Page 33 of London Dynasty

“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.