“I’m okay if you are. We don’t need to bring it up again.”
His shoulders relax and he kisses my hand again. “You really are bloody amazing. Were your friends upset that I stole you away?”
“They’ll be fine. They understand.”
“I guess we could’ve invited them along, at least for theafternoon. They might have liked having someone to show them around. I wasn’t even thinking about them. I only wanted to spend the day with you, and Father was being mental and...” He pauses. “I wanted you to help distract me. You’re perfect at that.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. He said I was perfect—which should be the highest praise a girl can get—but I’m perfect at making him forget his life. Is that a good thing?
I shake off my concerns. “Don’t worry. My friends don’t need a tour guide. They already know exactly where they want to go and how to get there.” I smile, thinking of Sage. “We promised to swap stories when we get back together tonight.”
“Good. Because I’m not ready to share you.”
I bask in that thought as I stare out the window at the shops and tourists whizzing by. The streets of the Mayfair district are lined with expensive stores, restaurants, and gorgeous hotels with multiple valets standing outside. Seeing London this way is a totally different experience. I feel like a local.
Will pulls up in front of a restaurant. “The Lady in White,” he announces. “We have reservations here for lunch. Assuming you like the idea.”
The restaurant looks...posh. Like, you need celebrity status or a six-figure salary to get a table. “Are you sure?”
“You deserve the best day I can give you. I thought we’d start here.” Will takes a ticket from the valet. “I hope you like it. The menu is traditionally British. Not really my style, but Mum loves it.”
My eyes widen as we step inside. Gilded chandeliers glint in the floor-to-ceiling mirror panels along the back wall of the restaurant. Each table is covered in linen with a bouquet of purpleflowers. Thick embroidered curtains frame the enormous windows that face out toward the street. Teenagers don’t eat at places like this. Politicians and lawyers and businessmen eat here. The Middletons might eat here. But not me.
“They’re going to kick us out,” I whisper, mortified.
“They won’t. I promise.”
True to his word, the hostess takes us to our table without a second glance. It’s a small table, but the location is perfect. Close to the two-story windows, but situated so we can also see the rest of the restaurant. I take a deep breath and soak in the moment.
“Do you like it?” he asks at my expression.
“I—it’s unbelievable.”
“I’m so glad. Father got us the reservation. Mum asked him.” His voice turns bitter. “They’d never turn away someone listed under his name.”
“Your dad must be really successful.”
He rolls his eyes. “It’s easy to be successful when you never stop working. It’s always something. Cocktails. Dinners. Group massages.” I sit back at that and he smiles. “Who knows what he does. But, yes, he’s good at his job. That’s why I grew up around this.”
He gestures toward the street outside. Oh,wow. He didn’t bring me to an expensive part of London to impress me. He brought me here because this is home.
I have to stop myself from fidgeting as I read the menu. At the very top is a traditional English tea with scones, finger sandwiches, and tiny desserts. The little girl in me (which is like 90 percent of me) lights up until I see the price. It’s sixty-five pounds. I almost choke. That’s probably eighty dollars. I skim the menu for cheaperoptions. Maybe I can get a side salad?
Will tilts his menu to me and points right at the English tea. “They’re known for their tea service. Does that sound good?”
“Are you sure? It’s so exp—I mean, I thought you didn’t like British things?”
He laughs, too loudly for the tranquil surroundings. “Are you winding me up? Obviously I like British things.I’mBritish.”
I blush. “I’m sure you like yourself. I just meant... I don’t know. Like Jane Austen and tourist attractions and stuff. You don’t seem to like traditional things.”
“I don’t like the stereotypes. And Jane Austen can bugger off, but I’d be crazy not to like scones.”
I scan the menu again, forcing myself to forget the price. “It does look good.”
“Then it’s settled.” He pulls the menu from me with a grin.
The waitress brings out an elaborate three-tiered tray covered with tiny sandwiches, desserts, and scones all decorated with orchid blooms. I don’t let Will touch it until it’s been properly documented. My mom will kill me if she doesn’t seedetailedpictures of this.
