Page 38 of In the Frame

“I could offer my services,” I muse to Florian in our corner, because this compact bar has seating for about half our group, and we’re probably pushing some kind of fire code. I pluck a red rose petal from his lapel and a second from his hair.

Our gazes linger for a moment. I discreetly toss the rose petals down.

“Which services?” he asks gamely, then quickly adds, “Art services?”

“Drink services.” I nod at the bar, where the two staff scurry around as best they can in the confined space. “I mix a mean drink, you know. Even kind ones, occasionally.”

“It’s your day off. And…” Florian gazes at me, amused, something teasing in his gaze. “You’d leave me here alone with strangers?”

“A stranger is a friend you haven’t met yet,” I tell him cheerfully.

Florian gives me side-eye while I give him what I’m sure is my most charming grin. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that and save us both some embarrassment, Pollyanna.”

Delighted, I laugh. “I think it was Yeats, actually.” I turn my attention to the bar, where our corner at the end has one benefit, which is proximity to the bar staff for drinks. Luckily for us, we get to place drink orders. Of course, I’m analyzing his choice of drink, which turns out to be a double gin and tonic, appropriately summery. And because of how we met, I choose a cosmopolitan.

Before I can protest, Florian gets the drinks.

“I’ll get the next round,” I tell him. “Please.”

Which implies there will be a next round and that he’ll stay more than five minutes. I mean, he’s already having a drink with me and not heading for the motorway back to London the instant the wedding was over. Though, to be fair, the wedding ended in a deluge, and there wasn’t much time to reflect on anything other than seeking shelter.

Florian makes a noncommittal sound, which could be maybe or we’ll see or I know you’re broke, Matty. Okay, so he doesn’t actually say the last one, and I squirm a bit at the idea of putting drinks on my overdraft, but I squirm even more about not being able to repay the favor. Because, after all, we’re fake partners, and fake partners must look after each other. The unspoken Rule 3.

He passes me my drink, which I sample and make suitably appreciative noises over. “Say,” I decide to test the waters, “I never did find out for sure if I had the right table that first night I met you. A lot of cosmopolitans went down that night. Were any of them yours?”

I give him a totally convincing coquettish look, which doesn’t seem to register as he searches his gin glass for answers.

“I don’t usually have cosmopolitans, no. But Billy did order one, if I do remember. As did his date.”

Interesting. “You’re keeping tabs on Billy? And his date?” I try. “And their drink orders?”

Florian grimaces, glancing away toward the view outside. It blusters, which we can see umbrellas at the patio flapping in the breeze as the squall continues. He clears his throat. “No. And it wasn’t a secret his date was there.”

We lapse into quiet. I study him, and he’s as beautiful as ever but pensive. I touch his arm, which startles him, not quite the reaction I was going for. “Billy meant a lot to you, then.”

“We were together for a long time,” Florian says simply, still looking out over the crowd and the view of the sea.

“Yeah, that’s rough. I can only imagine. I can’t say I’ve quite done the same. I mean, I made out with my friend Noah one time at a party, and we’re mates.”

Florian’s lips twitch. “We were engaged to be married. And we’d been together since uni.”

“Oh, shit.” My eyes widen. “I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean…”

Way to go, Matty, now you’ve really made things awkward. A drunken snog or two with Noah is definitely not the same.

“And here I’ve brought you to a wedding. Pretty tactless on my part, even as a fake boyfriend. I’m sorry.” And I mean it. Worriedly, I study him.

Florian’s giving nothing right now other than a cool, professional veneer. And he’s still not looking at me. Solid poker face. He’d be huge in Vegas. “I came of my own accord.”

“I know, but why would you do that? I mean, really?”

“You needed a suit. And a fake partner.” At last, Florian’s gaze flickers back to me, and there’s a hint of sparkle in his eyes. “In case you’ve forgotten. You told me your planned date couldn’t make it. Johan.”

I make a silent note that Florian’s keeping tabs on what I say, even if it is in passing. Which means he’s listening to me. And not only listening, but taking note. Like I matter to him, even with feelings not being efficient and all.

I pat my lapel. “I definitely haven’t forgotten about the suit. I mean, I’m not one particularly for formal wear, believe it or not. But what do you think?”

Florian nods, considering me in a way that makes heat rise in my face despite trying to look suave. “You look well.”