Her British Bard (Dream Come True Sweet Romance Book 2)

by Darci Balogh

  Chapter Eight

  "A Ferris wheel?" Sofia stared up at the giant turning wheel hovering at the side of the Thames River. It was lit up like a carnival.

  "No, not exactly," Ian explained. "It's actually a cantilevered observation wheel," he enunciated the words carefully. With his accent the description seemed even stranger.

  "A what?"

  "It's called the London Eye and it's not a Ferris wheel. It looks out over the city."

  The structure of the thing was certainly more heavy duty than any Ferris wheel Sofia had ever been on. Two massive round struts lifted from the ground and came to a point in the center of the wheel. Those were its main support, but they seemed more the size of something a ship would need than a simple Ferris wheel. She had seen glimpses of the wheel on her walks along the Thames near her flat, but as they approached the massive contraption she could see it was much bigger up close.

  "How tall is it?" she asked.

  They moved past a sign giving instructions on where to buy tickets along with a few details. 135 meters, the sign said.

  "135 meters," Ian told her with a cocky smile.

  Meters. Sofia did a quick calculation in her head and her stomach clenched with apprehension. That was over 440 feet tall! She tilted her head back to see what she could see of the very top of the turning wheel. 32 pods made of glass and totally enclosed were dotted around the edge. Full of people, they reminded her of gondolas she'd ridden at ski resorts. Equipped with sliding doors, the pods dangled over the Thames River, letting people off then new riders on before closing and lifting slowly back into the air.

  "You're not afraid of heights are you?" Ian's question was sincere.

  "Not yet," she answered.

  There were lines to buy tickets as well as kiosks where people were picking up tickets they had purchased online. Ian went for neither of these possibilities. Instead he led her to the back side of an information booth where a young man and older woman wearing royal blue vests with name-tags over their shirts were answering questions.

  "Ian!" The man said with pleased recognition.

  "Evening, Eddie," Ian said chummily. "Got any extra tickets for me and the lady?"

  Eddie smiled at Sofia while trying not to seem like he was looking at her too hard. Sofia smiled back and attempted not to feel looked at.

  "That I have," Eddie said. He reached toward the ticket machine on his counter and pushed a few buttons. Two computer printed tickets pushed out of the slot. He handed them to Ian. "Here you go, mate." Ian pulled his wallet from his back pocket, but Eddie raised his palm and shook his head. "I won't take your money."

  Ian lifted his hand in a half salute and said, "I'll get you back."

  Eddie leaned toward them hopefully, "Any concerts coming up?"

  "Of course, I'll put you on the list...plus one," Ian responded, pointing a finger at Eddie to punctuate his promise.

  "Fantastic, that's all I wanted to hear," Eddie called after them.

  They made their way to the line of people waiting to board. The area for patrons to wait in line was made of glass and steel pillars painted white. It led back and forth on an upward slope rather like the wheelchair accessible ramps that led into large buildings. The whole place looked very modern and almost sci-fi, with a little bit of a Willy Wonka glass elevator vibe.

  Ian kept his hand on the small of her back as they maneuvered through the crowd and Sofia found his touch distracting. She kept an eye on the wheel as it turned and lifted the pods up-up-up into the night sky and thought about how high 400 feet really was. That was the equivalent of a 40-story building. Surrounded by glass and dangling over the water.

  Reading her expression, Ian asked, "Are you nervous?"

  "A little," Sofia answered. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, partly because of the slight chill in the evening air and partly because she was a bit more than just a little nervous. She wished the credentials of the engineers that built these thrilling modes of entertainment were on display as they waited in line. Maybe her nerves would be tamed by knowing for sure how smart the people who had built this were.

  "It's extremely safe," Ian reassured her, his hand still flat on the small of her back, adding to the mix of excitement and fear she was experiencing.

  "Have you been on it a lot?"

  "Oh, yes," he said. "I come here a lot. Especially when I need to clear my head."

  When it was their turn and they stepped into the slow moving pod it felt much like an escalator under Sofia's feet. Ian guided her to the far end where they could hold onto the handrail and their view would be unobstructed. A dozen other people entered the temperature controlled pod before the doors suctioned closed and they began to rise into the air.

  Ian stood close to her, one hand on her back and the other firmly holding the handrail by her waist. She was glad. Her legs were unsteady and she didn't want to wobble on her heels and fall over. She gripped the handrail tightly with both hands knowing he was there to steady her if necessary.

  Sofia felt a tremor in her stomach, then realized it was actually her cell phone buzzing in her purse. She had pulled it to the front of her to rest on the handrail. She reached in and got her phone, side glancing at Ian who was standing so close to her he could not help but see the text that had popped onto her screen.

  It was from Thomas.

  What's up Buttercup?

  Her phone provided an image of Thomas' handsome, smiling face just under the text. She turned her face toward Ian and was almost close enough for her lips to graze his cheek.

  "It's my friend," she explained.

  "I see...Thomas," Ian said. His breath tickled her neck and ear. When she lifted her eyes to him, she saw a flicker of a challenge cross his face. "Boyfriend?"

  She smiled coyly. "No, just a friend."

  Conscious of Ian's gaze on her, she texted an answer.

  I’m on the London Eye!

  Thomas' answer buzzed almost immediately back.

  What's that?

  "Want to show him?" Ian asked.

  Their glass pod was rising through a support system of heavy white painted steel. But the Thames and the lights of London beyond were just coming into view as they rose above.

  Ian maneuvered her so the view was behind both of them, then he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. Sofia lifted her phone for a selfie, the feel of Ian's arm holding her firmly and the smell of his cologne made her giddy. They both grinned happily for the picture and she sent it to Thomas. She was going to have to answer a thousand questions from him and the girls, but it was a cute picture.

  Ian pointed out landmarks as they rose higher and higher into the air.

  "There's Big Ben...there's Westminster Abbey," he spoke into her ear from behind, for he had turned her back to look out of the glass but remained as close as they had been while taking the selfie. His arm was still wrapped around her waist and holding her to him. Sofia didn't mind the feel of his chest against her back or the sound of his voice in her ear or the tickle of his breath on her neck. They were all pleasant sensations that distracted her from the height they had climbed to over the Thames.

  "There's your flat," Ian pointed into a group of buildings that Sofia couldn't define. "And there's where we are playing next weekend," he pointed into another cluster of buildings that she didn't recognize.

  She turned halfway towards him, her lips once again almost grazing his cheek. "You have a concert next weekend?"

  "I do, well we do, the Robot Tellers," he answered. He glanced casually into her eyes, but she could tell by the way he squeezed her waste a little tighter that he was nervous. "Will you come?"

  They were nearing the top of the wheel. Ian had told her when they boarded that The London Eye was a 30-minute ride, so they were almost halfway through it. She turned her gaze toward the view and as she did she saw herself and Ian reflected dimly in the glass of their pod. Her black hair, dark complexion, green eyes and creamy sundress. Ian, pale and lean
, dark red hair, tattoos contrasting against his light skin. Opposites, but they looked good together. She couldn't look away from his eyes, which were intently watching her reflection instead of looking at the lights below them.

  Sofia wasn't sure about accepting his invitation. Nor was she sure if this date had been a wise idea. But as they locked eyes in their reflection she was helpless to deny him.

  "I'd love to," she answered just as they hit the peak of The London Eye, floating more than 40 stories in the air.

  Chapter Nine

  Monday morning came barreling down on Sofia like a bull. After a whirlwind weekend which included not only the date with Ian on Saturday night, but a full day of socializing with Tawnyetta and Michael as they buzzed around London shopping and planning for their upcoming fundraiser ball, Sofia was exhausted when she sat down at her dent in the wall office nook.

  "Would you like a cup of tea to start the day?" Liza asked.

  Sofia nodded numbly. How had she allowed herself to get so wiped out? She could barely keep her eyes open as Liza plugged in the electric teakettle.

  It wasn't just fatigue. Even a strong cup of tea on top of the half pot of coffee she'd downed at her flat this morning probably wouldn't help. Her problem wasn't completely due to not feeling rested after her weekend. Her problem was she couldn't shake the memories of how her date had ended on Saturday night.

  Ian had walked her home, all the way up the stairs and to her door. He had not asked to come in and she had not invited him. But she had wanted to invite him.

  "Thank you so much," she had told him while fingering her house key nervously. "I had a wonderful time."

  Ian leaned against the wall next to her door. His eyes gleaming cat-like in both color and expression.

  "My pleasure, Sofia," he answered. The way her name rolled off his tongue was enticing. He tilted his head, curiosity on his face. "Tell me one thing."

  "Yes?"

  "Did you have fun?"

  She smiled. "Yes, I did." And that was the truth.

  He pushed away from the wall and hooked his thumbs in his front pockets, observing her calmly. "But?"

  "But...what?" she asked.

  "But not enough to go out with me again?"

  Heat had flushed through her cheeks then as it did again at her desk when she relived the memory.

  "No need to make excuses," he had continued. "I recognize all the signs."

  She tried to brush his assumption away. "What signs?"

  Ian took a half step closer to her and looked down into her eyes. The nearness of him sent her senses swirling again and she clenched her jaw to control them. She was torn. Torn between him standing there with his rebel look, exuding a primal sexuality that was impossible to ignore, and the world she knew she would return to on Monday morning. King's College. The steady, logical, and sensible world of numbers and academia. A world she understood.

  "Oh, there are signs," he had said softly. Surprisingly, his expression belied no disappointment, no broken pride. She wondered for a moment if, despite all of the indications she'd read that he was attracted to her, perhaps he didn't like her that much after all.

  She suddenly wished that she'd tried harder to enjoy the evening, to enjoy him. Then that thought was pushed away by bigger concerns.

  "It's just that we're very different...I think. And I'm not really looking for a relationship," she tried to explain.

  The corners of his mouth lifted into an amused smile. "So, marriage is off the table, is it?"

  The shock value of his statement broke through her discomfort and she chuckled. "Definitely."

  Ian stepped back and threw up his hands in mock defeat. "I did my best. You can't ask any more of a fellow than his best."

  "This is true," she giggled.

  "Then I guess it's off to London Bridge to ponder my inadequacies and question the worthiness of my existence." He was making the best out of an awkward situation, and Sofia appreciated him so much for it. He was almost halfway down the hall, walking backwards as he joked with her.

  "Good night, Ian," she said with as much warmth and kindness as she could without giving him the wrong impression.

  He stiffened, put his hand on his heart, and gave her a short bow. She felt a tiny twist inside of her heart. Then he remembered something and pointed at her with both hands. "The concert, though. You'll still come, won't you?"

  Of course she would, she had promised.

  She spent the rest of the night tossing and turning wondering if that had been the right thing to do. On Sunday she had watched Tawnyetta and Michael be as in love as two people who were ever in love, which made her happy for them, but miserable for herself. Not miserable exactly. More like conflicted. Confused. Maybe miserable was the right word.

  Her confused, conflicted, miserable self sipped the tea Liza handed her and poured over her emails. In her position for just one week and she already had dozens and dozens of emails awaiting her response.

  "Good morning, team!" Dr. Clara entered the office and placed a bakery box on the long conference table. "I've brought scones for your enjoyment." Dr. Clara moved gracefully through the room. Her large frame and unflinching good humor reminded Sofia of old cooking shows with Julia Child she had seen before her parents had paid for cable. Dr. Clara stopped and checked the watch on her wrist. Yes, she still wore a watch. Turning her long, pale face to Sofia, Liza and Henry, her beady eyes blinked three times. "By my watch we have almost three hours before Frederick's first class of the day is over. Let's see what we can accomplish before he returns."

  Knowing this was equivalent to being warned that a tornado would hit their little research area in three hours. Sofia gratefully took a scone and sat down with the others to get to work. But try as she might, the memory of Ian backing down her hallway and making her promise to come to his concert kept running through her mind.

  Her days overflowed with work. Every night she returned to her flat worn to the bone by the mental effort it took to try and impress Professor Shipley. Even though she and the others had burned their brain cells up running reports, testing mathematical theories, and reviewing data, they didn't come close to impressing him. In fact, they were all thankful to have merely kept their jobs.

  "Do I look stupid?" Professor Shipley had asked them after storming out of his office and slamming a printed report down on the large table where they were working. None of them answered, assuming it was a rhetorical question. "Well, do I?" He bellowed, his bushy eyebrows raising high on his forehead, pushing the skin between his eyebrows and receding hairline into something resembling a Sharpei dog.

  Dr. Clara wasn't there to buffer this outburst so Sofia, being the next highest in seniority, answered him, "No, you don't, sir."

  Professor Shipley's eyes were large and round behind his spectacles, even larger and rounder when he was shouting. His cheeks weren't exactly jowls, not yet, but they jiggled a little as he spoke. In anyone else Sofia may have found this charming or amusing. But not in Professor Shipley's case.

  "Good. Next time do not waste your time and my time annotating inconsequential points on these reports. You are to look deeper and find the things that I cannot see at a glance. That is your job." He punctuated this statement with his customary 'harrumph' and stomped back into his office, the abused report crunched up in his hand.

  Friday finally arrived. And with it, not only a chance to spend a few days out of the grumbling, complaining, and insulting company of Professor Shipley, but also a second invitation to dinner at Bea and Travis' lovely Hampstead home.

  "Sofia, you look well," Travis greeted her warmly at the door.

  "Thank you," she answered, though she knew he was being kind. She looked tired, but she appreciated the sentiment.

  "So it's pretty bad?" Bea asked her later at the table as Sofia regaled them with Professor Shipley horror stories over lemon chicken and salad.

  "It's a bit of a nightmare, really," Sofia admitted.

  Travis nodded knowing
ly. "He has a terrible reputation as a professor and a boss. But, unfortunately, he has an excellent reputation as a genius as well." Smiling wryly he refilled her wine glass.

  "Yes, there's that genius part," Sofia reluctantly agreed.

  "Well, let's be glad it's the weekend then," Bea offered cheerfully. "What other plans do you have?

  Sofia cringed. The Robot Tellers concert was tomorrow night and she'd promised to go, but she wasn't sure if she was up to it. She explained her predicament to Bea and Travis. This was turning into a regular therapy session.

  "Get out!" Bea exclaimed. "You went on a date with Ian?!"

  Sofia wrinkled her nose. "It was a kind of a spur of the moment thing."

  Travis grunted, grabbing both her and Bea's attention.

  "What?" Bea asked him.

  "Nothing," Travis sipped his wine and avoided eye contact with them both.

  Bea's eyes narrowed and she pointed at him, jokingly accusing him of treachery. "What do you know about this Travis Prescott?"

  Sofia watched with interest. She wondered what he knew about it, too.

  Travis tried to shrug his wife's suspicions off. "Nothing...really."

  "Did Ian tell you?" Bea was incredulous.

  "Not exactly," Travis admitted. He looked at Sofia apologetically. He was a soft-spoken man and she imagined speaking about romance in public was something he had done next to never during his life.

  "What then?" Bea pressed.

  He stammered and squirmed a little, but got the gist of the story out. Apparently Ian had expressed to Travis an interest in Sofia that went beyond wishing to be helpful by returning her sweater. He had told Travis that he thought she was 'quite comely' and 'a prospective romantic match', though Sofia suspected Travis was paraphrasing. She couldn't imagine Ian speaking quite that formally.