Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
On the evening of the charity ball, my stomach’s in knots as I approach the London Art & Design Museum.
It’s a gorgeous August evening, the sun lowering and the shadows long across the promenade by the River Thames.
Very well-dressed people are streaming in toward the museum in black tie, gowns and tuxedos as far as I can see.
Some pose on the promenade, getting selfies or taking photos of each other with Tower Bridge in the background.
Then my stomach tightens even further as I realize there’s a red carpet to the entry and paparazzi lined up.
My eyes widen. I was not mentally prepared for this.
Good thing I took a Valium earlier to counteract my anxiety.
Sucking back a breath, I scan around for Florian, who is somewhere in here.
I glance down at my phone again. His message says he’s here. Somewhere.
Except the men look the same in their tuxes, and it feels a little like a needle-in-a-haystack situation.
I adjust my bow tie. Florian insisted on covering the tux rental because this is his event, after all.
But what if I retreat now and pretend I didn’t actually agree to come and go into deep hiding?
You can do this.
I weave through the knots of people laughing and enjoying the sun and the views. Finally, I spot Florian talking to someone, who listens seriously to him. Not Billy, thank God, who’s presumably inside already to mastermind his event. Though he probably has staff for that.
What part of me thought attending a gala would be reasonable?
Except Florian. He looks incredible in his tux.
Comfortable. Like nothing’s out of place.
I walk closer, taking in a deep breath. Then Florian spots me while he’s talking to the silver-haired couple.
I hang back, and a couple of moments later, Florian’s excused himself, and he strides over with enviable confidence.
His gaze meets mine, and oh God. In this light, his eyes are very green. And evidently only on me. Relief crosses his face as a warm smile teases his lips. “Matty. I was starting to worry you weren’t going to come.”
“I made it. Delays on the train. Sorry.” I give him a wry smile.
Florian takes in the sight of me, obviously liking what he sees as his smile broadens.
My stomach continues its dance. He’s gorgeous, of course, because genetics, and confidence, and an ease of moving in the world like he’s used to attention.
And he’s turning heads, naturally. Probably because he’s sexy as fuck right now and also some kind of hotshot.
People also give me curious looks. Probably more like who is this guy?
“Is this alright?” I ask, nerves getting the better of me, smoothing the lapel of my tux jacket.
“You look stunning,” Florian assures me. “I’m really glad you’re here. I’ve missed you.”
Aside from letting him know that I agreed to still go through with our plan, we kept the messaging to a minimum since the last time I saw him.
Florian gave me space, which I used to dedicate myself to some doom spiraling and another round of pep talks from Michael and Noah.
It was the promise of Florian winning through every time that brought me here tonight.
“That’s what fake boyfriends are for,” I say, far more smoothly than what I feel. Then I swallow. Confession time. “I missed you too.”
His smile softens. He reaches out to smooth my shoulders, adjust my bow tie, and then goose bumps cover my body in an instant.
Obviously, I have a serious Florian-related problem.
It’s a battle of head versus heart, and right now, heart is winning flat out, and I hope I don’t regret this.
Because seeing Florian again isn’t making things any easier.
I don’t dare bring up the Rose, not now, wanting to get through tonight as if I never saw the property listing on his computer, and later, at home, on my own laptop.
Noah confirmed recently from the current owner that the Rose is up for sale.
Don’t think about that.
“Ready?” he murmurs.
“Pinnacle fake boyfriend. It’s what we’ve trained for.”
Florian takes my hand and squeezes it, his gaze lingering and feeling far too real for comfort. My heart batters my ribs, and I’m done for. And next thing I know, we’re sharing a kiss. It’s fleeting, but enough for the scent of his cologne to make me dizzy, his nearness.
We join the queue for the red carpet, people pausing for the cameras, who must be famous, and I recognize a couple of celebrities, then more. Influencers too. A pop star.
“Florian,” I murmur under my breath, “there’s a gala, and then there’s a gala.”
He laughs easily, squeezing my hand. “You’ll be fine.”
“I didn’t realize we were going to the BAFTAs.” Film stars belong at the British Academy Film Awards, not me. I feel like I need to check the invite again in case Florian’s confused.
“People care about the environment. Very much. And Billy has a lot of friends.”
“I’ll say.”
Florian smiles fondly at me, and he squeezes my hand. “You can do this,” he murmurs. “I have complete faith in you.”
I bite my lower lip before I say that’s one of us, anyway, but then it’s our turn to walk the carpet to the entry, and then there’s a flood of flashes, and Florian pauses, looking completely natural because he’s obviously done this before, and I’m trying very much to perfect the deer-in-the-headlights look.
He slides an arm around me, and then I can’t help the real smile that comes from having him so close.
And then, with my eyes dazzling from the flash photography, he murmurs something to the woman at the end of the red carpet to confirm his name.
But judging by the way she looks at him, she knows who he is on sight.
As if he needs any introduction. There’s a buzz, and Florian’s getting attention from the photographers.
Probably because he’s Billy’s long-term ex. Oh God. I don’t even know how long ago they broke up. Not just broke up—ended their engagement. That was probably key information that I can’t ask right now.