Page 62 of In the Frame

I make an unhappy sound.

“Believe me,” Florian murmurs, stepping closer, “I want you more than a fake boyfriend.”

“That—” I gulp. “—is not helping the situation get any better.”

Florian’s quiet. He reaches out and smooths the lapel of my suit jacket. Around us, the occasional car passes by. Someone’s honking in the distance. Standard for London, good morning, good night, it doesn’t matter.

I lean slightly into his fingers, which move up to trace my neck, and he catches my jaw. Florian’s gaze is fixed on me. I lean my head into his hand, and I don’t want to look away. Everything inside my chest sits heavy. I don’t know how to navigate this. I’ve never had a boyfriend—fake or otherwise—quite like this. Uni hookups were one thing, and all the boyfriends I’ve had haven’t lasted more than a few weeks or a handful of months. Nothing too serious. And this is feeling serious, already. Like the way I feel under my ribs.

“May I kiss you?” Florian asks quietly.

I nod, and then our lips meet. I close my eyes, savoring his kiss, his nearness. It’s so easy to forget my resolve like this, but at least he knows I’m upset and why. Our kiss lingers, and he tastes sweet. Our kisses deepen for a moment before I straighten.

I look at him, troubled. “I have to get back to work,” I whisper.

“I know.” Florian’s subdued, his hands resting on my shoulders for a moment before he releases me. I just want to press into his arms, but it’s not helping anything if I do. Other than make things worse.

I swallow hard. “Do you still want me to come as your fake date to the gala?”

The word fake sounds hollow to my ears.

“That’s up to you. You don’t need to tell me tonight. Take a few days to think about it. It’s not for a couple of weeks.”

Nodding slowly, I tighten my fingers on the bag. My face is warm. There’s no telling right now which side is winning out, other than my well-honed flight instinct. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Florian agrees. “Let me walk you back to Ivan’s. My car’s further down.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. There aren’t words tonight that sum up the way I feel. If only I could go with Florian back to his home and pick up where we left off last night. It’s what my body wants. Hungers for. Meanwhile, my mind’s telling me this is ridiculous and not to torture myself with someone who’s obviously wanting very different things from me. Which is too serious for something fake. I think, quite maybe, we’ve failed hard at fake.

When we reach the entry to Ivan’s, we pause.

Florian looks reserved again, like he’s slipping away in front of my eyes. Like there’s an ice wall between us that hadn’t been there a moment ago. And it kills me, leaving a twisting in my stomach. Having him so close and so far away at the same time is awful.

Except Florian asks me if I want him to pick me up at close to talk some more, and I say yes as my heart leaps.

Chapter Thirty-Five

At a few minutes past midnight, I slip into my jacket and push out the door of Ivan’s. My stomach’s in knots. The streets are quiet, and it smells like wet pavement. The rain’s just let up. Across the street, I spot Florian’s car. Glancing both ways, I trot across the empty street to him.

“Hey. Thanks,” I tell him once I’ve placed his flowers in the back and settled into the passenger seat. The leather seat creaks.

Florian smiles. He reaches out to brush my cheek with a soft touch. I shudder, then lean in to kiss him. His fingers are warm against my skin. I lean into his hand.

“I don’t even know where we go from here,” I confess.

“Well, I’d say home, given the hour.” A very pragmatic Florian statement if there ever was one. “The real question is, do you want to come to mine, or do you want to be dropped off at home in Euston?”

I blink. “You remembered that I lived in Euston?”

He gives me a very Florian expression and the eyebrow. “Of course I remember. You told me you moved from where you were flat-sitting in Mayfair. And where you attempted to kidnap me.”

Despite myself, I laugh. “I did not kidnap you. We happened to get stuck in a lift. That’s not a criminal act.”

Florian smiles again and starts the car. “Okay. Where am I driving?”

“Well… how about yours?” I redden. “To, um, talk.”

“Yes. Talking would be fruitful.”