by Geneva Lee
“What’s your favorite color?” I blurted out. It took effort to resist the urge to unfasten my safety belt and fling myself from the moving vehicle. Was that the best I could come up with?
Spencer glanced over, tension fading into puzzlement. “Are we five years old, Kerrigan?”
I had two choices: to be offended or to double down. “Well, since you’re being so conversational, I am forced to start at the beginning. Spoiler: I’m going to ask what you want to be when you grow up next. Think of your answer.”
“Red,” he bit out.
“Hence the car.” I nodded. No wonder he liked my dress. “I think mine is blue, but it depends on the day. And what do you want to be when you grow up?”
“You already know the answer to that one.” This time he didn’t look at me.
“Prime Minister. That’s...ambitious,” I admitted to him.
“When we marry, my grandfather will pass his seat in parliament to me. From there, it will be a few years. Although I am expected to be the youngest man elected to the position.”
He spoke of it in a curiously detached manner like he was reading from a map he’d been given. None of the passion that sometimes inflamed his words was present. It was a clipped, specific response.
“Spencer, do you want to be Prime Minister?” I asked.
“What?” He threw an insulted look in my direction. “Of course. What man wouldn’t want to be the most powerful man in the country?”
“I think the king is the most powerful man in the country,” I pointed out.
“Not once I’m in power,” he muttered.
“Isn’t your family more traditionally leaning when it comes to politics?” I asked.
“My grandfather is.” He didn’t offer any further clarification on this point.
I sensed it was time to move on. I wondered if he would ever open up to me about how he really felt about being groomed to be Prime Minister. But maybe our first date wasn’t the place to start. “Football team?”
He exhaled as if relieved to be talking about anything other than colors or careers. “West Ham.”
“West Ham?” I couldn’t contain a laugh.
“I’m a glutton for punishment,” he admitted.
“They’ve had a rough go of it for…” In truth, I couldn’t remember the last time that the team had been highly ranked in the Premier League. In another lifetime, probably.
“Since they first stepped foot on the pitch?” He shrugged. “It was my dad’s team. I guess I just have a soft spot for them. He used to say that you don’t love football for the wins. You love it for the game.”
“Your dad sounds wise,” I said softly.
“I don’t honestly know,” he said. “He died before I was old enough to know what kind of man he was. I only knew him as my father.”
“I understand that.”
“Your mother?” he guessed.
Of course, he knew that Kerrigan’s mother had passed away. I thought of the picture I found earlier today. Kerrigan had known her mother, but had she known her as a woman like Spencer said? Or only as a mum? I had no idea, but I did know what it was like to be left with bits and pieces of memories to put together where a person once was. “Yeah. I don’t think I really knew her.”
“What about your father?”
“I didn’t really know…” I cut myself off, realizing my mistake. Panic rose in my throat with a surge of acid. “Sorry, I was still thinking about my mum. Dad? I guess I don’t know him that well, actually.”
Spencer nodded like he understood and a weight lifted off my shoulders. “I feel that way about my mother. I suppose I know her. She’s been hovering over me her whole life, making plans and choices, but it’s like...that’s all she is.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure I even know.” He grinned at me. “Maybe we should go back to talking about our favorite colors before we’re too depressed to enjoy ourselves.”
I laughed in agreement. We were in serious danger of ruining our night. “I already know your favorite color. What’s your favorite food?”
“There’s this little pasta shop in Venice,” he told me as he turned on a side street near Covent Garden. “It’s sort of hidden, but it’s incredible. You take it to go and then you just wander around and get lost.”
“That sounds magical,” I murmured, wondering what it was like to go places. I’d imagined Venice and so many other cities, it sometimes felt as if I’d been there. But I’d only seen them on television and in magazines.
“I’ll take you there,” he said instantly.
“Now?” I asked.
“I’m sure they’d be closed before we got there. Someday, though, when you least expect it, I’ll throw you over my shoulder and whisk you away to eat pasta.”
It was strange to plan a future for someone else. Every decision I made would affect Kerrigan’s life. When I’d agreed to the arrangement, I worried that I might accidentally ruin her life by making a poor choice. Now, I envied the life I was creating for her. She would be the one to wander Venice with Spencer’s favorite pasta. Not me. She would crawl into his bed every night. I was just a stand-in.
“You’re quiet,” he noted, breaking into my thoughts, as he pulled up to a valet stand.
I forced a bright smile. “I was just trying to decide my favorite food.”
“Okay.” He studied me for a moment as if he didn’t believe me, before getting out of the car.
An attendant opened my door a moment later, and before I was on my feet, Spencer was at my side, taking my hand as the attendant got behind the wheel of the McLaren.
“So what did you decide?” he asked me as we walked toward the entrance of the restaurant.
“I don’t think I’ve found mine yet,” I said. “At least, part of me hopes I haven’t because that means I get to keep looking.”
His head tilted, a curious smile spreading across his face. “I like that answer. How about we start looking for it together?”
He gestured to the sign hanging over the restaurant that read Jardin Fiore. The outside was far from impressive, simply another place to eat it seemed. The only clue that suggested otherwise, up to this point, was the presence of valet parking. As soon as we stepped foot inside, everything changed. It was as if we’d stepped through a magical portal and been transported into an enchanted garden. We proceeded under an ivy-covered arch into the dining room where flowering branches hung from the ceiling, dangling their blossoms romantically over tables with white-linen cloths and plush leather chairs. On the far side of the room, a fireplace crackled giving a warm glow to the room, the only other light coming from candles placed strategically around the space.
“I feel like I just went through the wardrobe,” I said with awe.
“Narnia has more snow, I think.”
“Mr. Byrd, we have your table waiting,” a host said, two large, leather-bound menus in her arms.
We followed her across the room quietly. The whole place reminded me a bit of being in a library. There was a sort of hushed reverence in the room as if every soul there had lowered their voice to a whisper out of respect. A small table, tucked in the corner, next to the hearth, waited for us.
“I was going to ask if you’ve been here before,” Spencer said as we took our seats, “but judging from your reaction, I think I have my answer.”
I accepted a menu from the girl and thanked her. “I’m glad the first time was with you.” Spencer’s eyes sparkled in the firelight at my choice of words, and I blushed. “You know what I mean.”
“I do,” he said with mock solemnity, before adding, “but I think you’ll be glad that the first time is with me no matter the occasion.”
I reached for my water with shaking hands and took a quick drink. I suddenly wondered if sitting so close by the fire was a good idea if he was going to insist on getting me hot and bothered.
“I’m sorry,” he said, sensing my discomfort. “I’ll behave. Would you like me
to tell you what I like on the menu?”
I nodded, forcing my eyes away from his and opening mine, surprised to find a collection of both Italian and French dishes. I thought of the restaurant’s name, a curious mix of both languages.
“The Foie Gras, obviously. I also love the risotto, and I see the venison is back on the menu. It wasn’t the last time I was here.”
I closed my menu, unable to keep up with him. “Would you order for me?”
“If you wish,” he said.
“I trust you. Surprise me.”
It turned out to be the right choice. Spencer didn’t disappoint and he seemed to take his role in helping me search for my as-of-yet undiscovered favorite food very seriously. First, he ordered oysters on the half shell, which tasted like the ocean on my tongue. Then Foie Gras, which I had serious reservations about, but was surprised to find rich and delicious. Spencer watched me take every bite without much commentary. Instead, there was a sort of quiet contentment that overtook him. I had never seen him like this before. When our main courses arrived, I took a bite of veal and moaned. The dish had been new to the menu but Spencer was certain I would like it. He wasn’t wrong.
“You have to try this,” I said, spearing another bite on my fork and holding it out to him.
Spencer brought his perfect mouth to my fork and slid it off with his teeth, a hungry look in his eyes that had nothing to do with the food or the restaurant. He chewed slowly, his eyes hooded and he groaned a little. “Delicious.”
I looked down at my plate, feeling heat spreading across my chest and up my neck toward my face. The glimpse of what he looked like when he was experiencing pleasure sent my pulse rocketing. I wanted to see that face again. I wanted to be what made him make that noise.
“Try mine,” he commanded, holding out a bite of his filet.
Our eyes locked as I slid it off his fork with my mouth, and a vein ticked in his neck. I was reminded of the dreams I’d had the night before. Like those, I felt keyed up with no relief in sight. Every word, every moment that passed between us seemed to ratchet my desire up a notch while taking me farther away from what I really wanted.
Him.
There was no denying that the music and the wine, the food and the flowers all conspired to remind me that the one thing I wanted wasn’t on the menu.
Spencer’s hand brushed over mine. “Would you like another bottle?”
I shook my head. Any more and I might get drunk. I wanted to be present every moment I spent with him, especially if he kissed me.
“Kerrigan, come—”
“Would you like to see the dessert cart?” Our waitress interrupted us, and I resisted the urge to throttle her for her poor timing.
Spencer inclined his head. “Shall we?”
“I think I’m finished.” I drained my wine glass to prove it.
“The check, please.” He reached into his pocket and produced a money clip, straining to hold the stack of pound notes folded between its prongs. I waited for him to return to what he was about to say before we were interrupted, but he seemed to have forgotten.
I sucked in a breath, almost wishing I had opted for at least one more glass of wine and decided to make the first move. “Spencer.”
“Yes?” he asked, drawing out a hundred-pound note, which was followed by four more.
I watched, realizing what different worlds we were from, and that he didn’t even know it. He had no idea that I’d never eaten french food or tried veal or sat next to a fire with a man at a romantic dinner. He never would know that he’d just given me so many firsts that I’d lost count. Maybe he was simply following the prescribed courtship rituals of society, and I was the one caught up in the romance, dazzled by the candlelight. And somehow, none of it mattered. I knew what I wanted next—what I wanted more than anything. “Take me to bed.”
Chapter Nineteen
Spencer’s hand moved to his tie and he tugged at it, a silent battle being waged in his eyes. “Are you sure? We don’t have to move this fast.”
“I’m asking you to sleep with me, not marry me,” I told him, taking his hand in mine.
He raised his eyebrows. “Now you don’t want to marry me?”
I opened my mouth to protest, wondering how I’d managed to fail so spectacularly at my seduction attempt.
“I’m fucking with you,” he said before I could mount my defense. “I think we need to have a sense of humor about this arranged marriage thing. It will keep us both sane. To be clear, I want to take you to bed, and, as far, as marriage…”
I nodded, narrowing my eyes and staring directly at him. “Kiss me. Fuck me. Marry me. Just do one of them before I explode.”
Spencer leaned forward and cupped my jawline, drawing my lips roughly to his. The kiss was rough and gentle, promising and consuming, fire and ice. He forced my mouth open, capturing my tongue with his as he tasted me. The agonizing arousal I felt doubled until I forget where I was and who I was. There was only him and the place where our mouths touched and all the places I wanted to be touching him.
A nervous clearing of the throat alerted us to the return of the waitress.
Spencer pulled back, his palm still holding my face, and handed her the money without looking at the bill. “Keep the change,” he told her, “and have them pull my car around now.”
“Yes-s-s,” she stammered, adding, “Thank you, sir.”
“I think we befuddled her,” I said with a grin.
His thumb stroked my cheek. “Befuddled, huh? Or maybe it was the two hundred pound tip.”
I swallowed down this revelation. “Are you always so generous?”
“No,” he confessed. “Only when I want something, and right now, the only thing I want is my bloody car so that I can take you home and fulfill your request.”
I swallowed again, my mouth going dry at the directness of his words. I’d offered, and he had accepted. Only a short drive and some clothes stood between me and the other side of virginity.
We barely spoke as we made our way out of the restaurant to the pavement as an attendant zipped around the corner with the McLaren. He got out and handed the keys to Spencer with the speed of a man who understood exactly why he’d been summoned to perform his job with breakneck speed. The only thing that could have been more obvious was if he’d given him a fistbump. Spencer didn’t seem to notice. His eyes didn’t leave me until he’d helped me into the passenger seat and closed the door.
But when we pulled away from the restaurant, he turned the opposite direction from which we had arrived.
“Where are we…” I watched as we drove deeper into the heart of London towards the shops and people and busy streets.
“My flat,” he said in answer to my unfinished question.
“Oh.”
“Is that a problem?” he asked, looking from the road to me.
“I thought you lived in Hampstead.”
“I do,” he said as he shifted gears and flew down the street. “Some of the time. I keep a flat in the city to crash when I’m here late and for...privacy.”
“It’s where you take women,” I said, understanding what he really meant.
“Does that bother you? We can go to Sparrow Court, but I can’t guarantee my mother won’t descend on you the moment we step foot through the door.”
“No,” I said quickly. Tonight, more than any other, I wanted this to be about him and me without anyone else there to spoil it. “I was just surprised.”
“I assumed you knew about the flat.” He flipped on a signal before roaring around a corner. A group of tourists jumped back onto the pavement to avoid being hit, but he seemed to neither notice nor care. “I’ll be certain to have my people send over a full list of my assets.”
“That’s not necessary.” I felt stupid for asking him about the flat. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“You didn’t,” he cut me off. “You should know about my holdings. What’s mine will be yours someday.”
A knot tightened
in my stomach at his words. Nothing of his would ever be mine. Not really. I was only playing pretend. I pushed away the thought.
“Except what you keep in the prenup,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood.
“No prenup,” he said swiftly.
“What?” I asked, staring at him.
“No prenup,” he repeated. “If you marry me, that’s that. Unless you want one.”
“But…” I struggled to express my surprise. Foregoing a prenuptial agreement was the kind of thing that poor people with nothing to lose did. People like me. Not men with titles and money, mansions and sports cars. Not men planning to be the future Prime Minister.
“Kerrigan, your family has more money than mine. I suppose I’d understand if you want a prenup, but your father…Look, if we get married, I’d like one thing between us to be based on trust—not just a transaction. I know it’s old-fashioned, but a prenup feels like an escape clause. I suppose I’ve never believed marriage was something you could take back.”
“No prenup.” It slipped out of my mouth. It wasn’t really my place to promise that, but he was right. It was how it should be, and somehow, I was certain it was Kerrigan’s one true chance at happiness. If her husband loved her and if they trusted each other, maybe going through with her father’s wishes wouldn’t be so bad.
He released the gearshift and took my hand, bringing it to his mouth. He kissed it and then let it go to shift the car into second. My head was still moving as swiftly as the car had been when we slowed down and turned into a private parking garage.
Spencer took my hand as soon as I climbed out of the car and led me toward a lift. As soon as we were inside, he was on me. He crushed me against the wall of the lift, his mouth capturing mine while his hands bunched my skirt at the hips, raising its hem enough for him to push one leg between mine and urged them open as far as my restrictive clothing would allow.