‘Don’t give me that. Shoot. Pun intended.’
Good Lord. I’d forgotten who I was dealing with: a masterinterviewer, someone trained to extract information from her victims. I’m falling prey to the precise skill-set that used to turn me on.
‘Okay. Ah.’ I discreetly wipe the sweat from the back of my neck with a napkin. ‘I’m definitely not showing off my most evolved self, all right? It was everything, really. Those shift dresses you always wore, especially the sleeveless ones. You always looked so elegant and put together. And you never lost your cool. You had—have—this cut-glass accent and you were always so charming but composed. No one ever cracked you. You were badass. Especially when you were interviewing politicians. That was always my favourite thing. You wiped the floor with them. And it was very sexy.’
‘Interesting. So.’
She reaches around the side of the table furthest from the rest of the diners for my hand, and I take it, running my thumb pad over her delicate fingers.
‘That’s what does it for you? Me breaking politicians’ balls?’
I exhale. I’m not sure if the churning in my stomach is worry or desire. ‘Kind of. I liked the challenge you represented.’
Her lips purse. ‘Elaborate.’
This is a very poor decision on my part. Shit.
‘I used to fantasise about being there with you, on set. And when you were done, we’d go back to your dressing room, and…’
‘I’d break your balls?’
‘I’d help you channel all that adrenalin. Help you wind down. Ideally on your sofa.’
‘How would I be?’
‘You’d be completely amped up at the beginning, and then purring like a kitten at the end. In my arms. And your sexy little shift dress would definitely be on the floor.’
‘I can live withthat.’ She pauses for a drink of her rosé. ‘I just have one question. Would you be in a white coat?’
‘Scrubs, probably.’
‘Oh,God. Baby Dr Noah in scrubs. I can’t even. Will you wear them for me sometime? In real life? And do you have a stethoscope?’
‘I don’t use them at Good Vibes, if I can help it. I don’t want to scare our guests. But I have plenty of old pairs at my flat.’
‘Done. I’ll wear a slinky shift dress that saysI regularly break politicians’ balls before breakfast.’
I grin at her. Her insinuation that this thing may have legs after we get back to London and reality later in the week makes the muscles around my heart loosen up in relief.
I take a sip of my wine. ‘Would you believe, I even have a perfectly good sofa?’
Honor’s security guard,Di, gets us back home in one piece, giggling and buzzed from the rosé. Clearly, Honor has no secrets from her. I’ve been nursing a semi all through lunch; I resort to covering my lap with Honor’s ridiculous hat in the car. Honor is pressed up against me and I allow myself to imagine how it would be if we had the chateau to ourselves this trip: how miraculous it would be to lie naked with her on one of the daybeds and have the sun warm our skin.
Di drops us in front of the door to the courtyard before taking off to put the car in the garage. The shrieks of hilarity from the pool area hit us before they’re even across the courtyard. I brush my fingers against Honor’s.
‘Sounds like nobody’s missed us.’
Then comes a booming voice that neither of us can mistake.
‘Jump, Rollo! Cannonball! CANNONBALL!’
Honor stops still in the courtyard. I turn to her as if she holds the answers, but her face is frozen in utter horror.
‘Shit,’ she says. ‘It’s fucking Jackson.’
CHAPTER 18
Honor
