Faye was going to be there, which he dreaded. He could not pull off acting the part of the doting boyfriend, posing for a camera without looking too awkward, and dealing with Faye’s mouth all in one session. Delysia had been strangely quiet, too, since the night before. He was glad their breakfast had cleared the air—somewhat.
When he dragged his head out of his tweeds, which did happen on occasion, he had to admit two things: he found Delysia Daniels as attractive as he did confusing, and he was enjoying this assignment of theirs far more than he had anticipated. Living in close quarters with her hadn’t helped; she was equal parts charming, funny, and surprisingly shy. In between the madcap efforts to create her online persona, he caught glimpses of a gentle, considerate young woman whose layers made it difficult to use his usual analysis, nail down an opinion.
And—well. His proximity to her physically arose other feelings that he’d thought were buried quite effectively in his work for years. He did feel a little guilty, sometimes, for playing his role with her so enthusiastically, but her response—
He shook himself sternly. He wasn’t here to get into trouble with any young woman, charming as she was. He didn’t even know how to get in trouble with a girl—his dating history was as staid as his career. However, a different part of him seemed to take over whenever she was in close proximity. It was a mixture of want, protectiveness, and a near feeling of fascination that he—he, Alexander Abbott-Hill—could possibly be the one to make a thoroughly modern girl like Delysia, well...melt. There was something in the way she fitted her body to his so trustingly and the soft sounds she didn’t realize she made whenever they kissed that he felt down in his bones—among other places.
He’d never taken advantage of a woman, though, whether encumbered by alcohol, infatuation or the romance of the moment, and he wasn’t going to start now. He also hadn’t been with a woman in years. He wasn’t going to count how many.
I suppose I’m a bit out of practice. He was the best person he knew at compartmentalizing things neatly, and he would do just that with any flickers of feeling this closeness to Delysia might arouse.
* * *
It was almost a relief to see Faye swaying in her heels and a fur-trimmed trench coat, guarding the section of Grand Central Station that had been blocked off for the photo shoot as soon as the AM rush hour had ceased (he was sure that despite this, New Yorkers would be cursing him anyway). He recognized the withered, white-haired, world-renowned photographer Tess Samuels immediately. She’d done the last presidential portrait, after all. How the hell did Faye know these people?
When he asked, Faye grinned. Tess’s people, she said, had called them.
“She’s very glad to document a piece of history.” Faye sounded so smug that Alexander knew for sure now that she was instrumental in putting this together. “Not to mention excited to photograph—”
“An influencer?”
Faye snorted, and loudly. “Are you kidding me? She wouldn’t touch Delysia with a ten-foot pole, not without you.”
“I don’t understand—”
“You’re a member of one of America’s first families, darling.”
“Yes, but we’re not famous or—”
“Your naiveté is charming, really, but I haven’t got time for it. Come over here—” and Faye hustled him over to Tess.
“I’m very pleased to meet you,” he said earnestly. “I’m a great admirer of your work.”
Tess smiled enigmatically. “He’s got a fine face for photography. Good bones,” she said to Faye as if he weren’t there. Faye nodded eagerly, and the tiny woman wandered off to adjust the large white lights and backdrop she’d rigged over a cluster of old wooden benches.
“I thought you said she’d be delighted to meet me,” he muttered to Faye.
“Genius is simmering, that’s all. Anyway, take a look at this—it’s all storyboarded here, don’t you see? We’re shooting in scenes, four altogether. It’ll tell a story, your love story? There’s an outfit for each, all tagged and bagged in that dressing area, and a makeup artist is waiting just outside it? Look, there’s a chair for you and one for Delysia...”
As she prattled on, he flipped through the storyboard, pausing to read the text carefully, and look over the artists’ concept sketches, which were lovely pieces of art in themselves. There would be a shot of the two of them in the waiting room, him in his tweeds, reading the New Yorker, and Delysia, flanked by an entourage. There would be a shot of them in the lounge car, noticing each other for the first time. There would be a cozy, candlelit dinner scene with Delysia pouring tea à la Lily Bart, an intimate scene in a sleeper car, and finally, a tender farewell on the platform. It was straightforward and not very original, but it was sweet. And if—
“Diddy did something like this, years ago. In Paris, of course, with Annie Leibovitz, for Vogue?” Faye said briskly. “We’re hoping someone recognizes the tribute?”
And doesn’t sue, Alexander thought, but that was hardly his problem, was it? “I’ll go get changed. Is Delysia—”
“Yeah, she’s around.” Faye waved vaguely.
Alexander shook his head and ducked into the cluster of folding screens that served as walls and instantly had his senses assaulted by loud pop music that played tinnily from speakers on poles, even brighter lights, and a heavy synthetic scent of gardenias mixed with talcum powder. The place was in utter chaos—fabric was draped on every surface, interns with tape measures round their necks were absorbed in various tasks, and Delysia—
When he saw her, he nearly dropped his storyboard. “Dear God, I’m sorry!” he blurted, then turned round quickly—but not quickly enough to avoid registering smooth, copper-hued skin, covered by very little. A woman was holding the outfit that presumably would cover all of it, but she didn’t seem in any rush.
“Alexander!” he heard Delysia hiss, and then he remembered that this was supposed to be his girlfriend, whom he shared a suite with, who he presumably saw in a state of undress all the time. “He does this at home too, if you can believe it,” she added cheerfully, and then, Delysia was at his elbow, kissing his cheek. “Sorry, Alexander. I should have warned you about walking into an ambush.”
“Not a problem,” he managed. He still couldn’t look right at her, although he saw with some relief she’d donned a bathrobe. A satin one that clung to the soft points of her body in the most distracting way, but he’d take anything at the moment.
Her sweet face looked worried, but he didn’t have time to address that. A fellow swooped in and dragged him off to his own corner, divesting him of his jacket, shirt, and trousers and dressing him with all the efficiency of a kindergarten teacher. His attire wasn’t too far off from his normal work wear—just ten times more expensive, and fitted to perfection. He had never had the experience of being sewn into clothing, and the difference it made was substantial.
Then there was a chair, and powder on his face, and a great deal of combing and arranging of his hair, and spirited discussion over whether or not a bow tie would be too much, and then he was done.
* * *
Delysia would be lying outright if she didn’t admit that she was just a tiny bit pleased by Alexander nearly passing out when he happened upon her in the dressing room. She’d done many photo shoots in her life, and stripping down backstage felt as natural as breathing. The poor guy had looked so shocked.
Delysia was quite proud of her slim voluptuousness, and the fact that Alexander’s eyes had skimmed over her with more than a little heat—alongside the panic—made her stomach tie in knots that weren’t going away. She’d caught more than a glimpse of him as well, peeking sideways as he was dressed. The body under those tweeds was lean, more than substantial. Sexy, in a very understated way.
She whispered the story to Faye during their first tea break—she had to tell someone. The older woman found it hilarious.
“If y
ou two would just get together it’d make my job easier,” Faye said impatiently as she bolted down hot coffee and a buttered roll. “Tiptoeing around your sexual tension is exhausting at best.”
“We don’t—” Delysia began hotly.
“Are you kidding me? You’re always looking like you want to eat him for lunch. Not,” Faye added, “that I blame you. He’s very attractive in a very headmaster-ish sort of way. I kind of want to see what it would be like to make him snap. I bet he’s very intense. He looks like the type that would pin you down in some dark corner and—”
“Faye!” Delysia’s face was getting hot.
Her publicist laughed. “Sorry! Just get it out of your system, Delly. Have a good shag. This trip’s only a week, and you can ghost him after.”
“I am not going to—”
Faye put up a finger; her phone had begun to ring. She picked it up and waved Delysia away.
Have a good shag. She wanted to kill Faye. And possibly herself, for entertaining the idea. Still—that insistent, naughty little voice inside was sort of telling her she could get him if she tried. He’d been indifferent up to this point, but she knew what she’d seen on his face earlier. And it would be thorough and dirty and wrong and absolutely delicious.
Delysia’s wayward thoughts didn’t help at all during the shoot. She felt as if her skin was on fire every time he touched her, and their bedroom scene, which took place in their berth, didn’t help matters much. Soft yellow lighting, a tousled bed, and her gazing out the window with Alexander sleeping soundly next to her, curled round her protectively. There was a tangle of flannel sheets to protect his modesty, a suggestion of nakedness. She wore a shirt so cottony-soft it felt like luxury on the skin. Her hair was loose, tumbled round her face. Alexander’s fingers were tangled gently yet possessively in the ends. There was strength in those fingers, and it felt like every part of her body knew it now.
“Gorgeous,” purred Tess, lowering her camera. “That’s a wrap. Good job, you two.”
“Thanks for putting up with amateur hour,” Delysia said breezily.
“Oh, you two didn’t need much direction.” Tess winked and walked away to pack up.
Delysia shifted from Alexander. He opened his eyes and sat up. She was aching. Bereft, even. Her body was screaming out for something primal, but it knew it wanted him specifically, too. Tess’s assistants began milling around their room, cleaning up.
Alexander smiled at her. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m actually wiped.”
“It took longer than I thought,” Delysia admitted, looking down at her watch. Alexander was frowning at the gold face of the battered Swiss watch on his wrist (an heirloom, she was willing to bet). Alexander wore these little reflections of his status as casually as he did his skin.
“I wanted to catch that lecture at the Grolier Club, but it’s already started.” He sighed. “Yourself?”
There was quite a variety of events to choose from, but she felt a little listless. “It’s nearly three. I don’t know.”
Alexander nodded. “And we’ve got to be back here at five for dinner and for pulling off to Philly. You know,” he said in a confidential way, “this has been nice. I wasn’t sure we’d be able to pull it off, but it’s splendid so far.”
“It has been.” Delysia swung her legs over the bed, revealing a great deal of soft caramel skin and a flash of dark lace. Alexander’s eyes flickered slowly over her legs, then came back and rested on her face. Delysia was surprised to see acknowledgment there now, and a sudden dark smokiness that made a lump threaten her airway.
“I feel,” Alexander said, “as if I should return the favor of a quiet afternoon, after Boston. Would you have a late lunch with me, if you haven’t much to do? I mean, just us. Without, heaven forbid, Faye. I’m not a very good boyfriend if she’s always along.”
Delysia found herself stifling a laugh. “Well, I was supposed to meet Eden Kim downtown for a function. She’d be delighted to get rid of me, though. She’ll probably hint to the press I’m having a nervous breakdown at Grand Central.”
“The release of those pictures will set everyone straight.” He paused, then grimaced. “My students are going to have a field day. And you do realize we’ll have to move to go anywhere,” he added. He was still shirtless, half-swaddled in the flannel blankets with the Gilded Express crest on them.
“I know. That’s the worst part of it.”
“We could just stay in, order something from the dining car...” His voice trailed off, invitingly. “Take a nap.”
Yes, they could. There was the small television mounted on the wall, and a full subscription to Netflix, and a queue of movies she never had time to watch. “Have you ever seen The Avengers?” she asked, reaching for the remote where it was tucked into its holder on the wall.
He groaned. “Not a superhero film.”
“Oh, I suppose you’d want a documentary, then.”
“What’s wrong with that? There’s a particularly fine one on Bobby Kennedy, and—”
“We’re going to have to toss a coin for it.”
“That seems fair enough.”
* * *
Alexander won the coin toss, but Delysia found she didn’t even mind. The two pilfered sandwiches, cake, and punch from the dining car, along with a bottle of wine (not the Abbott-Hill brand) and one of old-fashioned, over-sweet cordial. Two glasses of the first and one of the second made Bobby Kennedy much more interesting, she found out.
“You’re a little punchy,” Alexander said, amused. He’d limited himself after a sip of Delysia’s cordial to a glass of milk, and Delysia had teased him good and hard about it. (“I’ll have a whisky tonight, that’s enough” was all he’d say in return.)
“Not really. I’m more drowsy than tipsy.” Delysia snuggled deep into the flannel sheets, into his side. It was oddly comfortable; she felt as if she belonged here, in a sense.
“Good. You’re all right, then,” he said, and patted her knee in a fairly brotherly manner. She still hadn’t bothered to put bottoms on, choosing instead to believe that her button-down was much longer than it was. She didn’t know if that’s what made her snap, just a little—for Christ’s sake, they were both half-naked in her bed, and all he wanted to talk about was Bobby Kennedy?
I bet he’s very intense. Faye’s voice came back to her, unbidden. But it wasn’t...it wasn’t about that at all, not really. It was his gentleness, and his intelligence, and the fact that he was here, and he hadn’t even tried to—Delysia cleared her throat. Alexander looked up at her and raised his eyebrows. She spoke quickly to cover her embarrassment. She hadn’t even realized she’d made the noise out loud. “Tell me,” she said, “the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done.”
It was out of her mouth before she could censor it, and she didn’t even know where the question came from. It was dumb, and probably yes, she’d had a little more cordial than was good for her, but their conversation was getting where it should be winding down—and she didn’t want it to.
To his credit Alexander didn’t even blink; he looked up at the ceiling instead. “Most embarrassing,” he said slowly, as if in deep thought. His arm snaked around and took the cordial from her, and he took a long sip.
“It’d better be good,” she warned.
He laughed. “Well, I’m trying to pick one. There are so many.”
“Okay, maybe—”
“No, no, it’s fine. I’ve got one.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll tell you about the first time I was so embarrassed I wanted to hide.”
“Okay,” she said, and moved a little closer. She liked it when Alexander told stories. He did so with a dry self-deprecation that made them funny, even when they weren’t.
“Classic setup. Girl, crush, upcoming dance,” Alexander said. His mouth was twitching a bit at the corners.
“So far, s
o good.”
“Don’t interrupt or I’m not going to be able to tell you.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Worse. Okay. So, I decided I wanted to ask her. Tiffany Leonard—”
“You remember her name!”
“Of course I do, it’s branded in my mind forever.” His mouth tipped up. “Her father taught at school, which made it worse. So I’m the kid who practically grew up on the Southampton Campus, read history books, the classics. Nothing normal. No friends my age really, for similar reasons. So instead of asking Tiffany, I ask her father if I can take her—”
“No!”
“—which he appreciated, but Tiff thought rightfully that it was weird, so she tells her friends—”
“No!”
“Come on,” Alexander said ruefully. “Did you really think it could have any other outcome?”
At this point Delysia was laughing so loud she could hardly get the words out. “I am so sorry—”
“My ears still get hot when I think about it.”
“Poor you,” she teased, passing a hand over her eyes. “First loves are hard.”
“Nothing to do with love. I was determined to make it out of the year having kissed a girl, and Tiffany was the dream.”
“Oh man.” Delysia took a deep breath. The story would never not be funny, but part of her felt sorry for the kid version of Alexander, probably small and serious, with such little socialization that he looked at books for answers to questions most people learned with experience. “I’m sorry,” she said, and rested a head on his shoulder,
“You don’t have to be, it was a long time ago.” Laughter rumbled deep in his throat. “I’m glad my heartbreak was the cause of some amusement for you.”
Delysia readjusted herself on his shoulder and was gratified to feel Alexander’s arm sling around her, closing those final few inches between them. “Are you going to reciprocate?”
“What, by telling you my most embarrassing story?” Delysia smiled. “Not as gut-wrenching as yours, I’m afraid. My mother caught wind of the guy I liked, told his mother about it when she picked me up from school, and they both laughed about it.” She paused, then shook her head, smiling. “I wanted to sink into the ground.” She also had remembered her mother without feeling that panic deep in her stomach, the panic born of not knowing the future. Alexander, apparently, had a calming effect on her.
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