I started to reach for him, but then brought that same hand back to thump against my forehead.

Seriously, Bliss. Chill out.

That was my mantra for the rest of the trip. I repeated it in my head (and possibly out loud) as I pressed my forehead against the cool glass of the airplane window, and tried to get some sleep.

The mantra worked about as much as my attempts to sleep. Fitfully I moved between the window, the seatback tray, and Garrick’s shoulder, trying to find a place to lean my head that didn’t feel horrendously uncomfortable. I didn’t get how I could sleep on Garrick’s shoulder anytime at home, and now when it was my best option for slumber, it was like trying to rest my head on a pillow of glass shards covered in ants dusted with anthrax.

I’d switched back to the seatback tray, folding myself over onto it, when Garrick sat up and unbuckled his seat belt.

I woke him up.

Girlfriend Fail.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

He reached between me and my current resting place, found the metal fastener of my seat belt, and clicked it open.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He didn’t even talk, just gestured with his hand for me to stand.

I fumbled to put up the tray and stand in the low space. My head craned to the side to fit under the overhead bins, and he pulled up the armrest and slid over into my spot. With his hands on my hips, he deposited me in his old seat, and then he turned toward me and leaned his back against the window. He opened his arms to me with a sleepy half smile, and I fell gratefully into his arms. With my head perched atop his chest, I sighed in relief.

“Better?” he asked, his voice raspy with sleep.

“Perfect.”

His lips brushed my temple, and then sleep was almost as irresistible as he was.

I WOKE A few hours later to find light peeking through the plane windows. Two women were whispering quietly a few rows behind us in a familiar lilting accent. And it hit me. We were almost in London.

I was going to be in London.

God, all those months of seeing Kelsey’s pictures and hearing about her travels, and I had been raging with jealousy. And now it was my turn.

I wanted to mind the gap at the tube station and eat fish and chips and try to make the Queen’s guards laugh. I wanted to see Big Ben and the Globe and the London Bridge and Dame Judi Dench. Or Maggie Smith. Or Alan Rickman. Or Sir Ian McKellen. Or anybody famous and British, really.

Holy crap. This was really happening.

And I wasn’t just a tourist. I was visiting with someone who’d grown up in the city. With my fiancé.

Take that, world.

“You look happier.”

I pulled my head away from the window to find Garrick awake and staring at me. I gave a small squeal and launched myself at him. I locked our mouths together, and for a moment he sat still and shocked beneath me. Then his eyes closed, his hand cupped the back of my neck, and he kissed me so thoroughly that I almost forgot about London. Almost.

I broke away, grinning, and he said, “Not that I will ever complain about moments like that, but what’s gotten into you? You waited a little late if your goal was to join the mile-­high club.”

I swatted his shoulder playfully, and then placed another quick kiss on his mouth because I couldn’t resist. I said, “You’re English.”

He smiled and blinked a few times. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

“And we’re about to be in England.”

He nodded slowly, and I knew I sounded crazy, but I didn’t care.

“Yes. We’ve only been planning this visit for a month.”

“I know . . . I just . . . it didn’t hit me until now that we’re in London. Or about to be, anyway. I’ve been worrying so much about your mother that I hadn’t really thought about it. I’m going to London! Eeep!”

He chuckled, small and quiet, and brushed his fingers across my lips to quiet me. Right. ­People were sleeping. Then, like he couldn’t contain it, he laughed louder, completely disregarding his own warning to be quiet.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

Slowly smothering his laughter, he used the hand hooked around my neck to pull my forehead against his. Our lips brushed just barely when he said, “You make me happy.” I smiled my approval, and he added, “Marry me?”

My heart flip-­flopped, like my unsuccessful pancakes from this morning were supposed to.

“You’ve already asked me that, and I already said yes.”

“I know. It’s unfair that I only get to ask you that once, though.”

Melting. So much melting.

I reached up and brushed my fingertips along his jaw. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, so the hair there was rough and masculine and unbelievably sexy. He closed his eyes and leaned into my hand the way that Hamlet did when anyone but me was playing with her. Stupid cat.

I said, “Yes. The answer will always be yes.”

He took my hand from his jaw and brushed his lips across my knuckles. My insides went as gooey as the nearly congealed breakfast the flight attendants had passed out. He kissed the ring on my third finger, and who knew the engagement ring was an erogenous zone?

“I’m going to hold you to that. I know how much you love accents, and I’m going to have much more competition in that arena here.”

I laughed. “I hadn’t even thought of that! Just think, a whole country full of British men! I could—­”

He tugged me forward and silenced me in my favorite way.

“That’s not funny,” he said. “It’s bad enough that I’m about to have to share you with my family.”

Ugh. I was going to ignore that whole family thing. I’d been enough of a Debbie Downer already to last the rest of the trip.

“Remember that time we met and you said you weren’t the jealous type? Remember the time that was a big fat lie?”

Ah well. Jealousy looked really good on him.

“It wasn’t a lie. I just hadn’t ever met anyone worth getting jealous over until you.”

I slid my arms around his waist. “Are all British men such smooth talkers?”

“No. Just me.”

“And James Bond.”

“Right. Of course.”

“Fine. I guess since James is fictional, I’ll have to keep you.”

“You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

“I’m not trying.”

A flight attendant tapped me on the shoulder and asked us to please prepare for landing. I guessed what she really meant was to stop molesting my boyfriend in public.

God, airlines. Stingy with the peanuts and the fun.

I wasn’t sorry, but I blushed anyway because that’s the only thing my traitorous body was good for. I faced forward, but noticed a woman sitting across the aisle staring at us. She had her elbow on the armrest and her cheek propped up on her hand, gawking at us like we were her in-­flight entertainment. My small blush spread like a wildfire across my whole face and down my neck.

Maybe we had been making a bit of a scene.

Garrick didn’t seem to mind the attention, his chest bouncing with silent laughter. I flicked his arm, and tried to ignore the woman, who was still staring.

Garrick said again, “Marry me.”

Oh, now he was just showing off.

I heard the woman aww next to us, and I swear to God I expected her to pull out a bag of popcorn or something.

I flicked his arm again, and he just laughed. I leaned my head back against the seat as the plane began to slow and dip, and I tried to get my blush under control.

Garrick stayed smug beside me as we landed and taxied to the gate. I was glad we were near the front of the plane, so that we could grab our things and get away from our audience. I pulled my purse from under the seat in front of me, and moved to flee.

“Wait,” the woman said. “Aren’t you going to answer him?”

Garrick chuckled and added, “Yes, aren’t you going to answer me?”

My chin dropped, and I floundered like, well, a flounder.

He was really going to make me do this with that woman watching. And now that she’d said something, a few others were paying attention, too. I pressed my lips together, and glared at him. As an actor, I should be better at handling attention, but it was different when I was playing a part. I got to turn off my brain and think like someone else.

Reluctantly, I said, “Yes.”

“What was that, love? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

Cue eye roll. “I said yes.”

Garrick turned to the ­people surrounding us and practically yelled, “She said yes!”

Gradually, the cabin broke out into applause, and I threw him a look that was one part I’m-­going-­to-­murder-­you and three parts get-­me-­out-­of-­here-­now-­kthxbye.

Garrick soaked up the applause with a charming smile while I looked on, probably barely more attractive than a radish. I turned to flee and tripped over something. I couldn’t actually see anything, but I swear there was something.

I power-­walked off the plane and resisted the urge to run down the walkway and into the terminal. Garrick caught up to me just as I passed through the door, and looped an arm around my neck.

“You know I love it when you blush.”

“And you know I hate it.”

“It reminds me of your face the second time we met, that morning in my classroom. The most inappropriate time and place to ever be turned on, but you’ve got a take-­no-­prisoners kind of blush. My body didn’t give me much of a choice.”

He was only saying that to make me blush more. You would think that I’d be a bit more comfortable talking about sex, now that I’d had it and all. You would also think that at my age I would be able to successfully insert the straw into a Capri Sun juice pouch. I was 0–2 there.