“Is that why you threw the entire dinner table over me the other night?” he asks, the twitch turning into the unmistakable start of a smile. “Were you just so overcome by my rugged charm that you couldn’t control yourself?”
“Okay, okay, don’t get carried away,” I tell him. “I said you weren’t ugly, not that you were irresistible. And I’m not speaking for myself, either: I just meant that there must besomeoneout there who’d be able to see past your prickly personality to … well, whatever lies beneath. But even if there was, you’ve already made it clear you don’t believe in love, so I guess we’ll never know. You’re doomed to spend the rest of your life staying in luxury hotels on your own, I’m afraid. There’s no hope for you now.”
I raise my coffee mug in a toast, which Alex doesn’t bother to return.
“Yeah, well. I suppose there are worse ways I could end up,” he says tightly. “Icouldstill be mooning around over someone who hasn’t given me a second thought since high school, but who I’ve decided is the love of my life. That would be arealtragedy.”
“Is that right?” I say, flushing. “For your information, I’m not ‘mooning’ over anyone. And Idon’tthink Jamie’s going to turn out to be the love of my life. Not necessarily. Butsomeonewill be. And I’ll never know unless I give it a chance, will I?”
Alex stares at me unflinchingly. He’s one of the most composed people I’ve ever met. Most people tend to fiddle with something, or move around a bit during a conversation like this, but when you speak to Alex, you get the full force of his attention — which is vaguely unsettling, even when he’s watching you from behind dark glasses.
“Do you really believe that?” he says. “All that ‘soulmates’ stuff? Do you really think the love of your life is out there waiting for you? ‘There’s someone for everyone’, and all that?”
I hesitate, my coffee mug halfway to my lips.
“Well, I don’t think there’s someone out there foryou, obviously,” I say lightly. “But for me, yes, I do believe it. Or I’m trying to, anyway. Because if I don’t believe it, then what else is there, really? I’m not saying it’s Jamie, but there must besomeoneout there for me.”
“But not for me?”
He’s kind of half-smiling, so he’s obviously not taking any of this remotely seriously.
“Not when you go around talking about how you don’t believe in love, and think weddings are just a giant waste of money,” I reply teasingly. “Any woman in her right mind would run a mile from you with that attitude. They might want to sleep with you, but they’re not going to want to marry you, are they?”
I say it without really thinking about it. It seems pretty obvious to me that I’m just shamelessly winding him up, to get him back for making fun of me earlier, but either he can’t take a joke, or I’ve somehow managed to hit a nerve I didn’t know he had, because he’s not playing along.
“I better go and get on with my lonely existence, then,” he says, folding his napkin into a neat little triangle and dropping it on the table as he stands up. “I’ll leave you to it. I hope you manage to catch up with Whatshisface. I won’t wait for you at dinner.”
“I… Alex, I didn’t mean—” I start, but before I can quite figure out exactly what it is I didn’t mean to do to upset him, he’s gone, turning on his heel and striding purposefully off across the terrace, not even noticing the way the blonde woman flutters her eyelashes at him as he passes her table. I glare at her indignantly, then look quickly awayagain, realizing how ridiculous I’m being. It’s not like I have any claim on Alex, after all. We’re nottogether. As we agreed on that first night, we just happen to be sharing a table — somewhat against our will.
So why am I giving Blondie over there the evil eye, as if she’s just tried to move in on my man?
I push my plate away, annoyed with myself. Sure, Alex is good looking; I just told him as much myself. But I’ve only noticed his looks in a detached, purely observational way; the way you notice scenery, say, or the weather. It’s hardnotto notice, really. It doesn’t mean Ilikehim, though. It just means I haveeyes.
There isn’t much point in sitting here on my own now that he’s disappeared, though, so I gather my things and prepare to leave. As I walk past her table, I catch Blondie watching me enviously, and allow myself to briefly imagine Alex and I as the couple this woman obviously thinks we are.
To her, I’m the kind of woman who can easily get a guy like Alex. And that makes me feel kind of cool, really, so I allow myself to bask in the idea of myself as this completely different person all the way back to my room, where I change into a bikini and throw a cover-up over my shoulders.
Might as well make use of one of those five swimming pools while I’m here. I am on holiday after all.
I go back downstairs in the lift, and emerge at the pool deck, which is filled with people and noise. Music plays loudly from the pool bar, one of the members of the ‘animation team’ is leading some people through an aqua aerobics session in the shallow end, and small children go cannon-balling into the water, squealing with delight and soaking everyone in the vicinity.
I pick my way carefully through the crowds, scanning the sun loungers for an empty space, and finding one at last, in a quiet spotnext to a little round spa pool, which bubbles invitingly to life as I pass it. A quick dip of the toe confirms that it’s far too cold for me to even contemplate — I’m going to have to spend a good half an hour roasting myself in the sun before I can convince myself to get in — so I spread out my towel on the sun-lounger, peel off my cover-up, and settle down to read my book.
I haven’t got more than a chapter or so in before a shadow falls across the page, and I look up to see Alex standing by my sun lounger in a pair of swim shorts. He’s obviously just been for a dip, and as I shade my eyes to look up at him, a few droplets of icy cold water fall from his hair onto my book.
“Oi! Watch what you’re doing,” I yelp, shifting out of the way while determinedly keeping my eyes focused on his face rather than his shorts. Or his chest. Or his arms.
I really wish he would stop turning up half-naked and soaking wet. It’s really distracting.
“You’re soaking me.” “Well, if you’re going to use my sun lounger, what do you expect?” Alex says, shaking his head and sending more droplets flying in my direction. “You’re in my space.”
“I am not,” I protest, uncomfortably aware of how small my bikini is all of a sudden. “This seat was free. There’s literally nothing on it to show it’s… oh.”
I stop, noticing the corner of one of the hotel towels peeking out from underneath my lounger. It must have slipped off the seat before I arrived.
Uh-oh.
“I swear I didn’t notice that,” I say, as Alex bends down to pick it up, and starts toweling himself dry. Underneath the towel there’s a pair of slides and a bottle of sunscreen, along with a paperback book, the title of which is hidden from view.
