Page 41 of In the Frame

I hold my breath, and he takes me in, a long moment stretching out between us.

I don’t know why Florian’s agreed to stay on with me at the wedding, but I’m very glad he’s here. I thought fake breakfast was amazing and getting him to the ceremony. But he’s stayed around. For me. And he shows no sign of wanting to leave. How far will he go?

Florian looks amused, at least. “I’m not sure I would last ’til dawn. Maybe. But I suppose I could find a hotel room.”

“I suppose you could. I’m sure Brighton’s got all kinds of five-star options for the discerning millionaire.” I deadpan him right back to see how Florian will react. But he doesn’t even twitch. Like it’s a totally reasonable proposition for him. If it were me, I’d end up pulling an all-nighter or sleeping rough. “Or billionaire, even.”

“That is an option.” He doesn’t miss a beat either.

“Good. So, we can just relax and enjoy the night, then. Wine me.” I reach my glass to him again, seeing as I gulped back most of mine a few minutes ago. I’ll need to pace myself, though, so as not to have any more embarrassing outbursts like I did the other week at Sotheby’s.

Florian pours. Then an awkward silence falls, but we both distract ourselves by watching the dancers below. Florian’s so near to me, though, his arm next to mine on the rail, that I swear I can feel the heat radiating from him. He makes no sign of moving, so I don’t move either, acutely aware of how near he is.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Maybe we can talk about our next fake partnering arrangement, aside from the art tutorial,” I offer gamely after a while. “What’s this charity thing anyway? You said it was a charity, right?”

“A gala. Yes. For Billy. In that it’s an event that Billy’s charity sponsors. And I told him I would attend as I have always attended, as I wish to be supportive of the initiative, despite our separation.”

“Right.” I nod, considering him curiously. He’s leaning on his forearms against the rail, shoulders relaxed. “And what’s the initiative that you want to support, exactly?”

“They do an annual gala as a fundraiser for rewilding projects. For the foundation.”

“Wow.” My eyebrows lift at that. “So, an environmental charity, then.”

“A not-for-profit, yes.” Florian gazes at me at last. He’s hard to read right now, his default impassive face. “Billy’s always told me I should do something helpful and good with my wealth, so I do that. As I’m very much into the for-profit business myself. I tell him there’s more to be done with the profit part, but he won’t listen.” He shakes his head, obviously exasperated, a familiar discussion to him.

“So…” I struggle to think of a good question to ask that’s not inane. Of course, I’d heard of rewilding, and I support the idea very much, the restoration of natural ecosystems and forests in clear-cut and overgrazed landscapes. “Does he plant any trees, then?”

“Not ordinarily. Only for press events, usually. He’s their chief executive officer.”

“Right. A CEO. Cool.” Damn if I don’t feel outclassed. Aside from the fact that Billy is attractive too, and obviously, he’s very competent, what with saving the Earth and all. Never mind having a good sense of humor and years of experience at Florian-taming. Which just underscores the unreality of this situation, and my new crush on Florian will only remain a crush. “Have you planted any trees?”

I’m not sure why I ask, because it’s impossible to imagine Florian in anything other than a suit and an office in a steel-and-glass tower.

He smiles. “As a matter of fact, I have. And I’ve helped with stream restoration for trout. Projects in both the South Downs and Scotland.”

“That’s cool. I want photos, though,” I say lightly. “It’s hard to imagine you—” I wave a hand, “—out in the dirt.”

Florian laughs, a thrilling sound, and shakes his head. He reaches for his phone. He scrolls, and after a couple of moments, I’m rewarded with the sight of a beaming Florian in a knee-high, newly planted sapling forest. He’s almost tanned and relaxed, his expression open. And presumably, Billy’s the one taking the photo, and my guts knot. He looks truly happy, at ease in an anorak, jeans, and with some mud on his hands and jacket and knees, pink-cheeked and very appealing. “Proof.”

I gaze in frank admiration at both his new look and the fact that he didn’t mind literally getting dirty. “Huh.”

He slips his phone away and raises his wine to me. “Judging books by their covers,” Florian tuts. “You can’t assume.”

I blush. “Well, yeah. I mean, first impressions are a thing, right?”

“And second impressions?”

“Um.” Wait. Is he actually flirting with me? I decide to offer a second cliché in return. “Still waters run deep. I guess.”

He laughs. “Alright, you’ve found out a little more about me and the gala next month. Now I’d like to know a little more about you.”

I shrug, giving him an uncertain look. “I’m not sure what to tell you. You know the key parts. I’m technically a bartender, but it’s a bit borderline, to be honest.”

Florian levels me with a look. “Matty.”

Oh shit. The way he says my name makes me go all melty, which is definitely not helpful.