Me:Perfectgentleman.
James:Well, if he attempts anything dodgy, we’ve got that sexual harassment letter on file, remember?
I’d forgotten about that. Being stuck in the lift with Liam seemed like a lifetime ago.
Me:I think we can get rid of that now, don’tyou?
James:Your wish is my command, oh BillionaireWhisperer.
I looked at the woman in the mirror, dresses hangingfrom the ornate wardrobe behind me. London seemed a very long way away, and that was starting to feel like a problem.
There was a knock on the door, and Liam’s head peeked into the bedroom.
“I’ve got breakfast here, if you care to join me on the balcony.”
Me:Sorry, GTG, I’ll text againsoon.
James:Later, girlfriend. Remember not to chew with your mouth open. Or fuck anybillionaires.
*
“I wondered what you wanted to do today.” Liam poured hot coffee into a wide porcelain bowl—apparently the French answer to a coffee cup. He placed the silver pot on the table, steam rising from its spout.
“I mean, we don’t have to do anything. But if you wanted to—” he added. “For… authenticity.” He passed me a jug of warm milk.
“Authenticity. Of course.” I smiled and pulled the thick white robe a little tighter. It was silent except for the birds chirping. A sparrow hopped onto the balustrade, eyeing the plate of pastries.
“We could take a trip into Chantilly,” he said. “Or join some of the others horse riding. Or a walk in the château grounds—we could visit the Great Stables. There are a few options. We could take a look through the guidebook.”
The whole day with Liam. I felt my pulse quicken.
I reached for a tiny apricot tartlet that looked like it had been lacquered. The sensible thing would be horse riding with the others. It would fit the plan, support the charade.
Everything else meant being alone with him.
“Let’s go into Chantilly,” I said. “I mean, if you’d like to?”
“I’d love that,” he said. “Leave in thirty minutes?”
*
“So a boulangerie is basically a bakery. They bake bread,” I said. We’d been walking through the market for around an hour now, his hand swinging so close I was tempted to slip mine into it, but I decided against it after what had happened this morning.
“Right.” Liam was nodding, amused.
“But apâtisserieis more like, fancy pastries. Profiteroles, macarons, that sort of thing. Like art, but with sugar.”
“Well, as long as we can get some of this Chantilly cream, I think either works.”
Every few feet there was something worth touching or tasting. A woman in a floral apron sliced cheese with a wire and offered samples from the tip of a knife. Tables were crowded with fruit, honey, and lace, glass jars of jam lined up like jewels.
“How about this place?” I asked.
The café looked perfect. Inside it was small, maybe five tables, with pale yellow walls and hand-painted lettering on the windows. A display case ran the length of the counter, lined with glossy tartlets and éclairs.
“Hopefully no cats in this one,” he said.
“Cats?”
