Page 87 of An American in London

“It’s probably still happening. People think owning hotels is a walk in the park. Let me tell you, it’s a headache.”

“So that’s why you want to own these hotels?” the duchess asks Ben, ignoring her husband’s grumbling.

Ben slides his hands down his legs again. “Partly. I’m sentimental. Tuesday’s right—this place is where my business brain was born. And it would mean a lot to my father.”

I don’t miss the look exchanged between the duke and duchess, but nothing more is said.

“And the two of you being here together,” the duchess says. “Can I hope for a reconciliation?”

Neither of us says anything, but I feel Ben’s gaze on me.

The duchess leans back. “You two are meant to be. You’re going to figure it out. I just know it.”

She believes that just like in all Daniel De Luca’s romantic comedies, there’s going to be a happy ending for us. Our story might be tropey, but I don’t see how everything ends wrapped in a bow.

Even if a happily-ever-after with Ben is definitely on my vision board.

Chapter Thirty-One

London doesn’t feel like home; it just feels like itcouldbe home. I’ve loved it so much. This city—the whole trip—was exactly what I needed. I can’t believe I’m thirty minutes away from taking a cab to the airport to go back to New York. I spent my final night with Ben last night, and we left it how we always leave it—like we’ll see each other in a couple of hours. Except this time, it was the last time.

Just enough time to get one final coffee from Coffee Confide in Me. There’s only one person in line, and they’ve moved to a table by the time I reach Ginny with the bright-red hair.

“Hey,” Ginny says. “Venti cap with an extra shot, half almond milk, half oat milk, a shot of caramel, extra foam, and cinnamon sprinkles?”

“Yes, please. My last one before I leave to go back to New York.”

“Oh, bummer. I’m going to miss torturing the baristas with your order.”

The British aren’t cold and stuck-up. They’re just not interested in strangers. They’re private more than rude, and I’ve grown rather fond of their idiosyncrasies.

Someone taps me on the shoulder, and I know before I spin around who it is. Who else could it be?

“Hey,” I say, coming face-to-face with Ben. His hair has grown since he last had it cut, just before we went to Fairfield for the weekend. Theextra length suits him. It hits me that I won’t get to see how it curls over at the front when it gets long like this anymore.

“Ending as you began: Ginny sneering at your New York coffee order.” Ginny? He knows her name? He bends to kiss me on the cheek, and it sends shivers across my body. “You look beautiful.”

“Gets me every time,” Ginny says. “Got your filter coffee coming right up, handsome.”

Ben drops a twenty-pound note on the counter, and we move to the pickup station.

“Just like old times, right?” I ask.

“I thought meeting you here was a proper ending—one you’d get in a Daniel De Luca movie. Finishing at the beginning, but forever changed.”

“Except we don’t know if you’re going to buy the hotels. And I haven’t really figured out what I want out of my life other than an apartment that looks like your house.”

He grins. “It will all become clear when they roll credits over still images of me standing in front of Fairfield and you killing it at whatever you end up doing.”

“You really have been doing your research,” I say. The way Ben has embraced Daniel De Luca’s back catalog is impressive. “You have me to thank for broadening your horizons.”

I expect to see the dimple, but instead Ben looks at me intensely, as if I’ve just told him the location of the Holy Grail and he needs to commit the coordinates to memory. “You have no idea,” he whispers, then snakes his arms around my waist. “Actually, I have news on at least part of our ... What would you call it ... epilogue?”

“Go on,” I say, gripped by how his story might play out.

“The duke’s assistant called me last night. He wants to see me to talk about Castles and Palaces.”

“Wait, what? Are you serious?!”

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