“That sounds interesting,” I say diplomatically.
“Splendid. It will give me a chance to get to know you properly, Leo,” Elizabeth says, and the way she says “properly” suggests an interrogation rather than a casual conversation.
It appears I’m going to spend my evening being vetted by an aristocratic Englishwoman in a greenhouse full of exotic flowers.
And from the look she’s giving me, I get the feeling that she’s going to be harder to fool than Archie thinks.
Chapter Twenty
Archie
Entering the Princess of Wales Conservatory is like being plunged into the rainforest’s armpit.
One moment, I’m hobbling through the cold February evening, trying to navigate icy paths on crutches, and the next, I’m enveloped in humid warmth that makes my shirt cling to my back and my hair do things I specifically styled it not to.
Wonderful. I’m going to spend this evening looking like a damp poodle.
But I have a bigger problem than my appearance.
I’m nervous.
Leo is walking close beside me, jaw tight, shoulders rigid, that little furrow between his eyebrows that appears when he’s overthinking something.
It appears he’s nervous too.
Why is he nervous? He’s not the one whose life and choices are under scrutiny. Why does Elizabeth’s opinion matter to him?
Leo’s hand finds the small of my back, guiding me around a cluster of tourists taking selfies with a dragon made entirely of dried lotus pods.
“You okay?” he murmurs, low enough that Elizabeth can’t hear.
No. I’m confused and sweaty and inexplicably invested in whether my godmother approves of my fake boyfriend.
“Fine,” I say brightly.
Leo gives me a look that suggests he knows I’m lying.
He’s getting too good at reading me. That’s becoming a problem.
“You’ve got a leaf in your hair,” he says.
“I’ve only been here ten minutes, and the conservatory is already claiming me as one of its own. I’m not sure what that says about me.”
He reaches over and picks it out. His fingers brush my temple. It’s a two-second gesture that I feel for considerably longer than two seconds.
I struggle to get my breathing back to even.
We wind our way through the path of orchids. They’re lit from below like they’re auditioning for a dramatic role, and the effect is admittedly spectacular. It’s beautiful, strange, and completely surreal.
Not unlike my current emotional state.
“The humidity in the wet tropics zone is maintained at approximately eighty percent,” Elizabeth explains to Leo. “Orchids are remarkably sensitive to environmental conditions. Rather like relationships, I find.”
It’s the third pointed comment she’s made tonight. Leo’s smile becomes even more fixed.
I should find this funny. Watching Leo squirm under Elizabeth’s scrutiny is supposed to be funny, another way of making him pay for the maple-syrup incident.
Instead, I’m fighting the urge to step between them and defend him. To tell Elizabeth that Leo is kind and thoughtful, and yes, he’s a bit uptight, but he also wears a unicorn onesie without much complaint, asks in-depth questions about mydogs’ personalities, and goes out of his way to make things easier for me.
