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“Thank you,” I say bashfully, leaning against the wall beside the door. I can’t remember the last time someone called me lovely. Monica often tells me if I’m looking pretty, but it’s been a long time since a man has said it. I clear my throat, feeling a little awkward. “Sorry I took so long.” I peer at the book, trying to recognize the title. “What are you reading?”
“Something you’d probably like,” he says, getting to his feet. “Wife threw her husband off a moving train…or did she?” He adds with a mock suspicious squint.
I can’t help but smile. “Got to love a damaged heroine.”
“They are my favorite,” he says affectionately. “Shall we?”
Primrose Cottage is located on the same sprawling estate as Berkstead Castle, where the king and queen spend their weekends and summers, but the land is so massive that even when they are on the property, you never see them. I get the feeling that even though the tabloids report that Eddie and Monica have patched things up with the king and queen, their relationship is still strained and has been ever since they ditched England for Canada. Even the arrival of Madeline hasn’t done much to pull them back together, except in public. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day they end up leaving England again.
Outside, the night air blows with a soft wind and there’s a town car waiting for us. A perk of working for the Fairfaxes is that we don’t have to deal with public transportation. Instead we have drivers that take us wherever we want to go, as if we are royalty ourselves.
The driver comes around and opens the car’s back doors for us.
“I’d drive us into town myself,” James says as he gestures for me to get in, “but then I can’t properly imbibe.”
I slide in. “You have a car?”
He nods and comes around the other side, buckling in as the driver closes the doors. “I do. It’s a piece-of-shite old Peugeot, but it works. There’s something about being on an estate like this, outside the city, that feels a little claustrophobic, even when you do have people like my good man Charles over here to drive you.”
“Appreciated, sir,” the driver, who I now know as Charles, says, winking at him in the rearview mirror.
He drives off, and I have to admit, I feel a bit of a thrill as Primrose Cottage and the towering Berkstead Castle behind it begin to fade into the background. The city! London! I had forgotten how exciting it is to be living near it, I’ve been so worked up with my job.
“Would you look at that,” James says. “Your face is lighting up.”
I glance at him, suddenly very aware of how close I am to him. Our eyes are inches apart, and I can see flecks of a lighter color in his dark eyes. The car is cast into a strange watery light as we pass under lampposts, and the scene feels dreamy. There’s a thread of tension between us, and even though he probably doesn’t notice it at all, I do. It makes the hair on my arms rise.
I swallow thickly. “My face?”
He reaches out and puts his fingers under my chin, tilting my face so it’s facing him dead-on. He’s so close my breath catches. I can smell him, the soap from his morning shower and the faint woodsy smell of his cologne. It makes me want to inhale deeply, but I can’t do that when my eyes are locked with his.
“This very face,” he says. “Makes your eyes dance.” His hand drops away and I feel bereft.
Suddenly the car bumps over a pothole and I jolt, coming back to reality. James looks at me and grins, obviously enjoying the fact that he managed to startle me.
“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. You’re obviously excited about something.”
I blush, the tension building. “It’s just that I’ve been so busy with my job that I’ve forgotten how great it is to be living near London.”
He nods, his grin turning softer. “I figured that. Which is why I thought it would be good for you to get out of your head for a while. Live a little.”
So he’s already picked up on how inward I get.
“Let me guess, you think the night will end with me dancing on top of bars.”
He laughs. “I would pay to see that.”
I give him a look. “Just so you know, I don’t actually dance on bars.”
“Just so you know, I don’t pay either.”
I giggle at that and lapse into a mix of small talk and silence, though both become more comfortable as the ride goes on. Eventually the city limits approach and the density thickens. The car comes to a stop. I glance out the window. We’re in a very upscale part of London, down the road from Harrod’s. The car pulls up to a red light. I watch a woman in a beautiful ball gown cross the street in front of us, followed by a man in a tux, and I can’t help but marvel at them, wondering where they are going.
“This is amazing,” I say quietly, eyeing the cabs jutting across traffic, the gleaming red double-decker buses that trundle below brick buildings, the flashing lights of the theater. “Why don’t I come here more often? I feel like I’m in a movie.”
James puts his hand on my shoulder, sending a warm thrill through me. I glance at him, and he gives me a smile. “Then let’s make this the best movie we can.”
Okay. That was cheesy. That was the line a guy would give you on a first date, and this definitely isn’t that.
