Page 59 of Finding Lord Landry

She told me enough about Landry’s visits “home” for me to realize just how complex it must’ve been for him to hide his second life all these years. It wasn’t that he’d walked out of his life as a member of the esteemed Davencourt family and pretended to be someone else instead. He’d been both Everett DavencourtandLandry Davis.

The man had spentyearsrunning the Davencourt holdings, managing investments, hiring and firing land stewards, and consulting Cora on projects at the foundation… while also running around the globe as one of the world’s most in-demand male fashion models, taking part in events on behalf of Sterling Chase, and staying actively involved in his friends’ lives.

And I’d never had a clue.

All that time, I’d thought he was fucking off to the Med to spend a few days on a yacht with booze and boys or spending a long weekend in a luxury hotel somewhere, catching up on sleep.

Never in a million years had I imagined he was in a stuffy office in Regent’s Park reviewing performance reports and signing legal paperwork to expand the family’s real estate holdings. Or helping his father navigate the ever-changing landscape of British politics and critical alliances.

“I can tell this is hard for you,” Cora had said kindly, handing me a mug of tea after the tailor had finished sticking me with dozens of pins. “We begged him to tell you.”

I’d pressed my lips together. “Landry couldn’t trust me.”

She’d disagreed, but it was true. And I couldn’t blame him. I’d never given the man a real chance.

I’d slept horribly after that, waking over and over from stress-fueled nightmares that interspersed terrifying scenes from San Cordova with scenes of me panic-running through an empty city, unable to find Landry.

Before the sun rose, my eyes opened in the darkness as a memory served itself up with particular cruelty.

Landry and I had been hooking up for about six months when he’d begged to stay over at my place after we’d fucked.

“I’m bone-tired, and it’s cold as balls out there,” he’d murmured, eyes already closed.

“Tired? Haven’t you just spent the past week on the coast holding down a sun lounger? Get up. I have to be at the office before six tomorrow.”

He’d turned and snuggled into my shoulder. “Kenj, please. I was up for three days straight trying to navigate an easement deal in Torquay.”

It had sounded so ridiculous I’d assumed he was already half-asleep and dreaming. “We have an agreement,” I’d insisted, nudging him off me to keep from wrapping my arms around him and begging him to stay. “You nut, then you go.”

He’d hauled himself out of my bed with a sigh.

“You never let me stay long enough to talk to you,” he’d complained as he’d yanked on his clothes.

“This isn’t about talking. I don’t need you to talk. I get enough of that during the day,” I’d said, scrolling through my phone to keep from watching his beautiful abs disappear under a sweater and jacket.

Hispaleabs, I realized now, years too late. Not the sun-kissed abs of someone who’d been in Puerto Vallarta but the winter-pale abs of a man who’d been on the coast ofEnglandin Devon.

As I lay there in the darkness, I remembered another time, when I’d overheard Landry and Silas talking out by the pool at Bash’s house in the Hamptons. Landry had asked Silas a question about real estate investment trusts.

My attention had floated in and out, but I remembered hearing Silas explain REITs were like mutual funds but for real estate.

Landry had replied, “I understand what they are and the tax advantages. My question is how to optimize the structure of a REIT. If seventy-five percent of its assets have to be in real estate, cash, or government securities and seventy-five percent of its income has to come from things like rent, interest on mortgages, or property sales, and ninety percent of its taxable income has to be distributed to shareholders annually, is it possible to structure a REIT around historic properties with strict preservation regulations? How do you ensure an adequate occupancy ratio in order to meet the requirements?”

Silas had seemed just as surprised by the question as I had. I’d pretended to be engrossed in my work, sitting off to the side at an umbrella table, but it had been one of a handful of moments when I’d stopped and reminded myself this guy had been admitted to and had graduated from Yale.

Landry wasn’t stupid.

So why the hell did he act like it sometimes?

I wiped my leaky eyes with the duvet, then tossed it aside. Today was our first command performance as a couple. The plan was to take a simple walk, hand in hand, to a local place for brunch and then enjoy our food while acting like normal newlyweds. The press would be tipped off to find us there and shout questions at us as we prepared to leave and walk back to the house. We would pretend to be surprised when encountering Jim and Jamie Winthrop on their way in for brunch, and we’d agree to linger for another cup of coffee.

Considering Landry hadn’t spoken to me since yesterday afternoon, I was unsure of the success of the plan. But the official press releases had already gone out, and the game was afoot regardless of how I felt about it.

I dressed in another of the outfits Landry had purchased for me when we’d first arrived in London. Well-fitted jeans, surprisingly similar to a pair I owned at home that he’d complimented me on several times, and a white turtleneck sweater.

If I spent a little extra time at the vanity, it was only because I was going to be on camera later today, and I needed to be attractive enough to make it at least semi-plausible that someone as beautiful as Landry Davis… Davencourt, would actually choose me.

After an hour of fighting with my hair and face, I gave up and made my way downstairs to the kitchen.

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