Page 41 of An American in London

I slide my palm against his, and the buzz is unmistakable. Does he feel it too? I glance up, and his brows are knitted together like he’s trying to work out a complex math problem.

“If we get a question we haven’t rehearsed, then we stick as closely to the truth as possible,” he says. “Just like you suggested. Okay?”

I exhale. “Agreed. I just hope the discussion is about hotels and business and not our relationship.”

“It seems the two are inextricably linked.” Almost like a yogi’s chant, the guttural vibrations of his grumbling somehow relax me.

We meet Nick at the top of the stairs.

“You’re here,” he says, stating the obvious. “How are things going?”

“We met the duke and duchess briefly.”

Nick nods. “Excellent.” He turns and watches an elegant woman come toward us. “Here’s Elizabeth, my wife.” Her hair is swept up and she’s wearing flat shoes and a bright-red lip. She looks like she lives here and doesn’t seem to have any of my nerves, but then again, I suppose I’m hiding more than she is.

Ben and Elizabeth obviously know each other, but Nick introduces us and we exchange air kisses.

“How are you feeling?” He glances at our joined hands. “Good? You make a handsome couple, if I do say so myself.”

“Stop,” Ben says. He tugs my hand and we take the sweeping staircase down. Grant appears from nowhere to meet us at the bottom with a tray of champagne.

We didn’t live in a mansion and have holidays in Europe when I was young, but we weren’t poor—or I never felt it until right now. Even being toured around Ben’s house didn’t intimidate me. But the kind of life that involves a butler who appears out of nowhere with drinks is slightly intimidating.

“His Grace is out on the terrace,” Grant says. “At the end of the corridor, on your right.”

The terrace is covered in roses of every color and size, growing over the pergola at one end and in pots and raised beds at the other. We’re not the first to arrive. There are three other couples standing on the far end, the duke and duchess waiting by the door for people to arrive.

The duchess is wearing a soft-pink skater-style dress with a string of pearls and her hair up in a chignon. At least I feel like I’m suitably dressed. The duke’s in a navy suit that looks like Ben’s, so that’s another tick in the box, although Ben’s sartorial suitability was never really in question.

We’re all so dressed up for dinner, and we’re not even going out. But this is obviously normal for them. I can’t help but wonder if this is normal for Ben too. He says he doesn’t come from money, but is this a life he’s become comfortable with? Does he throw lavish dinner parties or go hunting for the weekend often? He doesn’t seem the type, but I don’t know him very well.

“Tuesday is such a beautiful name,” the duchess says as Ben drops my hand.

My knees fizz with nerves at the loss of his support. Even if I were actually engaged to Ben, I’d still be a little nervous. Life with Jed in New York was incredibly glamorous at times, but I’ve never had dinner in a stately home with actual nobility.

“It’s so unusual.” Her eyes are sparkling and full of interest.

My name gets me plenty of attention and not always in a good way. There are a lot of snobs in New York—mainly Jed’s friends and work colleagues—who used to love to make snide put-downs about my name. I’m fully attuned to backhanded compliments, but this isn’t one. The duchess is being completely authentic.

“Thank you,” I say. “I love it. It was my mother’s choice. Ben loves to tease me about it.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Sunday,” he says, quick as a flash.

Smiling, I roll my eyes, like I’m well used to his jibes. Which I kind of am.

“So how long have you two been together?” the duchess asks.

“Less than a year,” I say—technically, not a lie. “It’s been a whirlwind.”

Ben isn’t a talker. Anyone who’s ever met him knows that. He can’t start gushing over our fairy-tale romance because it’ll sound fake. Most of the relationship questions have to be answered by me.

“It’s a cliché, but when you know, youreallyknow,” I say.

The duchess is smiling like she knows exactly what I mean. “I agree. I see couples together for four and five years and then they split up, and I think, ‘What were you doing? If you knew it wasn’t right, why did you waste all that time?’”

I can’t help but think about Jed. We’d been together nearly a decade and hadn’t made it down the aisle. I always made the excuse that we were young and had plenty of time. But maybe he’d been dragging his feet a long time because he didn’t believe in us. Or maybeI’dbeen the one with doubts. Maybe on some level, we knew we weren’t each other’s forever.

“You’re right,” I say. “Though I guess sometimes you can be happy enough to stay in a relationship, but not happy enough to turn it into forever.” I lay a hand on Ben’s upper arm and squeeze.

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