Page 50 of An American in London

But I don’t dig. He’s not in the mood to share, and I respect that. Instead, I twirl an entire three hundred and sixty degrees, taking it all in. “I’m going to make you watch the movie when we get back to London. It’s so romantic. They’ve married under pressure from their families and have no time for one another in the beginning; they’re both resolved to endure their lives rather than enjoy their marriage. The night before the scene in the garden, they’ve hosted a ball, and when they dance together in the ballroom, she realizes she’s fallen hopelessly in love with him. She comes to the garden and relives their dance, going through the steps and even mimicking the conversation they had. And then he finds her. He watches for a while from the gate, and then as she spins, she sees him.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Embarrassing for her if he’s not feeling it.”

I let out a small laugh. “Except heisfeeling it. He pulls her to him for a waltz around the roses.”

“Like this?” He grabs my hand, hooking his thumb around mine, and holds our arms up like we’re about to dance.

I suck in a breath, trying to will away the blush I know is coming from being so close to him. After lifting my other hand to his shoulder, he presses his palm to my back. Suddenly there’s no space between us, his hard stomach pressing against my rib cage. My heart thumps in my chest so loudly, I’m sure he can hear it. We’re two strangers, pretending to be lovers, standing body to body, like we’re actually lovers. I try to control my breathing because I don’t know how to act. I don’t know what to do.

“Ben.” I can barely say his name because I have no air in my lungs.

“Just relax and let me lead you.” He inhales and seems to grow another two or three inches before stepping forward, taking me backward.

Suddenly we’re dancing. He leads me in small, rhythmic steps, almost like we can both hear music. I can feel every muscle in his body,his thigh is against mine, and I have to bend backward to look up at him. I’m no virgin, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt so intimate with a guy.

Despite feeling exposed, Ben’s so unfazed, like our closeness is no big deal, that I do what he says and relax. I let him lead us up and down the pathway between the rose bushes. He guides us so I’m floating. My feet barely touch the ground. Maybe I missed my calling and I should have been a dancer all these years. But of course, it’s all Ben making me feel so good.

All of a sudden, he twirls us around, and this time, my feet actually do hover in the air. I squeal and close my eyes.

He sets me down and I look up at him, willing him to keep moving because I’m not ready for this to be over. We sway left, then right, and then he begins to move his feet. The pace is slower than before, and it’s easier to keep up. He drops his frame, and it’s like he’s unzipped his old ballroom costume, stepped out of it, and Ben’s back—except we’re still dancing. It’s just a little more equal this time. It’s how we might move if we were dancing at a wedding or something. We’re just an engaged couple in a garden who have decided on an impromptu waltz.

Because that happens all the time.

I smooth my hand over his shoulder and look up at him, pulling in a breath as I take in his sharp jaw, his full lips, and how close he is to me. He’d only have to move his head a little, and we’d be kissing. I fight the urge to burrow under the soft wool of his jacket, to feel more of him, to be even closer than we are.

I don’t know what it is, but something has shifted between us this morning. There’s an easiness, aknowingbetween us that wasn’t there before.

“You’re a fabulous dancer,” I say. Of all the talents I could imagine Ben having, ballroom dancing wasn’t one of them.

“You’ve got good rhythm,” he replies, looking away and over my shoulder as our movements get smaller and smaller. “And now you’ve reenacted one of your favorite scenes.”

“Day made. No—life made.” More and more, Ben’s featuring in my favorite parts of this trip. And it’s not just because of how much time we’re spending together.

A grin unfurls on his face, revealing his rarely seen dimple.

“How many people know you can dance?”

He narrows his eyes like he’s looking into my soul. “It’s my secret superpower.”

I laugh. “I bet there’s a small club of women who know the truth. It’s got to be the world’s easiest way to get someone into bed with you.” If I didn’t think Ben was the most attractive man I’d ever laid eyes on before today, I certainly do now.

He doesn’t say anything; we just dance in silence. The smell and feel of him is solid, familiar. Almost like he belongs to me. I could stay like this, in this weird filmlike reality, forever.

We’ve drifted apart a little and he pulls me closer. I lean my head on his chest, enjoying the warmth of his hand on my back. He seems in no hurry to go back to the house, and neither am I. I can’t think of anyplace better to be other than swaying in my fake fiancé’s arms. For a few minutes, maybe real life can ebb away, and I can pretend the fantasy is all there is.

Chapter Seventeen

Ben comes out of the bathroom just like he did last night, but things have changed. The shift between us today at the tree, in the walled garden, hasn’t reset as I thought it might. There’s a closeness between us now that’s more than just physical. We’re connected in a way that’s hard to explain.

Today at lunch, he was so attentive he seemed to know exactly what I was thinking and feeling. Just before I realized I needed his reassurance, his hand would find its way to my leg for a couple of seconds. During dinner, a look or a shift of his chair toward me suggested that his mind was as occupied with me as mine was with him. Maybe it’s been growing since we arrived here—maybe since we met—but it feels like we’re inching toward the peak of a mountain and we’re about to get to enjoy the view.

I hope we’re not in a bubble that will pop with the slightest pressure.

“Hey,” he says as he comes through the bathroom door and sees me sitting on the bed.

“Hey,” I reply. It seems ridiculous that he’s taking the couch when I have this enormous bed. “You’re sure you’re okay on the couch? There’s plenty of room in this bed.”

“I’m fine,” he says, much to my disappointment.

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