“Not if I can help it.” I study him for a moment. “What about you? What would little Alfie have tried if he hadn’t been so focused on being perfect?”
He’s quiet for so long I think he won’t answer. Then, “Art, maybe. Real art, not just technical drawings. I used to sneak into the manor’s art room when everyone was asleep. Just... create things that had nothing to do with science or business or being a Spencer.”
The admission feels heavy, important. Like he’s sharing something he’s never told anyone else.
“Show me sometime?” I ask softly. “Your art, I mean. The non-technical stuff.”
His eyes meet mine, startled. Then something shifts in his expression - like he’s deciding whether to trust me with this piece of himself.
“Maybe,” he says finally.
“Anyway,” Alfie says, “thank you for being my fake girlfriend, you’re really saving me here. I received an itinerary email today from mother.”
Who emails an itinerary for visiting their son?! The most planning my family has ever done is my mom making sure Troy bakes cookies before he goes home.
“And the first thing they want to do is go to a family dinner at L’Etoile.” He visibly cringes.
My stomach does a flip. “Oh God. What does one wear to impress the Spencers?”
“You always dress well,” he says simply, then adds with a hint of that infuriating smirk, “when you’re not covered in paint or wearing dinosaur pajamas.”
“Those are myluckydinosaur pajamas, thank you verymuch.” But I’m already mentally cataloging my closet. “Seriously though, what’s the dress code? Should I go formal? Semi-formal? Will your mother judge me if I wear something with sparkles? Or is she not a sparkly kind of gal?”
He pauses for a moment, then slowly says, “I have no idea what that even means?”
I roll my eyes. “Alfie, give me some guidance here.”
“Something appropriate,” he mimics a British accent, making me snort.
“Is she British?”
“No.” He sighs. “It just felt right. But wear whatever makes you feel confident. You can’t go wrong. Just don’t wear like…leggings.”
I steal another fry. “I just... I want to make a good impression. God knows why.”
He studies me for a moment, then stands abruptly, he chats to the waitress and pays the bill. She tucks her hair behind her ear as she flutters her eyes at him. I try to ignore the satisfaction I feel when he barely looks at her before heading back to me holding out his hand. “Come here.”
“What? Where are we?—”
“Just come on, Tink.”
I take his hand trying desperately not to think about how perfectly my fingers fit between his and he actually pulls me from the booth, leading me through the diner.
“Tell me how much I owe you for my food.”
He ignores me.
I shouldn’t be surprised. Since hanging out with him he hasn’t let me pay for a single thing. I’m sort of embarrassed that I don’t mind it, heck I like being treated a little.
I nearly trip over my own feet trying to keep up with his long strides, very aware of how warm his hand is and how he hasn’t let go even though I’m clearly following him now.
“Alfie Spencer, are you kidnapping me?” But he just throws that infuriating half-smile over his shoulder and keeps walking.
The cool night air hits as we reach the parking lot, but he doesn’t stop until we reach his BMW. He finally releases my hand, I absolutely do not miss the contact, not even a little bit, to open his car door.
“If this is you trying to escape paying the bill...” I start, but then he’s reaching into his glove compartment and my heart actually stops because he’s standing so close I can smell his cologne, something woodsy and expensive that really shouldn’t be this distracting.
“This is probably weird timing, but...” He straightens up with a small black box, our faces suddenly inches apart.
