“It’s okay, Landon. We can do this. Together. One thing at a time.”
Claire leans over and kisses my cheek. I know it’s an effort to be as natural a couple as possible, but her kiss genuinely does cause my shoulders to drop, my eyes to open. I feel grounded with her next to me.
“What kind of woman would they like you to marry?” she asks. “A girl like Fiona?”
“Absolutely. They love Fiona. She goes to bridge with my mum. And they play tennis at the country club together. Also, they like to shop. On vacations, they seem to talk about books. I don’t know. It’s all boring stuff.”
“I got this. I can do boring.” She smiles, nodding her head, assuring me. “And you, Landon? What would your father want from you? To be like Geoffrey?”
“They would want me to be like Geoffrey, only more friendly. Outgoing. Not so stick-up-my-ass. My father is always riding my brother about being rigid, no fun, a bore. My father likes to have a good time—not too good, but he certainly doesn’t want to sit stoically and discuss finance.”
“So, you’re your father’s son, only you have a tendency to be more wild than you should.” Claire cocks her head, looking me up and down. Her eyes land on the bulge in my pants. I can’t wait to get her in the house, in a bedroom, and tear off her clothes. Which will be soon. We’ve just pulled up to the estate.
“Let’s not talk about my father right now. Let’s talk about all the things I plan on doing to you.”
“Um. I’d love to hear all about it ... but, Landon, this cannot be your house. This is a freaking castle.” Claire’s gorgeous eyes are wide in surprise.
“Technically, yes.”
The driveway leading to the estate is filled with autumn foliage and the house itself looks as regal as ever. Towering spires and stonewalls, barred windows and sweeping views of the property.
“Everything will be fine,” I tell her. “Remember, you told me we’ve got this.” I kiss her again, because I can’t fucking help myself. Everything about her makes me insane. Her vulnerability, her innocence. Her absolute naiveté of the world around us. The way she holds herself together, not thinking she’s less than, or inadequate. She is enough.
“I like it when you kiss me,” she says, her lips lingering on mine, her words soft breaths that I want to inhale. When the driver stops the car at the front of the estate, and opens her door, I squeeze her hand.
“They’re going to be so shocked that I’ve actually come.”
She half-laughs in disbelief. “You didn’t tell them you were coming? That I was coming?”
“Everyone likes a surprise, don’t they?”
As we exit the car, I hear Claire mutter under her breath, not thinking I can hear, “Surprises aren’t always a good thing.”
I watch as she straightens her coat, flicks back her platinum hair, reaches for my hand. She seems completely in control ... the panic attacks are gone. She’s the Claire I met at the Spades Royalle. The Claire I needed to bring home to my family.
I wonder if she’s everything she’s telling me.
If she is ... this engagement could become more real than I imagined it could be.
Chapter Thirteen
Claire
So the house is actually a castle. And the family has no clue I’m coming. And Landon is making my heart flutter in completely inappropriate ways. And all I can do is look down at his crotch when I really need to be keeping my eyes on the prize: winning over the family and getting my paycheck.
But all I want right now is more of him pressed against me.
A butler in a white starched blazer opens the door. Yes, that is correct. A butler. Because that joke about Downton Abbey is no joke. This is real. Really real. I am really in England, at a Jane Austen-esque property, wearing gorgeous clothing and a gorgeous ring, holding the hand of a beyond-gorgeous man.
Landon is all sorts of things. He’s insecure. He’s hot as hell. He’s gentle with me.
And he is nervous. Like really, really nervous. As we enter the grand foyer, where a chandelier larger than a poker table hangs above us, and a staircase sweeps across the room, I am struck by how tightly Landon is holding my hand.
“It’s okay, Babycakes,” I whisper. “We got this.” My words elicit a smile, exactly what I hoped they would do. Landon needs to be relaxed and confident when his parents greet us. They need to believe he is undoubtedly grown-up.
“I will call your parents, Landon,” the butler says, bowing at his waist. “They are having after-dinner drinks in the sitting room, and I don’t think they were expecting you.” A footman trails behind us, depositing our heap of luggage.