Page 48 of Formula Fling

“A fling, huh?” she teases, raising an eyebrow, and I can tell by the tone of her voice she doesn’t believe a word of it. “Well, dear boy, I don’t recall you bringing any flings home before.”

Lex winks at me. “Exactly, Mum. I don’t.”

What does that even mean? On its face, he’s confirming his mom’s assumption that he’s just teasing about us having a temporary, sexual relationship but on the other, one could argue he means that this is more than a fling.

Ridiculous. While I’m the one who suggested our boundaries, I did it knowing that’s what Lex would respond best to. He’s in no way, shape or form ever going to get tied down ina committed relationship and by my setting the tone to give him what he wants, it’s the best way to protect my heart.

“Lex is a scamp,” Tori says as she leads us into a formal living room. “You can never trust a thing he says.”

I’m floored when I take in the grandeur as Tori moves to a tea service laid out on a sideboard.

The room is bathed in natural light that filters through tall windows framed with heavy, floor-length drapes in a pale sage green and gold brocade. The high ceilings have ornate crown molding while the walls are painted in soft ivory, except for one wall that’s adorned with what looks to be silk floral wallpaper in complementary tones. Oil paintings of beautiful landscapes hang in ornate gilded frames. The furniture looks delicate and expensive with carved wooden legs and luxurious upholstery. A grand fireplace dominates one side of the room, its mantelpiece made of carved stone, displaying silver candlesticks, framed photographs in gold and a large antique clock. Above the fireplace is an oil portrait of the Hamiltons—Tori, Charles, Lex’s sister Claire and of course, Lex, who looks to be about ten. He had the same messy dark hair and piercing blue eyes, dimples threatening, and you can see back then he was going to grow up to be stunningly handsome.

Tori offers us steaming cups and while we chat, I notice her glancing at me every so often, almost as if she’s studying me. But it’s not uncomfortable—it’s more like she’s curious.

While we sip at tea, Lex’s parents grill him about the Bahrain Global Prix coming up, focusing on his preparations. I hear the worry in their tone, but it does not overshadow their extreme pride in his career.

Eventually, attention comes back to me and Lex’s father says, “Tell us about your work as a sports journalist, Posey.”

I freeze, teacup poised halfway to my mouth—how could I have been so stupid as to not think they wouldn’t want to knowabout me personally? And while I’d love to tell them all about the real me, I can’t do that. I can’t admit the ruse.

I shoot Lex a panicked look and he conveys with the hike of one eyebrow that he had not thought about it either. Before I can even stammer out something that wouldn’t be a full-out lie to these lovely people, Lex says, “You know what… it’s getting late and I figured Posey might want to go for a ride before dinner.”

“A ride?” I ask.

“On one of our horses.”

I gape at Lex. “You didn’t tell me you have horses.”

He smiles innocently. “Thought I’d leave that as a surprise.” He shrugs. “Surprise.”

“Wow,” I murmur in amazement. “I can’t envision you riding horses. Not fast enough for you.”

Lex’s parents laugh as does Lex. He shakes his head. “I don’t ride. Never took to it, but Mum does. She wanted to take you, which was why I was trying to hurry you out the door this morning.”

“Oh,” I murmur, but there’s no controlling my wide smile. “I didn’t bring any riding clothes.”

Lex’s mom beams. “You’re dressed perfectly fine. Now, I’m going to get changed and I’ll take you out to the stables.”

♦

Lex and hisdad stay back at the house, weirdly in charge of dinner. I say weirdly because with a house this big and their money, I assumed they would have a chef. Tori assured me as we walked out to the stables that Charles was an amateur chef and dreamed of quitting his law practice to open a restaurant.

The stables are beautiful, the horses magnificent. The groom has two rides already tacked and I’m helped up onto a beautiful bay gelding named Dash. Tori is on a red mare named Spreeand she leads me across a pasture and to a trail that meanders through some woods.

As we ride, I try to steer the conversation, asking questions about Lex’s childhood, funny family stories, and Tori’s passion for riding. I’m enchanted by everything she tells me because it paints such a beautiful family life and humanizes Lex even more than before.

We plod along, the air crisp and fresh. There’s something about the peacefulness of the countryside, the gentle rhythm of the horses’ hooves on the trail that puts me more at ease than I’ve been since arriving in England. Tori’s warmth and outgoing personality make me trust her.

When we reach a quiet clearing, I feel a sudden need to come clean. “I need to tell you something,” I say, my voice softer than I intended. “It’s about why I’m really here.”

She halts her horse, and I do the same. Her expression is unreadable. “Go on.”

“I’m not a journalist,” I confess, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “I mean, I am writing a piece, but… I’m really here to research a romance novel I’m working on. Lex is the only one who knows, and I feel awful for lying to everyone else, especially the people at Crown Velocity. But I didn’t think anyone would welcome me to this world if they knew the truth.”

I continue rambling for a good five minutes, telling her everything from the start of this harebrained idea to my panic in her sitting room when I was asked about what I did for a living.

When my words trail off, there’s silence, and I brace for disappointment, for judgment. But then she surprises me.

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