Page 57 of Finding Lord Landry

“Landry,” she said in a softer voice. “I know you’re frustrated and things haven’t, ah… worked out as you hoped?—”

I snorted at this understatement.

“—but Kenji’s been through a lot, and he stepped up for you today. Maybe you should go easy on him.”

“Kenji doesn’t respond to ‘easy,’ I’m afraid. Soft emotions like kindness, empathy, and tender regard tend to make him angry. I’ve decided his love language is bitterness and froth. Add in low-key declarations of war, blatant disrespect, stark rejection, and a high-brow sniff of disdain, and you canalmostget the man in bed. But nothing, and I mean nothing, will get him to agree to a dinner date. And he didn’t step up today out of any higher feelings for me, I assure you,” I added. “He’s just programmed to clean up my messes.”

I tilted the bottle at her in awant some?gesture.

She nodded. “Have you considered he might have legitimate fears holding him back?”

I shot her a flat look over the wineglass. “Have you considered he’s just not that into me?”

Her cheeks dimpled, reminding me of the days when she carried more baby fat in her face. “No. Because every time he’s around you, he touches you. Yes, he’s a bit… prickly… toward you, but he’s definitely always aware of where you are in a room. He won’t let himself look at you directly, but his eyes rarely leave you.”

The wine was cool against my tongue and throat as I swallowed. “He’s spent years babysitting me, Cora. Don’t confuse management with love. Besides, the plan is for me to live here and serve the people, remember? Kenji has no interest in being a… countess.” The very idea made wine shoot up my nose…

Which was why, when Kenji walked into the kitchen in search of dinner a beat later, I was choking and sputtering.

Cora’s face lit up. “Kenji! Come sit by me. Reg is making one of my favorite curries. Do you like curry?”

The two of them talked about Indian dishes as if there wasn’t a giant, undetonated bomb sitting in the middle of the table.

I stood and approached Reg. “Need any help?”

He didn’t take his eye off the naan bread he was grilling. “Not as much as you do,” he muttered before tilting his head back toward the table. “Go sort your own affairs. Dinner’s almost ready, and I’ve a date with a pint down the pub.”

“Take me with you?”

He snorted softly. “I take you with me and I’ll never find a woman to share my bed. No offense, but you’ve got to be the worst wingman ever.”

“I’m gay,” I reminded him.

He rolled his eyes and nudged me out of the way to cut the naan bread into halves on the clean wooden counter. “Even worse. You think that means the women are going to leave you alone? They’ll be asking hair advice and taking selfies with you for their Instagram.”

I patted him on the shoulder. “Thanks for the ego stroke. I’ll take it where I can find it.”

After scrolling through my phone, peeking out the back window to check the weather, and straightening the cord behind the kettle, I finally slunk back to the kitchen table and tried to act aloof.

Cora glanced over at me. “The tailor will be here in an hour to do Kenji’s fitting. Do you need him to do you as well, or do you have the clothes you need for Winthrop’s little PR campaign?”

She pulled her laptop over from where it had been pushed to the side on the table and began going over the events as Reg set the food down in front of us.

“I have the clothes I need,” I murmured, hoping I hadn’t gained any weight since last wearing my tuxedo.

“Just leave the dishes,” Reg said before heading toward the back door. “I’ll get them later. Ta.”

The kitchen seemed eerily quiet without him there.

Kenji studied the laptop screen. “I recognize most of the events from Landry’s calendar in previous years, but what’s the HoH Dinner?”

Cora frowned at him. “Hearts of Hawling? That’s the big annual fundraiser for our family’s foundation. It’s one of London’s most coveted charity events. Surely you’ve had to schedule around it in the past.”

Kenji darted a glance at me, then looked away quickly. “Not as such. I do recall Landry marking off a ‘spa weekend’ this time last year, though.”

The silence got much weirder as the bomb finally detonated and shrapnel hung still and jagged in the air, quivering in place as if waiting until everyone breathed again to strike.

I stood up and took my still-full dishes to the sink before depositing them and disappearing upstairs.

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