“No chance,” I add for good measure. “Look, I don’t care where I sit. Just as long as it’s not next to … well,him.”
“Feeling’s mutual,” replies Alex, his brow furrowing in a glare made even more alarming by the bruise on his face.
“Look, you must have another table,” I say, turning to Emilio. “Can’t you just move one of us? Please?” I add, beseechingly.
“Ah!” says Emilio, understanding at last. “You want me to move one of you? To another table, yes?”
“Yes!” we chorus, relieved.
“No,” says Emilio, sadly. “No possible. All tables full.”
I turn and look around the terrace. Sure enough, every table I see is already filled with hungry holidaymakers; and from what I recall from my brief glimpse of the restaurant, it was the same in there, too.
“It’s okay,” I say, resigning myself to whatever the room service menu has to offer. “I’m not that hungry anyway. I think I’ll just go back to my room and have an early night.”
I yawn theatrically to prove what a great idea this is.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” mutters Alex, rolling his eyes. “It’s not even dark yet, Summer. You can’t possibly spend the rest of the night sitting in your room.”
He sighs heavily, then leans forward and pushes the second chair out from the table.
“Come on,” he says. “You managed to put up with me for almost four hours on the flight here; I’m sure you can survive one more hour while you have something to eat.”
I hesitate, not completely convinced this is true.
“It’s a buffet,” Alex says. “We’ll be up and down so often we’ll barely even cross paths.”
I take a cautious step closer to the table.
“There’s a chocolate fountain,” he adds, with what looks suspiciously like the hint of a grin. “You can have as much as you want.”
“Okay, done,” I say, dropping gratefully into the chair. “You had me at ‘buffet’. The chocolate fountain is just a bonus.”
The corners of his mouth inch upwards. I can’t be sure, but Ithinkhe’s trying to smile. It reminds me of a video I once saw of a newborn foal struggling to stand up.
I smile back, deciding I may as well try to make the best of this. It’s only an hour, after all. How bad can it be?
“Right,” I say, pushing my chair back after an awkward pause, during which we both sit there silently, neither of us knowing what to say next. “Let’s get this over with, then.”
Seven
“Ican’t believe you started with the chocolate fountain.”
It’s about ten minutes later, and Alexander Fox clearly doesn’t approve of the spoils of my first foray to the dinner buffet.
“I can’t believe youdidn’t,” I reply, trying my best not to moan with pleasure as the chocolate-covered strawberry melts on my tongue. “Isn’t that the whole point of coming on holiday? To loosen up a little? Do things you wouldn’t necessarily do back home? Like starting with dessert and finishing with the main course? That’s if you evenhavea main course, and don’t just stick with the desserts?”
The truth is that I’m already regretting not just getting anormalstarter. Because the chocolate strawberries are delicious, sure, but it’s just a bit weird to be eating them first, isn’t it? It’s not reallyme. It feels like a new personality I’m just trying on for size. It also feels like the kind of thing my new, spontaneous self would do, though, and Ididcome here to reinvent myself, so I decide to just go with it.
“It’s obviously the point foryou,” says Alex, watching as I dip a dessert spoon into the milkshake I got from the drinks station and stirit with gusto. “Speaking of which, how’s that going for you, anyway? The ‘doing things you wouldn’t do back home’? You manage to track down Whatshisname yet?”
He says it casually, as if he’s just making polite conversation, but I hesitate before answering. To be totally honest, I’ve been dying to tell someone about my little trip to Jamie’s bar earlier — I even considered trying to find Rita after dinner, just for someone to talk to. I’m just not sure Alexander Fox is the best person to confide in, is all, given that Rita and Co. treat me like the intrepid adventurer I’m trying to become, and Alex just treats me like an annoying little sister who won’t accept that the Tooth Fairy isn’t real.
That’s when he isn’t staring at his phone, obviously, which is currently lying on the table beside him. Alex spots me looking at it and pointedly turns it face-down, so I can’t see the lengthy message he was typing into it when I arrived.
Touchy.
And weirdly secretive, for some reason.
