Girl Abroad

BEN ESCORTS ME TO THE DANCE FLOOR, PASSING OFF OUR champagne glasses to a waiter. Vaguely familiar faces and attractive people with perfect posture dance to the orchestral arrangement of a twenty-year-old soft rock song. He clasps my hand delicately in his and places his other at a polite height on my back. I imagine the sixty-year-old dance teacher who smacked his hands with a ruler until he was as light as a butterfly.

“You’re making a face,” he says, watching me.

“I’ve never danced like this. Not well anyway.” This is miles beyond a prom sway.

His brown eyes soften. “You’re doing fine.”

“Let’s make a deal? I won’t lock the doors and set the curtains on fire if you can manage to keep me from embarrassing myself.”

He breathes out a laugh. “I will venture to do my best. For Britain.”

After a verse or two, I start to get the hang of it. Ben’s a good dancer. Effortless. By the second song, I’ve forgotten to feel self-conscious while Ben narrates the gossip about the other guests. The British reality TV star who went to school with the bridegroom and whose father is now dating her ex-boyfriend. The queen’s second cousin, whose husband, it was recently revealed, spent the last three summers on a German billionaire’s private sex island.

“We’re all either on the brink of bankruptcy, sex scandal, or both,” Ben says with self-deprecating humor.

“All I did last night was wash my hair and watch TV. A scandal might be a nice change of pace.”

“Please, you’re welcome to meet with my lawyers next Thursday if you like. Perhaps you can explain to me why I’m paying them so much to tell me I’m broke.”

A while later, Lee finds us on the dance floor. His eyes are wide and bright, whatever news he’s harboring practically tearing past his lips. “Can I borrow her?”

Ben steps back. “By all means. I’ll see if I can’t locate the lavatory. There are nearly eighty, I’m told.”

Lee takes Ben’s place, hugging me close as he wraps his arm around my waist and sets a quicker rhythm to his step. He’s buzzing with energy.

“Having fun?” I tease.

“I’m in love.”

“That was quick. Have you and Colin set a date yet?”

Lee recoils. “The boxer? God no. I’m in love with Eric.”

“Poor Colin. He was cute.”

“And we shared a beautiful moment in one of the eighty bathrooms. But I can’t listen to that accent for the rest of my life. And then, my dear Abbey, I met Eric,” he says with a yearning that is almost lewd. “His family builds yachts.”

“It’s everything you’ve always wanted.”

“Like, okay, I know I sound like a shallow bitch. He does have other qualities. He likes jazz and nature documentaries.”

Neither of which I’ve ever seen Lee express an interest in. “Whatever makes you happy.”

“What about you?” he asks as we rock back and forth in our little circle of the dance floor. “Shall I start calling you Lady Tulley?”

“Definitely not. I mean, Ben’s great company. But this isn’t a date. It’s practically a business meeting.”

Lee raises one eyebrow.

“What?”

“Hey, I’m thrilled to mooch off your new friendship. Don’t get me wrong. I’m just saying, men like that don’t bring beautiful young women to a bloody palace for what is essentially a homework assignment.”

“I hear what you’re saying. And in any other case, I’d say you’re right. But I think he’s genuinely interested in discovering more about his family. He’s invested in the mystery.”

“Maybe. If not, you shout cranberry, and I’ll pull a fire alarm.”This is the property of Nô-velDrama.Org.

Ben returns then with two fresh glasses of champagne. “If I could interrupt for a moment, Abbey, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. Come along too, Lee, if you’d like.”

As I accept the champagne he hands me, Ben sniffs, rubbing at his nose. Man, autumn allergies in England are no joke. Jamie’s been snotting all over the house for the last week. I guess he’s not the only one.

“Up for a little mingling?” I ask Lee, offering him my arm.

“Always.”

Well into an endless spring of champagne, I’ve loosened up enough to start enjoying myself. Ben introduces us to some friends of his, nobility and a couple of British television presenters I pretend to recognize, because there’s nothing more awkward than telling a celebrity you’ve never heard of them. Lee charms them all. He’s entirely in his element, telling jokes and flirting his ass off. Still, his gaze drifts back to Eric, whom he leaves us to find when Ben invites me to dance again after dinner.

“Was it worth it?” Ben asks. He leads me around the dance floor as the orchestra plays a ballad.

“Tonight? Absolutely. I’ll never forget it.”

“These things become tedious after a while. More an obligation than an occasion.” He gazes down at me. “I think you’ve salvaged the evening for me.”

“Glad I could help.”

The first strains of the violins hit my ears as they start up the next song. I recognize it in three notes and stifle a groan. Ben smiles at the embarrassment blooming red on my face.

“I know this one. What’s the line?” He narrows his eyes, recalling, while at the same time searching my face for the answer. “Something about windmills.”

I decide to play coy. “Never heard of it.”

“I’m quite sure the room would entertain a serenade if you’d fancy stepping up to the mic,” he says, having fun at my expense.

“My singing is actually banned by the Geneva Conventions.” I break away to escape the dance floor, but Ben is too quick, catching me.

“Don’t go. The chorus is the best part.”

I hold up my empty champagne glass. “I need a refill.”

He relents, following me as I attempt to place myself in the path of a roving champagne tray. Ben has more success, easily snagging glasses for both of us.

“As it happens,” he says, “I do have news for you.”

“You’ve been holding out on me,” I accuse. “What’d you find?”

“Why don’t we find somewhere a little more private to chat about it?” Ben offers me his arm. “Let’s get some air, shall we?”

We weave our way through the perilous ballroom full of dress trains and protruding ceremonial swords hanging off the hips of men in military uniform. Ben brings us to a secluded alcove just outside the ballroom. The halls here are quiet and otherwise empty.

“I found letters sent from a private investigator Lawrence hired to find Robert a few years after his disappearance,” Ben reveals, looking quite pleased with himself. “Though he couldn’t say for certain, there was some suspicion Robert might have fled to Ireland to live under an assumed name.”

I gasp. “He didn’t die. I knew it.”

“After interviewing people close to Robert, the investigator believed he left to avoid an arranged marriage with one of the royal princesses. Allegedly, he was in love with someone else.”

“It’s Josephine. Has to be.” My mind races with possibilities. This is fantastic news. “But that still doesn’t tell us if she went to Ireland with Robert or with William on the Victoria.”

“Rather romantic either way, no?”

“I think it’s tragic. In one scenario, she might have boarded that ship imagining a new life in America with the man she loved, who was giving up everything to be with her, only to perish in a horrible disaster. In the best case, she escaped with Robert, but forever exiled. Not an easy way to live.”

“There’s romance in tragedy, don’t you think? The two are inextricably entwined. What is romance, love, without the threat of imminent ruin? We give our souls to another person when surely the only possible end is sorrow. For one of us at least.”

“Sure, I guess. The inevitable end of life is death. But saying this fact makes all of existence inherently tragic is a gloomy way to look at it,” I point out. “Does an ounce of salt in a pound of sugar spoil the whole cake? I don’t think that’s true.”

Ben watches me with an odd sort of expression, closing the gap between us by a few inches.

I bite my lip at his nearness. “What?”

“You’re quite passionate.” His voice is soft.

“Is that a nice way of saying overbearing?” I laugh. “Sorry. I get a little intense sometimes.”

“Not at all. It’s infectious. In a good way. It’s why I was so enthralled the first time we met. You won me over.”

He leans in farther, tilting his head. Just a fraction.

My knees become a bit wobbly, both from his nearness and the copious amount of champagne I consumed tonight. Ben notices me sway and reaches out to place a hand on my hip.

I feel the warmth of his palm even through my dress.

“Steady,” he says. “We don’t want you tripping and ruining that beautiful dress.”

I swallow through my dry mouth while my heart gallops in my chest like a skittish horse. Or maybe it’s not nerves but excitement. I can’t deny that Ben Tulley is growing on me. He’s charming as hell, with a wry humor I appreciate.

And didn’t I come to London for adventure, to have my own stories to tell?

Well, right now, it seems I’m at the part of the fairy tale where the prince wants to kiss me at the ball.

“Your lips are exquisite.” Ben’s gaze focuses on my mouth. “That color you’re wearing is hypnotizing.”

“Oh, I’m not wearing any lipstick. Just a bit of plain gloss.”

That summons a low noise from his throat. “Bloody hell, Abbey Bly. I don’t think you’ve any idea your effect on people.”

He draws me closer, brings his mouth to mine and—

“Lord Tulley!” comes a shrill voice.

We break apart before our lips manage to connect.

Almost immediately, I’m hit with a gust of relief. Because as magical as this evening has been, I’m not the girl who makes out with older men at royal balls. Celeste might jump all over the opportunity, but she’s also perfectly content dating forty-year-olds. Not that Ben is forty. Twenty-seven certainly isn’t ancient. But he’s got almost a decade of experience on me. And while I prefer to take things very slow, Ben strikes me as a man who likes to move fast.

So when his executive assistant marches up to us on impossibly high stilettos, I’m happy for the interruption.

“Abbey, hello.” Sophie greets me with a tight smile.

She’s wearing a stunning navy-blue satin gown, her dark hair arranged in a complicated-looking twist at the nape of her neck. Everything about her appearance is utterly effortless. Even though she’s not part of the nobility, she looks like she belongs among them, whereas I feel awkwardly out of place.

“Hi,” I say, fidgeting with the diamond tennis bracelet around my wrist, a loaner from Sue Li. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Yes, likewise,” she answers in a sharp tone that tells me she’s lying through her teeth. She turns to Ben with an equally sharp expression. “I’m afraid I need to steal you away, Benjamin. Lord Fulton has been looking for you. He would like a word.”

“That blowhard never limits himself to one word. I’ve never met anyone who drones on and on like our dear Lord Fulton.”

“Nevertheless,” Sophie says brusquely, “he has requested an audience.”

The look she gives him is rife with warning. I don’t blame her. I mean, she literally just stopped her boss from kissing a college student. Her mind is probably still running over all the salacious tabloid headlines they almost woke up to tomorrow morning.

After a beat, Ben relents. “Then I suppose I shall grant it.”

She reaches for his arm, but he stops her by waving a hand.

“A moment, please,” he tells her before shifting his attention to me. “To wrap up our discussion—I didn’t have time to review all the papers, but my staff is boxing them up and having them sent back to the city. I’ll do my best to go through the rest and contact you if I find anything of note. Perhaps we can meet again for dinner then.”

“Sure,” I say lightly, making a pointed effort to avoid Sophie’s hard gaze.

“I have a business trip to Ibiza next month. I’ll be away for an extended period. After that, however, I’d love to catch up.”

“Sounds great. I look forward to it.” I finally find the courage to meet Sophie’s gaze. “I’d better go find my flatmate.”

As I make my hasty escape, I hear their hushed voices at my back. Sophie tries to speak quietly, but the acoustics in this place are phenomenal. No wonder my father enjoyed playing here so much.

“She’s a teenager, you bloody fool,” Sophie is hissing at the lord.

“Mind your tone,” he snaps back.

“Benjamin— ”

“No. Enough. I allow you many liberties, but you mustn’t forget who the boss is, my dear.”

Hoo boy.

I walk faster, praying I don’t trip and fall flat on my ass.

I think we’re at the part of the evening where I plaster myself to Lee’s side before I start an international incident.

The last I see of Lee, he kisses me on the cheek, whispering “Grapefruit,” before climbing into a limo with Eric. Ben and some of his friends talk about an after-party as the ball winds down and the guests thin out, but I’m exhausted and ready to nurse my blisters with an ice pack. Besides, I don’t think Sophie would approve of a “teenager” partying the night away with her employer.

Ben offers me his car to take me home but can’t manage to find his phone and is maybe a bit too inebriated to handle the logistics. Instead, I slip away when he goes to the bathroom. The nice man at the arrival loop outside gets me a cab.

The house is empty when I return to Notting Hill and peel myself out of my dress and into some pajamas. I pull my hair down, wipe off my makeup, and sit on the couch to watch some late-night TV. The red, angry outlines of my shoes are still scored into my feet.

One of those cringey “dating” hotline commercials comes on, which prompts a thought about what Jack is up to tonight. Out on a date maybe.

I heave myself off the couch and pretend the thought of Jack hooking up with someone else doesn’t make me want to burn down a small village.

As I’m contemplating scrounging for leftovers in the fridge, I get a text.

Nate: You up?