Chapter 19 #2
“We also need to do that thing where couples have entire conversations just by looking at each other.” His gaze locks with mine and he raises one eyebrow meaningfully. This close, I can see the different flecks of green in his eyes, the faint freckles across his nose that I’ve never noticed before.
“I think we already have conversations with our eyes, except ours usually just translate to ‘I’m going to get you back for that.’”
He laughs.
Fuck.
I feel the vibration of his laugh through his chest where he’s pressed against my side, the way his whole body shakes with it. His head tips back slightly, exposing the line of his throat.
Making Archie laugh feels like winning a competition I didn’t know I was involved with.
And it reminds me of the larger problem that I have with Archie, beyond the fact that I’ve got to pretend to be his boyfriend.
I’ve never been as fascinated by someone as I am by him. The contradictions alone could keep me occupied for years. The sunshine exterior and the razor-sharp mind underneath. The way he can command a room full of six-year-olds and reduce me to spluttering incoherence with equal ease.
I’ve built a career on reading people, on understanding what makes them tick, but Archie Mansley remains stubbornly, infuriatingly opaque.
And right now, he’s tucked against my side, warm and solid and close enough that I can smell his shampoo, and I’m thinking about all the ways this fake-boyfriend situation is going to destroy me.
Fortunately or unfortunately, Archie’s instructions on how to be a good fake boyfriend are cut short by the knock at the door.
“Shit, she’s early.” Archie scrambles for his crutches, nearly elbowing me in the face as he hauls himself upright.
The sudden absence of his warmth against my side feels like I’ve stepped out of a heated building into January air.
He turns back to face me. “You’ll just need to go with the flow, okay? Just…follow my lead and try not to look like you’re about to be executed.”
It doesn’t sound like much of a plan. But apparently it’s all we’ve got.
He clatters his way over to the front door.
I take a breath, composing my face into something that hopefully reads as “devoted boyfriend” rather than “man who was just thinking inappropriate thoughts about his fake partner.”
“Archie, my darling boy, what on earth have you done to yourself?”
Elizabeth sweeps into the apartment, all cashmere and pearls and the kind of bone structure that suggests centuries of careful breeding. She’s smaller than I expected, but somehow her presence fills the space like someone twice her size.
“It was an accident. A very stupid, very clumsy accident,” Archie says as he follows her into the apartment. “But it’s fine—really. Leo’s been taking incredible care of me.”
She swivels, her gaze raking over me. “This is the boyfriend?”
She looks me up and down with the air of someone inspecting a horse she’s not entirely sure is worth the asking price.
Her gaze travels from my shoes to my shirt to my face—which I hope shows something resembling boyfriend-appropriate devotion.
The verdict, delivered entirely through the slight thinning of her lips, is not favorable.
I can’t help smarting. Under Elizabeth’s gaze, I feel like the kid from Detroit who learned early that people like Elizabeth could smell poverty no matter how well you tried to scrub it off.
“I’m Leo Brennan. It’s so nice to meet you.” I stand and put out my hand for Elizabeth to shake.
Elizabeth takes it and gives it a brisk shake. “I hope you realize what a treasure my Archibald is.”
“Oh, trust me, I know exactly what an incredible treasure he is,” I say. “I’ve never met anyone like him.”
Elizabeth gives me a penetrating look as she releases my hand. “Of course you haven’t. Archibald is one of a kind.”
“It’s Archie, remember?” Archie chimes in.
“You were christened Archibald, and I will call you that. I believe out of the two of us, I had the most advanced cognizant state at your christening, Archibald.” She returns her attention to me. “And what is it that you do, Leo?”
“I’m an IT consultant,” I say smoothly.
Elizabeth’s expression doesn’t waver. She remains unimpressed. Apparently, that isn’t good enough for her Archibald.
“Would you like something to drink, Elizabeth?” Archie asks, already hobbling toward the kitchen. “Coffee? Tea?”
“Earl Grey tea would be lovely if you have it.”
“Let me,” I say to Archie. “You need to sit down and rest that leg.”
“As my boyfriend commands.” Archie throws a smile at me.
I clatter around in the kitchen, acutely aware that I’m an American about to make tea for an Englishwoman of aristocratic breeding.
I quickly Google how to make Earl Grey properly, like the culturally ignorant American I apparently am.
The results are not encouraging. There are entire articles about water temperature and steeping time, along with heated debates about whether milk is acceptable or sacrilege.
Plus a dozen other variables that apparently determine whether you’re civilized or a barbarian.
I err on the side of caution with everything and emerge with a cup that looks…like tea. Hopefully.
Elizabeth takes it from me, peers at the color with a critical eye, and takes a delicate sip.
She doesn’t wince, and I consider that a victory.
“I was just saying to Archie that I have tickets to the Kew Gardens’ orchids tonight,” Elizabeth says.
Kew Gardens’ orchids? Is that some kind of exclusive social club? A band? A British euphemism for something I don’t want to know about?
Archie seems to sense my confusion.
“You probably haven’t been to the Kew Gardens yet, have you, darling?” he asks. “This is a great chance to visit. Their orchid collection is incredible, and Elizabeth’s a bit of an orchid enthusiast.”
Oh, she’s talking about actual orchids. The botanical kind.
Apparently, being Archie’s fake boyfriend comes with a horticultural component.
“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.