"I'll write further up," she says quickly, sincerely anxious at the idea of ruining a handkerchief that costs more than her average meal plan.

Paloma pushes his sleeve far back, as promised, and realizes she's about to ink her phone number onto an English lord's forearm. Is this part of a made-for-tv mockumentary? Biting her lip harder, the cold tip of the pen tickles over his skin in a neat-ish line.

"You're really sure?"