Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“This is good,” Ben says once the door closes and Grant’s footsteps fade. He doesn’t drop my hand right away, and I don’t slide mine from his. It feels too nice having him close. “A sofa will suit me fine.”
All week Ben has been preempting any anxiety I might be feeling and trying to chase it away. He doesn’t make it obvious; he doesn’t say, “Don’t worry, I’ll take the sofa.” He just constantly walks a little way ahead, clearing my fears just as they start to develop. I’m not sure if it’s conscious or a coincidence. It feels like we’re in sync. I don’t have to ask for reassurance; it’s offered just before it’s needed. Another quality to add to the list that grows hourly.
“It’s a beautiful house,” I say. “It looks familiar. Probably seen it on a Jane Austen adaptation or something.”
“I doubt it,” Ben replies, finally dropping my hand and moving to the window. “The duke doesn’t need the money they’d get from hiring the place out.”
I bend to unzip my suitcase. Maybe one stately home looks a lot like another, but there’s something about the stone steps up to the grand entrance that seemed familiar. “So cocktails and then dinner. You have a preference about what I should wear?”
Ben is facing the window that looks out onto the gardens, his hands in his pockets, his profile lit up like he’s the president. He isn’t just handsome. He’s commanding.
In New York, I can spot a really powerful man by their intangible presence. Ben’s one of those guys.
“Wear whatever will make you feel comfortable,” he says, staring straight ahead. What’s he thinking about? How to approach the duke about buying the hotels? Whether or not he thinks we can pull off being fake-engaged? Maybe he feels out of his depth. Just like me.
“So a thong and nipple tassels are okay with you?”
He keeps staring out of the window. “Let’s keep the nipple tassels for behind closed doors, shall we?”
A shiver snakes down my spine at the thought of things being kept private between us. But that’s not what he meant. He was just being funny.
I finish hanging up evidence I’m sponsored by Ralph Lauren, then grab my makeup and toiletries and head to the bathroom.
“You mind if I take the left side of the sink?” I call to Ben.
He doesn’t respond, so I take it as permission to do as I like.
When I finish unpacking in the bathroom, I go back to the bedroom to find Ben hasn’t moved.
“You want me to unpack for you?” I ask.
Ben frowns, then glances away from the window and meets my gaze. “You’re not my servant, Tuesday.”
I tilt my head. “Depends on your definition, I suppose.” He’s paying me to be here, after all. “If I was your fiancée in real life, maybe that’s what I’d do.” I would have unpacked for Jed.
Ben shakes his head. “If this was real life, you definitely wouldn’t be unpacking for me. We have plenty of time.” He turns back to the window.
“Right. Time. I might as well keep busy. Otherwise, what else are we going to do?”
“You mentioned nipple tassels . . .” he says, like he’s just asked me if I remembered my phone charger.
I roll my eyes, but can’t conceal my smile. He’s so much funnier than I could have thought. I bet most people don’t see that side of him.
“Why don’t you take a bath,” he suggests. “It might help you relax. I can run it for you, if you like.”
“Run me a bath?” I ask, incredulous. I look up to check his expression to try to figure out if he’s being serious, but he doesn’t turn around.
“Isn’t that what engaged couples do for each other?”
I can tell by his tone, he’s entirely serious.
“Not in my experience,” I scoff. “I’m going to . . .” He glances away from the window to look at me when I don’t finish my sentence. His gaze presses into me like fingertips on my hips. “Fix my migrating mascara.”
“As long as we’re not late,” he says. “I’m not sure how long migration issues take.”
I nod. “Not long.” Maybe when I’m wearing something more formal, I might feel more like the fiancée of a man like Ben. A man who’s gorgeous and rich and powerful, and on top of all that, funny.
After my bath, I fix my makeup, run a brush through my hair, and squirt on some perfume before getting dressed. I’ve gone for the gray silk skirt-and-shirt combo tonight. It’s the kind of outfit that perfectly occupies the underpopulated ground between formal and casual.
I step out of the bathroom. “Ready?” I ask Ben.
He doesn’t look like he’s moved; he’s still standing, looking out the window. Except he’s changed into a blue suit and white shirt with a . . . I do a double take when I see his tie. It’s exactly the same pink-and-blue polka-dot tie I bought Jed for Christmas, which he returned. He said it wasn’t him. But it looks great on Ben. I glance up at his face, and he’s staring back at me.