dad to the library for a game of chess, I shoved the remaining bite of the breakfast sandwich down and refilled my empty Starbucks cup with black coffee before following Nan back to the office to review critical details of who would be attending tonight’s Hearts of Hawling Dinner and how I needed to engage with them.

I felt like I was back in school, with lists of names to memorize and key details to retain for the exam. At one point, I took a break and headed immediately to the library, where Kenji was regaling my father with stories about the Brotherhood, about Lellie and Christmas in Majestic, and about the snow bunny I made for her using carrots for ears.

I watched them for a few minutes, out of sight behind the edge of the doorframe, and marveled at the lack of tension in Kenji’s body. These days, the only time I witnessed him uncoiled was when he was deep asleep.

“Do you want children one day?” my father asked, gesturing to something. It took me a moment to realize there was a photo album on Kenji’s lap. The one full of my mother’s favorite pictures of me growing up.

Kenji looked down at the album. Instead of softening, he sat up straighter and closed the book, sliding it onto a nearby end table. “Yes, sir. I do. But I’m not sure my work life is compatible with a family.”

“That’s too bad. Children are a delight. I would imagine it’s harder for you boys since you wouldn’t have a wife at home to take care of them.”

Kenji nodded, pressing his lips together. “Yes, sir. I’d love to have a partner who was able to stay home with our children… but then again, I wouldn’t want to raise children in the city, and that’s where my job is.”

My father nodded and thought about it. “Tell me more about Majestic. Everett said it’s got beautiful views. I’d love to visit one day.”

Some of the tension bled out of Kenji’s body. “It is beautiful. There’s something both serene and inspirational about it. The views make you feel anchored but also… I don’t know… adventurous? It’s hard to explain. Lan… Everett would laugh if he heard me say that. I’m not exactly the outdoor adventure type. But being there makes my mind expand. I feel more creative and…” His voice trailed off as if he’d realized he’d run on a bit, but my father encouraged him to keep going.

Kenji shrugged. “I’m grateful several of my employers live there because it gives me an excuse to spend time in a place that feels very welcoming and therapeutic. It’s quite a contrast from the city, as you can imagine.”

As the subject changed and my father began telling a story about an adventure trip with his brother I’d heard a million times before, I continued past the library to my office and tried to put the conversation out of my mind. Hearing Kenji still refer to me and the guys as his “employers” galled me.

I checked in with the Brotherhood on a video call. They were all still in Majestic, awaiting Lellie’s birthday celebration that night, though her actual birthday wasn’t today.

“I told Kenji he should fly back for the party,” I explained for the third time. “But he refused. We’ve been invited to a reception at Downing Street, kind of a political networking thing?—”

Dev shook his head. “I still can’t wrap my head around this. The man who once ran naked down the shore in broad daylight singing Monty Python’s ‘Penis Song’ is going to don a powdered wig?—”

“They don’t wear wigs,” I corrected. “And I’m not going to get selected.”

Bash and Silas both stared into the camera with the kind of no-bullshit intensity they were known for. I glanced at Zane, whose face was creased in concern.

“But what if you are?” he asked. “What if you’re selected and you stay in London full-time? Will we ever get to see you?”

“You’d be surprised at how many breaks they get,” I assured him. “During the last session, they had about twenty weeks off. It’s not a bad gig.”

Silas’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “So I guess there’ll be time during those breaks to attend… oh, let’s say a family birthday celebration?”

Dev shot him a look while Way reached over and shoved a cookie in Silas’s mouth.

What they didn’t realize was that the knife cut just as deep whether their hands were on the hilt with mine or not.

Tully, who held a wriggly Lellie on his lap, griped at Way for bringing out cookies and demanded one for his daughter if he was going to flaunt them.

I missed these guys. I missed them so much it hurt.

“I won’t get selected,” I said again, even though I was tired of being the only person who believed it. “There are several candidates in the running who are way more qualified than I am. They’ve been here for years, networking and establishing connections. Everything I’ve done here has been via email and phone calls only. Those relationships don’t exist for me the way they do for the other candidates.”

Silas shook his head. “The PM wouldn’t have put his support behind you without being confident in your success.”

“You’re being naive, Landry.” This time, the admonishment came from an unlikely source. Zane’s boyfriend, Ryan, crossed his arms in front of his broad chest. “Politics is a chess game played by experts. They don’t make a move without looking several moves ahead. Sometimes pieces are sacrificed to protect other pieces or moved to protect other pieces. And sometimes the move is a distraction tactic to make your opponent think you’re doing one thing when you’re actually doing another. I’m not saying Baines has any nefarious motive here, but I am saying—as I’m sure others have said already—there’s little chance he’s putting you up without believing you’ll get the seat.”

By the time I dressed for the dinner, I was in a shit mood. Not only was I tired from sleepless nights spent hard and aching against a man I couldn’t have, but I was also finally coming to the conclusion that I was the one in denial about the House of Lords situation.

There was a very good chance I would get selected, not because I deserved it but because other people were pulling the strings.

I imagined most people would be happy in my shoes. In a way, I was happy myself. The position would keep me busy and distracted. It would let me continue a proud family legacy. It would let me do some good in the world.

But I’d be stuck half a world away from most of the people I loved, doing a job I didn’t love, and depriving better candidates in the process.

Cora knocked on my bedroom door. “Landry? Kenji’s been downstairs and ready for half an hour. What’s taking you so long? The car is waiting.”

I wasn’t going to explain the elaborate dressing choreography I’d done to ensure I didn’t see any of Kenji’s bare body before he was safely out of the room. “Coming.”

Cora’s elegant gown looked amazing in the warm, dim lighting of the corridor.

“Is that Dolce?” I asked in surprise, recognizing the zebra chiffon. “I thought you were wearing Vivienne Westwood tonight.”

As usual, she’d asked me to hook her up with some contacts in the fashion industry. She’d frequently claimed the only thing having a supermodel cousin was good for was the couture.

She flushed and looked away, her eyelashes fluttering inky black against her smooth cheek. “Jamie Winthrop suggested something a little more young and fun. Well, to be fair, I told him I wished I could wear this dress instead of the red gown but that I worried about upsetting our donors. He reminded me that charitable giving isn’t just done by old fuddy-duddies. Do you think it’s okay? Not too much?”

My cousin rarely expressed nervousness, and I wondered if my old Eton frenemy had some sort of scheme to use my cousin to get closer to my husband. “I think you look drop-dead gorgeous,” I admitted, offering her an appreciative smile. “And if it makes your mother have a coronary, more’s the better, right?”

She waved an elegant hand as we neared the top of the stairs. “She’s already approved since it’s from an established fashion house. Had the exact same dress been designed by an up-and-comer, she would have gasped and insisted I change.”

I escorted her down the stairs where Kenji and Jamie Winthrop were standing, chatting happily. Or possibly flirting , some dark corner of my brain that had read too many scandal headlines suggested. Maybe that reporter had a point .

Knowing how irrational I was being only made my mood darker.

“You look amazing,” Kenji exclaimed, eyes only on Cora. “That dress is gorgeous.”

Jamie stared like a cartoon character with eyeballs on springs. “Shit.”

Cora let out a nervous laugh. “That bad, eh? I look like shit?”

He strode quickly forward and reached for her hand, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek and whisper something in her ear I couldn’t make out. Whatever he said must have done the trick because she smiled and returned the cheek kiss.

“Right, then,” I said quickly. “Wouldn’t want to be late to our own show.”

The next hour was a whirlwind of event-staff greetings and prep at the Royal Horseguards Hotel. The dinner itself would be held in the Gladstone Library, but the receiving line and cocktail hour were held outside of it in a different area. As we finally waited for the first actual guests to enter, Kenji stepped in front of me and reached out to fuss with my bow tie.

The upper half of his hair was pulled back neatly in a knot while the rest flowed down past his shoulders in a dark, glossy spread. His eyebrows were neatly shaped, his lips pink and full.

“You look fucking beautiful,” I said under my breath.

He glanced up before focusing on the bow tie again. “You sound upset about that,” he murmured.

“I am.”

Though he rolled his eyes, his gaze didn’t leave the tie. “I’d ask why , but since you’re avoiding conversations with me?—”

“Because every man and woman in this place will get the opportunity to flirt with you, to talk to you, to dance with you without being shot down.”

His fingers spasmed, twisting my tie out of alignment.

With an epic scowl, he yanked it open and started tying it again. “I assure you, anyone looking for more than conversation will definitely be shot down.”

I huffed out a humorless laugh. “Well, they can all join the fucking club. I’m the goddamned president of it.”

His jaw ticked. “ You haven’t been shot down in days,” he pointed out before glancing around and plastering on a fake smile. “In fact, if you’ll recall, I’m the one who’s been trying to talk, yet somehow, you’re always conveniently too busy.”

“Mpfh.”

Kenji finally looked up at me. There was a toxic mix of anger, hurt, and lust in his eyes. The lust part threw me for a loop. “Landry, you can hardly be mad at me for looking my best when you clearly only need me to sit still and look pretty.”

His words offended me deeply. “What the fuck?” I hissed. “When have I ever treated you like a prop?”

Kenji’s eyes flashed as he finished the tie and put his palm below it on my chest, nearly high enough to strangle me. “When someone came for me with derogatory headlines and you decided to handle it yourself instead of bothering little ole me who… makes a fucking living putting out fires. No, instead of asking for my help or getting my consent for peppering every news outlet with awkward Kenji photos, you took it upon yourself to manage the situation.”

Guests began entering the room, starting at the far end of the receiving line. I wrapped my fingers around Kenji’s wrist to pull his hand off me and lowered my voice even more. “I don’t want you to have to sort my shit for me.”

If it was possible, he looked even angrier. “Did it ever occur to you that I like ?—”

“Oh, there you are, Landry!” Aunt Lydia’s smile beamed as brightly as her glittering dress, but her eyes flashed a warning that she’d noticed our heated conversation. “You remember Lord Wymer, don’t you? Lord Wymer, may I present Lord Hawling and his husband, Mr. Toma? If you’ll excuse me, I see Lord Twetts over there, and I know he’s been so eager to meet my Cora.”

She melted away into the crowd, and Kenji’s face lit up in a welcoming smile as he greeted the baron and baroness.

“Lord Wymer, it’s been a long time!” I shook the man’s hand. “Lady Wymer, don’t you look lovely in blue? I believe I remember hearing you’d visited Fort McHenry when you were in the States last year, right? Well, Kenji here was actually born and raised in Maryland…”

The night spun out in a series of endless meet and greets like that one. With each subsequent introduction, I did my best to make a small conversational connection so that Kenji would be able to find people to talk to throughout the evening when I was pulled away for various reasons.

Tension vibrated between us despite the plastered-on smiles and deliberate touches intended to sell our “romance” to everyone there.

We finally moved from the receiving line into the library. Kenji was clearly still angry.

So was I.

How dare he get mad at me for trying to protect him. For trying to clean up my own messes for once. For keeping him from always having to take charge.

“There he is,” Ben MacNeely said as I entered the large ballroom and took stock of the crowd. “We were just talking about our next MP, weren’t we, Holmes?”

I reached for Kenji’s hand as we approached the group of men clad in crisp Armani and women in sparkling couture gowns. “That can’t be right. If I remember correctly, you were more likely lamenting Man United’s embarrassing showing on Sunday.”

Once everyone’s laughter and teasing died down and I’d thanked everyone again for coming, Samuel Holmes pulled me aside with his wife, Laura. “So, Ev… sorry, Landry—that’ll take some getting used to, won’t it? Sorry. Anyway, Laura and I wanted to talk to you about a special measure coming up in regards to the transfer of water rights. Her parents’ estate is on the Derwent and…”

He and Laura began appealing to me to support the special measure by explaining water rights in excruciating detail. I finally stopped him mid-plea.

“Sam, I understand riparian rights as I’ve been managing Davencourt Park for years, which stands on the River Wey. Unfortunately, I’m not able to dig into details about the special measure this evening, but did you know that the Davencourt Foundation funds clean water initiatives and ecological research? I’ll have to look into it, but the Derwent might be on the list of rivers positively impacted by our efforts here tonight.”

Kenji smiled and leaned forward. “Landry and Cora are also spearheading a project to establish new riverside walking trails. That project is near Epping, I think. Isn’t that right, darling? The more funding the project gets, the more trails they can create, which fits right in line with Landry’s personal hope of decreasing childhood obesity and increasing sustainable movement habits in adults.”

As the cocktail hour continued, the situation repeated itself. Someone tried to pull me aside to ask a favor or win my support on something, and Kenji managed to turn the conversation back to the evening’s purpose. Like a dutiful spouse.

He had to be hating every minute of this. It was an unwelcome reminder of all the other times in the past decade Kenji Toma had been forced to bail me out of scrapes. If only I hadn’t dragged him into this mess by telling that one little lie about being engaged to him. And if only he hadn’t felt duty-bound to double down on the lie with a bigger lie to try and fix things.

By the time I pulled his chair out at the dinner table, I was annoyed, anxious, and generally on edge.

It was probably for the best I wasn’t able to sit with him. Instead, I was seated a few places away between Baroness Colborne and Teddy’s wife, Kaveri.

Kaveri winked at me as soon as I inquired after her comfort. “I believe you’re the one in the hot seat. How has the evening gone for you so far? Okay?”

I smiled and shrugged. “I can’t say I’m not used to the scrutiny, although I’ve never had it focused on my brains over my brawn, so to speak.”

The sound of her gentle laughter garnered attention from a few people sitting close to us. People’s eyes had been on me all night, but the fact I was now seated between the prime minister’s wife and the Lord Speaker placed me directly in the limelight.

“My lady, thank you again for coming,” I said, addressing the Lord Speaker, Baroness Colborne, on my other side. “I understand from Teddy that you and your husband have recently returned from a holiday to Santorini. How did you find it?”

She and I both knew this was a dance in which a certain amount of small talk needed to happen before delving deeper. Teddy had arranged for us to have coffee in his office the following morning with a few other influential MPs, so it wasn’t necessary to talk shop at tonight’s event anyway.

While she explained her Christmas holiday and the joy her grandchildren found in visiting a place they’d only seen on television, I recognized the universal look of joyful affection on her face from sharing tales of her family with someone new.

I glanced over at Kenji and noticed he’d been placed close to Jamie Winthrop. The older woman between them seemed perfectly happy to be entertained by Kenji and Jamie sharing stories with her from both directions, and it was clear the three of them had created one of the more fun pockets along the large expanse of guests.

My fingers curled into a fist. I’d forgotten just how tedious and ridiculous these events were. Teddy leaned over his wife to ask me a question about whether a certain MP had contacted me to arrange for drinks the following week. He reminded me of several other contacts who were here tonight I hadn’t had a chance to speak to yet.

As we spoke, my eyes kept moving over to Kenji, who was obviously having a grand old time yukking it up with Jamie. Jamie’s face split into a happy grin, punching asshole dimples into his cheeks. Kenji’s normally cool demeanor in situations like this was nowhere to be seen tonight. He was happy and talkative, warm and bright.

I wanted to absolutely murder someone. Everyone.

One person in particular.

How dare he tell everyone we were married, then turn around and flirt at my family fundraiser? Didn’t he know everyone was watching? Didn’t he know there would be more photos on the internet of him beaming up at the guy as if Jamie Winthrop was the greatest thing since Wi-Fi?

I was being irrational. I knew it, and I didn’t care. The straightjacket of my self-control was in tatters. The steel box where I’d been keeping my emotions was pulsing like a boiler about to explode.

It took me a moment to realize someone was tapping on my shoulder. Cora’s strained smile alerted me right away to a problem.

“Pardon me for stealing your dinner partner away,” she began, smiling to the ladies on either side of me. “But I need to ask Landry a quick question in private. Please excuse us.”

I glanced over at Kenji’s part of the table only to see his empty seat.

“What’s going on?” I asked as soon as we were far enough away from the table.

“I have no fucking clue,” she hissed. “But you’re going to fix it. Your husband—you know, the one you’ve been glaring at for the past forty-five minutes—is in the cloakroom waiting for you. Figure out a way to get past… whatever the fuck is going on, and don’t come back until you’re ready to lose the murder face.”

She walked away, throwing on a winning smile and flicking the skirt of her gown in place.

I stormed out of the library and down the hall to the coat room, which was really just a deep alcove in the ancient stone building covered by a heavy velvet curtain on a thick brass rail.

As soon as I entered the space and yanked the curtain closed behind me, I saw Kenji on the opposite end in front of a large window past neat rows of winter coats. He stood with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“What the fuck are you doing?” we both snapped at the same time. Kenji’s was more of a low hiss while, I’ll admit, mine sounded a bit more unhinged.

His eyes darkened as he stalked toward me. “I’m trying to be a dutiful viscountess, my lord. Charm the masses. Look friendly and approachable. Convince a room of influential people that my husband is the perfect candidate for this cockamamie scheme.”

I almost snorted at his use of cockamamie . It was a word I’d heard his grandmother use on the phone with him before. But I was ten miles past the exit on this bad-mood highway, and nothing was bringing me back.

“Oh?” I snarled. “That was you trying to help me? Flirting with every fucking man in the room?”

I hated how insecure I sounded. Somewhere in the back of my brain was a rational human wincing at my own words and unfair accusations. But that rational human had zero access to my mouth at that moment.

Kenji let out a soft laugh. “You’re being a complete ass right now. I’ve been trying for days to talk to you. I’ve been nothing but friendly and agreeable tonight. I’ve tried to help you, but you can’t?—”

I took two long strides until I was right up in his face. “Help me? Help me? Eye-fucking Jamie Winthrop does not help me, Kenji. If anything, it’s distracting me from being able to do my job,” I growled.

He was so beautiful, so striking in the cool moonlight coming in through the window behind him. A few stray wisps of hair had come loose from the half knot and brushed the side of his face tauntingly. His lips were dark and his angled chin firm. I’d seen him in tuxedos before, but never one custom-tailored for his body. It fit him like a lover, like the way my hands knew him in the dark.

He took a breath as if trying to recenter himself and remain calm. “How would you like me to help you, then?”

My back teeth ached from biting back the words I’d wanted to say to the sycophants and the self-interested power brokers in the room. From biting back words I wanted to say to him .

From loving him for three goddamn hopeless years. From wanting him every minute of every day.

“You want to help me, Kenji?” I ground out, barely recognizing my own voice in the animal growl. “Truly help me?”

Kenji’s eyes widened, and his calm facade wavered—a reflection on water disturbed by a ripple below.

I leaned closer until we were existing in the same space, breathing the same breath. “Then get on your fucking knees.”

The air sparked around us, filled with the scent of perfume, faded cigar smoke, and leather. The sound of silverware clinking on china and conversations filled with bursts of polite laughter filtered into the curtained-off space. My cheeks heated with my own audacity, as if anticipating the rush of blood that would come when he slapped me. Hard.

But the slap didn’t come.

Instead, Kenji lifted one eyebrow and whispered, “Yes, my lord.”

Then, he sank gracefully to the carpet.