Courting Royal

Chapter Fifteen

After our very fast entrance into my new building, Liam and I dash into the elevator – lift, I think to myself – and I'm immediately confused by the buttons.

"My place is on the third floor, right?" I ask.

"Third storey," Liam corrects, smiling at my Americanism.

I look at the buttons, which say G, 1, 2, 3.

"So do I push 2 or 3?"

"Three," he says, grinning.

"Even though it's technically the fourth floor?" I ask, pushing three anyway.

The elevator – lift – starts its upward climb, and he shrugs and says, "But it's the third residential storey."

"That's going to take some getting used to," I say.

"You just always push the number you're supposed to go to," he says. "The ground floor is always what you Americans call the first floor. It's not so confusing."

"I guess not," I say. "Just different."

"Welcome to London."

Though he says it drolly, I can't help but smile hugely. "I'm really here, aren't I?"

"You really, really are," he says, leaning over to give me a quick kiss before the elevator comes to a stop.

When the doors open, Liam quickly looks to his right and left before grabbing my hand and leading me to the right, then to the last door on the left.

"Corner apartment," I observe, pulling my new keys out of my purse. "Sweet."

When I unlock the door, I hesitate a second and before opening it and say, "I need you to do something really dumb for me."

"Sure," Liam says.

I grab my phone and hand it to him. "Can you take a photo of me unlocking the door?"

He grins and says, "Of course. It is important to document these kinds of things."

"Exactly," I say, smiling as he snaps the photo. "And I'm pretty sure my dad would never forgive me if I didn't send him this photo. He has a whole series of me unlocking the doors of places I've lived."

"Oh?" he asks.

"All my college dorm rooms, two apartments in New York, and now this one in London."

"I'll keep that in mind for when your official portrait is unveiled. We can have a retrospective of you unlocking doors."

"Ha ha," I say humorlessly, rolling my eyes.

But I know he probably isn't joking. When Emilia's portrait debuted at the National Portrait Gallery, there wasn't a retrospective at the museum, but the media definitely dug some stuff up. I have no doubt they would do the same for whomever Liam ends up with.

Which, I mean, very well could be me.

Taking a deep breath, I finally turn the knob and push the door open.

What I see is so much better than the photos Hyacinth sent me.

It's not huge, but it's much bigger than my studio in Queens. I look around at it in wonder. The furniture is all wingback chairs, sumptuous high-pile rugs, a tufted couch, and gold-accented décor. The exposed brick is the stuff of dreams, and the kitchen is actually a full, functioning situation with a four-burner gas stove (hob, I correct in my head), a double oven, counter space, and glass-fronted cabinets.

I stand there taking it all in, and Liam says, "Go explore. There's more to the place than just one room."

I want to shoot him a nasty look at the reference to my little one room place back home, but I'm too stunned to do it. I check out the bedroom, which is magnificent with a bed that looks insanely comfortable, and the bathroom full of marble and a towel warmer.