The driver took them through Chelsea, past low-slung bakeries and tall-windowed townhomes. Gage reached over and rested a hand over hers. His palm was cool, and large enough to cover hers completely.
The city wasn’t waiting for her, but it didn’t seem to mind that she’d come.
They spent the next day as tourists, if being “tourists” meant no queues, private guides, and the occasional subtle nod of deference that followed Gage even to the other side of the world.
They walked the Tower Bridge first.
The air was cool and thin and made her wish she’d brought something thicker. But it didn’t matter, because Gage had put his jacket on her shoulders, immediately enveloping her in his warmth and scent. Everything looked like a postcard.
She glanced at him. “You’ve been here before.”
“Several times.”
“But you brought me anyway?”
“You’ve never been,” he said. “And it’s different with you.”
She smiled.
Westminster Abbey came next. The air smelled of candle wax and centuries-old stone.
She tilted her head back beneath the lofty ceilings stretching overhead, her breath catching. The space swallowed sound. Swallowed thought. For a moment, she felt small—not in stature, but in time. She’d stepped into something that had outlasted kings and queens, empires and wars.
“This is insane,” she whispered. “The ceilings…”
Gage followed her gaze. “Meant to remind people how temporary they are.”
She snorted. “That sounds familiar.”
He glanced at her. “Careful.”
“Why? You’ll have me smited?”
“Tempting.” His mouth barely moved. “But I’m not in the market for a replacement.”
She stilled. Just for a second. Then she leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
The highlight was when Gage brought her to afternoon tea at Claridge’s. Because he knew she’d love it. The tiny tiered cakes. The clotted cream. The soft clink of silver spoons on porcelain. A room that looked so British, she half expected a royal to walk in.
He watched her choose between scones and macarons like it was a hostage deal.
Bea looked at his hands wrapped around the world’s daintiest teacup and bit back a laugh. “You look like you’re playing with dollhouse china.”
“The handle is unnecessarily small.”
“Are you going to give them feedback?”
“I will if we intend to come here often,” he said, setting it down.
“What do you think?” she asked, buttering her scone.
One eyebrow quirked up. “You need to try more than one before settling?”
“Only if the first one underperforms.” She slid him a glance. “So far, no complaints.”
Monday came with a shift in energy.
They took a car, though they could have walked, to the King Global Capital London office.
