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I roll my eyes. “Maybe I just want to give the coroner something nice to look at while he does my autopsy.”

Jennifer splutters. “Now that’s a true crime show I want to watch.”

I let out a sigh, because I’m pretty sure she would, too. She’d excel at being the tearful friend being interviewed. “You’d tell them you begged me not to go.”

“Of course,” she says. “And that you’re a sex addict. Don’t worry, I’d make it compelling viewing material.”

“Have I told you lately that you’re a pain in the ass?” I ask her, just as the alarm on my phone starts to buzz, reminding me I need to head to the lobby now.

“Pretty much every day. Now go and have your hot date with your hot Englishman and try not to let him kill you. At least not until after dessert.” I swear I can hear the grin on her face. “And I hope he likes your lingerie.”

“He won’t be seeing it,” I remind her in a sing-song voice.

She chuckles. “Sure he won’t.”

Jennifer hangs up before I can even reply. I let out a long sigh and slip my phone into my purse. And then I take a final look at my reflection in the mirror. I’ve left my hair down. It’s behaving for once, and the blonde waves frame my made-up face almost perfectly.

When I reach the lobby the place is thronging. There’s somebody at the piano, but it’s not Theo. This pianist is older, with gray peppered in his hair. I walk toward the revolving exit manned by one of the doormen.

“Good evening, madam,” he murmurs. “Would you like me to hail you a taxi?”

I shake my head, smiling at him. “I think a car should be waiting for me.”

“Miss Ingram?” he asks.

I blink. “Yes. Now that’s impressive. Do you know every guest’s name?”

He laughs. “No, I was just told to be on the lookout for you. Your car is here already. Let me walk you to it.”

I look around for Theo, expecting to see him, but instead the doorman leads me to a huge black classic car. There’s a silver statue of a fairy on the front. It takes me a minute to realize it’s a freaking Rolls Royce. And the fairy attached to the hood is the flying lady statuette I’ve only ever heard about.

“Eduardo will take you to meet your date,” the doorman tells me as he opens the back passenger side door. I reach into my purse to tip him, and he shakes his head. “No need. Have a lovely evening, madam.”

Before I can say goodbye he’s closed the door. The engine purrs to life, and the driver turns around to face me.

“Would you like me to put some music on, miss?” Eduardo asks.

I shake my head. “Are you sure this car is for me? I’m supposed to be meeting a guy named Theo. I thought he’d be picking me up.”

Eduardo’s smile doesn’t waver. “Yes, of course. I’m driving you to meet him at the restaurant. It’s only a short distance, but with the traffic it will take about ten minutes.”

I frown, trying to make sense of why the hotel would let Theo borrow their Rolls Royce to give me a ride. The car slowly pulls out of the parking space in front of the hotel, and I sit back, letting the buttery soft leather seat envelop me.

“Is this one of those drives where it would have been quicker walking?” I ask. Because that’s one thing I’m learning about London. It’s nearly always faster to walk.

“Probably.” He laughs. “But it’s drizzling. And London and umbrellas don’t go together that well.”

He takes a left, onto the busy street. The tiny London roads aren’t made for a car this huge, yet Eduardo doesn’t blink an eye as he manoeuvrers around parked trucks, kamikaze bikers, and a whole ton of tourists who run into the road without looking, just like I did a day ago.

The shop windows are stuffed with displays of Christmas merchandise, the restaurants and pubs festooned with lights and greenery. It’s so stupidly festive it makes my heart ache.

Which is a good thing. It means I don’t start overthinking. Or wondering why I’m going on a date with a man I hardly know. If it is a date. He didn’t say it was. He said it was dinner. Does that mean a date?

I sigh, because of course now I am overthinking. Maybe he’s just bored. Or thinks I look like I need a good meal. My stomach did growl the last time we spoke.

“Here we are,” the driver says, pulling up outside a huge white building. He cuts the engine, like he’s planning on getting out to open the door.

“It’s fine,” I tell him quickly. “I’ve got it.”