And now I was in Greece with Tommy, and we’d just had our trademarked super-hot sex – but we hadn’t discussedus. Not properly.
Not how easily we’d slipped back into Ally-and-Tommy mode that day on Naxos.
Not the still-burning attraction between us.
Not that we’d admitted to missing each other, or blamed each other for our marriage break-up.
And definitely not how getting back together would be a seismic shift – professionally – for us both. If that’s what he wanted. If it’s whatIwanted.
And that was the clincher. Ilovedbeing the Diva – what she stood for, what she’d accomplished, all the people she’d helped.
How would I find anything as fulfilling – and if I did, would I even feel likeme? There was such a fine line between us – the Diva and me – and yes, sometimes I just wanted to be Ally, but I always wanted to come back to her.
Not that it was likely to matter.
Because on top of everything else was the gigantic lie that had torched our marriage and sat festering for a decade.
And instead of facing it, he’d skedaddled.
Maybe that told me everything I needed to know.
20
Thought of the day…
You are the main character in your own life.
Don’t let anyone make you take a supporting role.
(No matter how hot they are.)
As I stepped into the ruby-red, silk chiffon Grecian-cut gown, careful not to snag the hem on my strappy gold heels, I was grateful for the foresight to pack it. Yes, I had to contort myself to zip it up, but when I stood in front of the full-length mirror, that was forgotten.
It wasgorgeous.
And not to toot my own horn too much, but step one of my plan to fix Julian’s mess – look fantastic – had a big fat tick against it. In fact, I hadn’t looked this good since I attended the BAFTAs last year and that took an entireteam– hair, makeup, stylist… This was me on my own working with what I’d brought to Aetheria.
Still, I wasn’t the spokesperson for an ethical luxury makeup brand for nothing. I knew my way around a palette, and I’d achieved that soft ethereal look Ariana Grande tends to favour. And my hair was in shiny barrel curls that cascaded down my back – like Barbie’s.
Ex-wife Influencer Barbie – coming to a John Lewis near you this Christmas.Hah!
And if Tommy’s jaw just happened to drop when he saw me? That would be the cherry on top.
My stomach aflutter with nerves – understandable, considering I was about to step into a real-life Bond film – I loaded up my gold clutch with the essentials: a compact and lipstick (for touch-ups), my phone (obvs), tissues (always), and condoms (you never know). I closed it with a satisfyingsnap, downed the rest of my getting-ready wine, then went to wait on the porch for Christos to collect me and take me to the helipad.
As I waited in the dusk light, its orange hue setting the sky alight, it struck me how odd it was thatthiswas my life. And I sort-of stepped outside of myself and observed her, the Divorced Diva. Well,me.
Here stands the thirty-something, thrice-divorced woman,David Attenborough said inside my head,excited, yet nervous about the night ahead. Can she help save ex-husband number three from imminent jeopardy? And what about ex-husband number one? Is there enough between them to warrant another try?
I lingered on the last thought for several moments, hovering between hope and despair.
Then Attenborough’s voice returned:Should she have slipped some pepper spray into that gold clutch?
My stomach soured.WouldI be in danger? Surely not – or Tommy would have said.
Before I could ponder this further, Christos pulled up in the golf cart.
‘You look fricking great,’ he said candidly.
