Page 84 of An American in London

“I know it’s more than that.”

Silence wraps itself around the two of us, binding us in a bubble in the middle of a bustling street in Knightsbridge.

He hasn’t left. He’s still standing here next to me. I’m taking that as a win.

“So what if it is?” he asks eventually. “What does it matter to you?”

It’s a good challenge, and I don’t have an immediate answer. “I want to understand. Then I want to brainstorm with you and come up with a different plan for you to get it.”

Ben laughs, but it’s an empty sound that makes my ribs rattle. He checks his watch. “And that will take us until lunchtime. Shall we then try and broker world peace in time for dinner?”

“I’m serious,” I say, a little frustrated with his resistance. What’s he hiding? “I’m new in town, remember? I get to choose which sights we see. I’m telling you what I want, Ben. Don’t you want to give it to me?”

“And what about you?” he asks. “Why don’t we figure out the direction your life is taking? Maybe that’s what should occupy us this afternoon.”

I tilt my head and hold out my hand. “If you follow through with The Fairfield, you can help me compile my vision board.”

“Your what?”

“My plan for my future. I’ve been thinking about what you said. I think I’ve just been going along the path of least resistance for a long time. Prioritizing other people’s needs. Acting out of fear instead of passion. I want that to change. I’m trying to figure out what exactly I want.”

“Oh, your personal life plan.” He takes my hand, and the sparks of electricity jump between us. “Deal.”

At the top of the stairs, through the entrance, is a lobby that’s larger than looks possible from the outside. There’s a huge chandelier hanging from the ceiling and a round table beneath it, covered in vases of every shape and size, holding white lilies and orchids.

I glance over at Ben to find him stopped, facing a battered old oak desk that looks a little out of place in the lobby of such a grand hotel.

A member of staff appears out of nowhere. “I see you’re admiring our fine concierge desk, sir,” the short, blond-haired woman says. “We’re very proud of that desk. It was the desk Sir Winston Churchill sat behind at Downing Street when he was prime minister.”

Ben nods slowly. To the casual observer, it might look like he’s interested in what she’s saying, but I know him better. He already knows who the desk belonged to. Is that why he wants this hotel? He doesn’t strike me as a man who collects trinkets, but maybe he’s a Churchill fanatic.

“We’re here to get a coffee,” he explains. The woman leads us toward the back of the room, to the sun lounge.

I glance around, trying to find more clues about Ben’s fascination with this place. Meanwhile, he buries himself in the menu.

“Is it the desk?” I ask. “Is that why you want the hotel?”

“Partly,” he answers, which, of course, is entirely infuriating. He’s offering me a breadcrumb when I want the whole loaf and a slab of butter.

The waiter appears with our coffees. “I’d like to order the strawberry shortcake,” Ben says as the waiter sets down my cup in front of me. “Would you like anything?” he asks.

I shake my head, then remember Ben saying something about strawberry shortcake when we were first getting to know each other. I change my mind. “Actually, make that two.” Ben isn’t a guy who indulges in dessert. Even when we went to stay with the duke and duchess, he never ate more than a mouthful. If he’s ordering the strawberry shortcake, I can’t pass up the opportunity. Even if it is only just past nine a.m.

“Certainly, sir, miss. I’ll just get that.”

“Strawberry shortcake?” I ask.

He shrugs but doesn’t give any more away.

“You like this room?” I ask. “Any more items of furniture that catch your eye?”

“It’s a fine room, but not my favorite.”

I try the silence thing, hoping he’ll answer the question that hangs in the air:So what is your favorite, then? But he doesn’t. He sips his coffee, staring out at the empty chairs.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” I nod over to two men in suits at the other end of the lounge.

“Maybe they’re asking each other whatwe’retalking about.”

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