“What signs?”
Sam points to a brown sign that’s about the size of a piece of paper and blends in with the wall. It reads, “Roof Access Only for Authorized Personnel.”
“Oh.” My face burns. “I was so focused on watching where I was walking, I missed that.”
He lets out a low, raspy laugh. “We’re almost there. The climb will be worth it.”
“Promise?”
“Promise,” he affirms.
Thirty-five steps and two flights later, slightly out of breath, we’re at the top. Sam scans his key card, and the door buzzes open. A rush of cool, damp air greets me.
“Mm, that’s so nice,” I say.
We’ve reached a terrace, and the view literally takes my breath away. From the roof, I see the lush greenery of Hyde Park.
“Wow, you have a clear view of the Serpentine all the way up to Hyde Park Corner and Wellington Arch.” Taking a closer look at a dirt track, I wonder, “Is that Rotten Row?”
Sam rests on his elbows next to me with a smug expression. “London’s most exclusive racetrack? Yes, yes it is. We exercise the horses on it every morning.”
“You never told me you ride on Rotten Row!” I playfully push his chest. It’s rock hard.
“You never asked.”
Rotten Row has always been on the list of things I’ve never gotten around to seeing. In the time of Jane Austen, the Regency, it wastheplace the fashionable crowd gathered to be seen and to gossip.
One of my secret fantasies is to dress up in a Regency-era dress and walk at Rotten Row with a parasol, but I’ve always lacked the courage to do so. Maybe Sam would be a willing accomplice.
“Where is Harrod’s in relation to where we are now?”
“Behind us. It’s hard to make out.”
I see a few spires and rows of terraced homes, but nothing that resembles the distinctive facade of Harrod’s. I’ll just have to take his word for it.
“What’s your favorite landmark up here?”
“Probably the Serpentine. In winter, when the treeshave dropped their leaves, you can see all the way through to the center. I like watching the paddleboats float around the pond.”
“I can see why you like it up here. It’s easy to get lost in the view.” I turn and face him. “Do the horses ever come up here?”
He chuckles. “Not usually, but every once in a while the MOD will decide to do a photo shoot.”
“How do you get them up here?”
“The lift.”
I blanch. “There’s a lift? Why didn’t we take it?”
“It’s out of order for maintenance, or else we would’ve used it. Trust me.”
We stare out at London, watching the cars, buses, and pedestrians walk past us. A comfortable silence envelops us.
“Min?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you for trusting me earlier. It means a lot to me that you shared something so deep and personal with me.”
