by Sierra Rose
“Oh, that?” James shrugged it off casually and led me to the door. “Mirosaki’s a good friend. I helped him renovate his pool house last year.” His voice lowered comically as we bypassed the rows of staring employees on our way to the elevator. “I also sang at his daughter’s bat mitzvah the year before. If the two of us can get past that, we can get past anything. Now, where to for dinner? And please don’t say you prefer Japanese!”
Chapter 6
“THE DORCHESTER?” I asked in amazement, staring up in awe at the gilded doors of London’s most exclusive restaurant. “Are you serious right now?”
James led me up the stairs with a proud little smile on his face.
“Well, I figured it would be best to avoid finger foods. I’m afraid you’ll start to think I don’t know how to use a fork,” he said with a grin. “Besides, my brother was kind enough to book me a table here, so...”
Never in my life had I set foot in such a swanky establishment. It was like walking onto a movie set for some ridiculously over-the-top Hollywood epic, the kind that would have had me on the edge of my couch biting my nails as I watched it.
The second we stepped inside, someone rushed over to take my coat, so discreet that I didn’t even notice him coming. Another appeared to offer complimentary glasses of champagne. The tables were set with gold-plated utensils, an array of crystal stemware sparkling atop the starched white linens, and a live orchestra played tastefully in the background.
Thank goodness Madison and I didn’t go for casual dress today, I thought, looking down at myself in relief. After my weekend binge session and the Doritos, I was lucky I didn’t show up to the office in my most well-worn Levi’s.
As if the venue itself wasn’t intimidating enough, there were the other patrons to worry about, a veritable who’s-who of London high society, a Forbes cover just waiting to happen, though my dinner date would have done much better to grace the pages of Playgirl or GQ. Film stars, British heiresses, and the mayor himself feasted beneath those dazzling chandeliers, and I was sure that if I dared to snap a picture with my phone, any tabloid would have offered me a year’s rent for it. Even stranger than the horde of rich and famous was the fact that they were all staring, at me no less.
“You okay?”
I glanced up quickly and saw James staring down at me with a look of concern. At first, I didn’t understand why, but then I realized that my fingernails were digging into his skin. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said and retracted my hand quickly, blushing all the while. “Sorry.”
He studied me for a moment, locking those lovely eyes on mine, then finally dismissed the whole room of VIPs from their stares with a casual wave of his hand. “We can go somewhere else if this isn’t your cup of tea,” he said. “There’s a little Italian place down by the—”
“James!”
He glanced up in surprise as a tuxedoed man sauntered up to us, with a beaming smile plastered across his face. “As I live and breathe. James Cross?” Without a word of warning, he yanked James suddenly forward, pulling him in for an ostentatious embrace, fully aware that all eyes in the room were glued to him as he did so. “I half-expected that I’d never lay eyes on you again, my boy. I thought you went all American on us. Hanging out with Nicholas Hunter.”
“Unhand me, you lunatic!” James said, wrenching himself free. “I come in peace.”
The two shared a fleeting grin before the man promptly forgot him and turned his roving eyes on me. “And who might this stunning creature be? Come, James. Surely you will properly introduce me to your...friend.”
James flashed his eyes to the ceiling with a pained grimace, one that could have easily been genuine but clearly wasn’t. “Only if I must.”
I stepped forward with great trepidation as the man held out his hand.
“Delilah Jones, Charles Branson. There. Consider yourselves introduced.”
“Come on!” Charles whined like a little schoolboy. “Introduce me properly, would you?”
“For the last time, Charlie, no one cares that you’re a duke.”
I giggled nervously for a moment, but when I realized that he actually was a duke, my eyes widened infinitesimally, and I took a step back. My mind rushed through my admittedly short list of facts on English history, but I certainly didn’t have a lot to go on. Wait. They still have dukes?
“He’s not an important one,” James whispered conspiratorially, flashing me a wink.
I giggled again as Charles shook my hand, jutting his chin up in disdain at his friend’s teasing. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Delilah. As for this one, you ought to pay him no mind whatsoever. James has never been able to get over the fact that he is one of our only classmates who lacks royal blood.”
“That’s right.” James threw back his head and let out a laugh that sparkled even more effervescently than the champagne in my hand. Somehow, he appeared more majestic than the prissy duke, even with his tousled hair, casual loafers, and artfully faded jeans. “For all these years, I’ve craved nothing more than to be part of your incestuous little genepool, good Chuck.”
“Do not call me Chuck. You sound like a wannabe yank!” Charles said, his eyes glittering with a wicked grin. “Nevertheless, you’ve been known to dip into it every now and again.”
Huh? Dip into what...or who?
In an instant, my playful, caught-in-a-dream mood vanished. My spine stiffened involuntarily as James’s smile melted slowly from his face.
To James’s credit, even Charles seemed to realize he’d crossed the line, because a flush of embarrassment reddened his cheeks as soon as the ill-timed joke left his lips, and he bowed his head and was quick to make amends. “Sorry,” he backtracked swiftly. “I certainly do not mean to imply that James is a fanny rat for royals,” he clarified. “It is just that the women...”
Charles trailed off as James snapped his eyes shut. “You’re not helping, Charlie,” he said.
I didn’t want to laugh, but I had to stifle a little grin when I saw him blushing and felt him give my hand a squeeze.
“Right. Sorry. I just... Well, everyone seems excited to see you on our fair isle again.” Charles looked up hesitantly as he offered his welcome, his eyes seeking silent forgiveness. “Maybe now, the wheels will begin to turn again,” he said with a new surge of excitement, picking up momentum with every word. “If you are not suffering too much from jetlag, won’t you please join me at the estate tonight? It will be just like old times! I’ll call in all the usual suspects, and we can—”
“Not tonight.” James slipped his arm casually around my waist. “Busy.”
Busy? Busy doing what?
Judging by the dumbfounded look on Charles’s face, it seemed the royal duke had never been turned down before, or at least he’d never known James Cross to blow off a party. I felt suddenly lucky, for it seemed he thought I was an acceptable excuse.
“Right. Of course.” Charles glanced nervously over his shoulder at the crowd of well-dressed people still sitting at his table, all of whom were waiting for a response, since they’d sent Charles over there in the first place. “At any rate, it’s your first night back. I suppose we should let you get settled.”
James inclined his head graciously, giving him a reassuring smile. “Later this week. I’ll call.”
Charles brightened somewhat at that promise and backed away with a wave. By the time he turned to face his companions again, he was sporting a smug smirk, feeling a bit accomplished since he was the first to officially greet the notorious, long-lost James Cross.
And speaking of that... I glanced up at James out of the corner of my eye, a little smile playing around my lips. His first night back, huh? No, not hardly. Not by a long shot.
His refusal to return my gaze was like some internal alarm went off, a silent warning to move quickly forward, lest the past might drag him down. “Well, shall we?”
“Sure,” I said lightly, taking his arm, my grin broadening, “before the rest of your fan club decides to
attack.”
Chapter 7
AT FIRST, I DIDN’T understand. We had driven across town to dine at the famous Dorchester, to devour a delightful meal in the domed room, to feast on the finest cuisine among England’s finest. I had no clue why he was suddenly so intent on leaving.
“Are you taking me up to the roof again?” I asked, eyeing our surroundings with increasing confusion as we climbed yet another set of stairs. It seemed forever since we left the other patrons behind to embark on some strange journey meant for just the two of us. “You were worried I might accuse you of being fork-phobic, but now I’m beginning to think you can only eat outside.”
James laughed quietly, shooting an appreciative glance from the corner of his eye, an odd but endearing glance he often gave me. He seemed to be used to the burden of being expected to be the funny, charming, happy one all the time, but when I stepped in to take up the reins, part of him visibly relaxed. “Not outside,” he corrected cryptically. “Upside.”
“Upside?” I stared in surprise a small spattering of stars that were already peppering the twilight cosmos. “Weren’t we already on the top story? I can’t believe there are floors above this.”
James took my hand as he pushed open the final door. “Della, you should know by now that not even the sky is the limit. You can always, always find a way to go...higher, if you only try.”
My entire face lightened with surprise as we stepped into a little domed room all our own, an exact replica of the one downstairs. The ceiling was high and arched, and ivy and exquisite flowers dripped down the walls. Nestled right in the center was an adorable, tiny table for two. The only difference from the area we’d just left was that the ceiling here was glass, giving us a full view of the sky, a stunning view reserved for just the two of us.
“Would you care to sit, mademoiselle?”
When I was finally able to pull my gaze away from the sky, I saw James holding a chair out for me, obviously pleased with himself for his ridiculously horrible French accent. All that was missing was the cartoon mustache and a baguette sword; with those, he would have been the perfect parody. “Why thank you, kind sir,” I responded in a Southern drawl. “Don’t mind if I do.”
He laughed again and helped me settle in the chair before circling around to his own. His eyes were still dancing when they met mine across the table. “I do love those accents of yours,” he said abruptly. “First English, now that, like some fine Southern belle.”
“I do declare, I might swoon at such a remark,” I said, a fanning myself as a flaming blush rose up in my cheeks. I dropped my eyes to the tablecloth, feeling decidedly pleased. “I do aim to please, Mr. Cross. I suppose my accents are my strong suit.”
“Actually, they’re rather terrible!” he clarified, leaning back in his chair with a chuckle. “In fact, I think they are the worst I’ve ever heard!”
“The worst?” My mouth fell open in dismay. “Why, that is no way to talk to a lady, you scoundrel!”
“Don’t stop. It’s fucking adorable.”
I resisted the urge to throw my napkin at him and bit back a smile instead. The truth was, I was quickly falling in love with many adorable things about him as well, particularly that disarming, magical smile of his. “Perhaps you’ve just forgotten what a proper English accent it supposed to sound like,” I shot back mischievously. “This is your first day back in town, after all.”
His eyes flashed up suddenly, and he shifted a bit uncomfortably in his chair. “Yes, I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry about the whole thing actually. I didn’t expect us to be swarmed the second we walked in. Charlie is an ass.”
My face instantly softened, all the teasing mischief melting away the second I realized I’d touched on something a little too close to home. “Are all those people friends of yours?”
He tensed for a second, then nodded. “Most of them, yes.”
I nodded as well, coaxing him gently forward. I didn’t feel our conversation was all that serious, but he seemed to be quite sensitive about it, and I wasn’t sure why. “I take it that it’s not exactly public knowledge that you’ve been back a while, huh?” I prompted in a quieter voice. “I personally happen to know you’ve been in town at least a few days.”
“A month actually.”
The back-and-forth came to an abrupt stop, and I leaned back in surprise. An entire month in London? Avoiding the usual haunts? Walking the city streets? Unnoticed by the paparazzi all the while? At that point, I had to forgive Madison and Caleb a bit for their cluelessness, because the man was obviously a wizard with some sort of magic invisibility spell at his beck and call.
His eyes met mine, and he hesitated for a moment, as if struggling to decide what to say. After a second or two, he opted to tell the truth. “London is my home, and I adore it, but sometimes it just all feels too...rehearsed, all played out. I tire of the same people, the same parties, the same restaurants.” He flushed a little, breaking my gaze to glance reflexively out the window. “Sometimes I just want to get away from it all, try somewhere and something new.”
I certainly understood that. After all, I’d given the exact same speech to myself in the mirror before taking the plunge and leaving New York, almost verbatim. My mouth fell open in astonishment, but just as I was about to tell him as much, the door opened suddenly and a team of waiters swept inside. The question died unanswered in the air between us, as we leaned back in our chairs, waiting in silence for them to finish.
While one uncorked a bottle of the eatery’s finest champagne, the other started systematically lighting a host of little candles splayed across the center of the table. I didn’t notice till then that the sun had been swallowed up by the horizon, and now a velvet blanket of ebony dimmed the rooftop, adding iridescence to the dancing candle flames. A couple large tapers were lit around the walls as well, and by the time they left, less than a minute later, the entire room was bathed in a soft golden glow.
Don’t look at him, not in this lighting, not this close. If you do, you’ll once again lose the ability to speak. At this rate, you’ll probably just start taking off your clothes.
It was one of those rare occasions when I followed my own advice, and I darted my eyes around the room instead, narrowing them suspiciously as they did a full sweep. Rose petals on the floor, a private room, candlelit table for two... Is this what I think it is?
“Mr. Cross,” I tilted my head to the side, finally daring to meet his eyes, “are you trying to seduce me?”
A burst of laughter escaped his lips, but he recovered almost instantaneously. “Surely that doesn’t require all this,” he replied innocently, waving his arms around. “Your seduction requires merely a humble wristband and a vacant roof, does it not?”
I blushed to high heaven, but he was merciful, his eyes twinkling as he reached out to hand me another glass of champagne.
“I have accomplished my mission, actually tricked you into going on a date with me.”
Despite the fact that I was once again sitting with the man of my dreams up in the clouds, laughing felt like a very natural thing to do. “Is that so?” I asked coyly before a sip of champagne, followed immediately by another. “From what I’ve read and heard, you don’t need to trick anyone into dating you.”
This time, it was his turn to blush again. His eyes flashed up to mine ever so briefly, as if the duke’s cruel joke was still ringing in his ears, before they returned deliberately to his menu. “What have you read?” he said. “Google knows everything, eh?” He didn’t sound particularly angry but not particularly pleased either. It was as if he simply wished the entire thing had never happened, that we had continued to live in our surreal bubble, sitting on a rooftop somewhere and gazing up at the stars.
Like it or not, though the elephant on the rooftop had to be discussed. Undeniably, James Cross was a living legend, the stuff of endless blogs and gossip rags and social media posts. “According to one particularly memorable story, you were once offered a threesome with t
he reigning king and queen of hip-hop, an offer you were forced to decline due to a slight poodle allergy.”
“True. But sadly, I don’t entertain men. So I came up with the poodle allergy.”
“Good one.”
“Thanks.”
He blushed. “Please don’t read any more of those dreadful stories on the internet.”
“C’mon, James,” I teased lightly. “I work for your father’s company, and your brother is acting CEO. It’s impossible not to read up on you, at least a little.”
“But you didn’t before,” James countered, ignoring my point entirely and choosing to focus on what he clearly deemed the bigger issue. His eyes danced with candlelight as he leaned curiously across the table, looking me up and down. “You flew here from New York to work for Cross, yet you didn’t recognize me the day we met. How was that possible?”
My head dropped, and I stared self-consciously at my hands. I certainly didn’t want to offend him, but I didn’t want to lie either. “Yeah, well, you know all those magazines you tend to haunt? Vanity Fair, Rolling Stone, Us Weekly...”
He flushed a bit but nodded, waiting to hear what else I had to say.
I quickly downed the rest of my champagne before nervously concluding, “I subscribe to The London Economic Review, for goodness sake.”
There was a beat of silence before that sparkling laughter rang out once more. I was so worried about how my disinterest might be taken, but it seemed James couldn’t have been more pleased.
“I guess the more I think about it, I did read something about a brother. But it didn’t say twin brother. And it said you didn’t take any direct part with the company and that you traveled around the globe.”
“So it downplayed me?”
“Well, yes.”
“Good. That’s the way I like it. My father downplays me on purpose. Hired an entire team to hide me. You see, dear Della, I bring too much embarrassment to the company. So I’m rarely brought up or mentioned. He designs the articles so no one gives me another thought. I guess he was really upset with all my Instagram antics.”