I take a breath, composing my face into something that hopefully reads as “devoted boyfriend” rather than “man who was just thinking inappropriate thoughts about his fake partner.”
“Archie, my darling boy, what on earth have you done to yourself?”
Elizabeth sweeps into the apartment, all cashmere and pearls and the kind of bone structure that suggests centuries of careful breeding. She’s smaller than I expected, but somehow her presence fills the space like someone twice her size.
“It was an accident. A very stupid, very clumsy accident,” Archie says as he follows her into the apartment. “But it’s fine—really. Leo’s been taking incredible care of me.”
She swivels, her gaze raking over me. “This is the boyfriend?”
She looks me up and down with the air of someone inspecting a horse she’s not entirely sure is worth the asking price. Her gaze travels from my shoes to my shirt to my face—which I hope shows something resembling boyfriend-appropriate devotion. The verdict, delivered entirely through the slight thinning of her lips, is not favorable.
I can’t help smarting. Under Elizabeth’s gaze, I feel like the kid from Detroit who learned early that people like Elizabeth could smell poverty no matter how well you tried to scrub it off.
“I’m Leo Brennan. It’s so nice to meet you.” I stand and put out my hand for Elizabeth to shake.
Elizabeth takes it and gives it a brisk shake. “I hope you realize what a treasure my Archibald is.”
“Oh, trust me, I know exactly what an incredible treasure he is,” I say. “I’ve never met anyone like him.”
Elizabeth gives me a penetrating look as she releases my hand. “Of course you haven’t. Archibald is one of a kind.”
“It’s Archie, remember?” Archie chimes in.
“You were christened Archibald, and I will call you that. I believe out of the two of us, I had the most advanced cognizant state at your christening, Archibald.” She returns her attention to me. “And what is it that you do, Leo?”
“I’m an IT consultant,” I say smoothly.
Elizabeth’s expression doesn’t waver. She remains unimpressed. Apparently, that isn’t good enough for her Archibald.
“Would you like something to drink, Elizabeth?” Archie asks, already hobbling toward the kitchen. “Coffee? Tea?”
“Earl Grey tea would be lovely if you have it.”
“Let me,” I say to Archie. “You need to sit down and rest that leg.”
“As my boyfriend commands.” Archie throws a smile at me.
I clatter around in the kitchen, acutely aware that I’m an American about to make tea for an Englishwoman of aristocratic breeding.
I quickly Googlehow to make Earl Grey properly, like the culturally ignorant American I apparently am. The results are not encouraging. There are entire articles about water temperature and steeping time, along with heated debates about whether milk is acceptable or sacrilege. Plus a dozen other variables that apparently determine whether you’re civilized or a barbarian.
I err on the side of caution with everything and emerge with a cup that looks…like tea. Hopefully.
Elizabeth takes it from me, peers at the color with a critical eye, and takes a delicate sip.
She doesn’t wince, and I consider that a victory.
“I was just saying to Archie that I have tickets to the Kew Gardens’ orchids tonight,” Elizabeth says.
Kew Gardens’ orchids? Is that some kind of exclusive social club? A band? A British euphemism for something I don’t want to know about?
Archie seems to sense my confusion.
“You probably haven’t been to the Kew Gardens yet, have you, darling?” he asks. “This is a great chance to visit. Theirorchid collection is incredible, and Elizabeth’s a bit of an orchid enthusiast.”
Oh, she’s talking about actual orchids. The botanical kind.
Apparently, being Archie’s fake boyfriend comes with a horticultural component.
