‘Stop calling me that.’
‘I will, when you stop acting like a dick.’
He stares at me for a long time, evidently trying to find a snappy comeback. ‘Fine,’ he says eventually. ‘I’ll get changed in the bathroom.’
‘Good. We probably ought to have some rules, and the first one is this. No nudity in the bedroom. Agreed?’
‘Agreed.’
‘Right,’ I tell him, grabbing one of the key cards the porter left us. ‘I’ll leave you to it. If I don’t get something cold and alcoholic inside me soon, something’s going to burst and it won’t be pretty.’
‘Don’t hurry back,’ he replies caustically as I open the door.
Although I’m desperate to fulfil my dream of sitting at a swim-up bar, I’m not dressed for that so I head for the bar in the main building instead. I’m not sure who to be more furious with: Robert for being a total arse, or me for letting myself be duped into signing up for this bloody holiday in the first place. I need to hear a friendly voice, I realise as I check my watch. Jamaica is five hours behind London in the winter so it’s approaching ten o’clock there. I’ll grab a glass of wine and see if Rosie or Priya are around.
The bar is almost deserted when I get there. Apart from the woman behind the counter, the only other people in here are a couple sitting at a table in one corner, completely absorbed in their phones, and the man playing the enormous grand piano.I stop for a moment to listen, but I can’t identify the piece he’s playing. It’s beautiful though, and I notice he has his eyes closed, presumably lost in the music. The melody is haunting, and his hands are almost caressing the keys as they run up and down the notes. He has nice hands, I notice, with neatly trimmed nails that any manicurist would be proud of at the ends of his long fingers. As my eyes travel back up to his face, I’m struck by the radiance of his skin. Maybe he has treatments here in exchange for playing the piano. As I’m watching, the song comes to a gentle end, and he opens his eyes.
‘That was lovely,’ I tell him. ‘What was it?’
‘I’m glad you liked it,’ he says, surprising me with his accent. ‘It was Chopin, one of my favourite composers. His Nocturne number twenty in C sharp minor.’
‘You’re English?’
He smiles, revealing teeth so even and white I instantly start wondering if they’re veneers. ‘It’s complicated. I’m Gabriel, by the way.’
‘Tori.’ I’d love to ask more about his accent, but the way he’s moved the conversation on makes me feel that he perhaps doesn’t want to talk about it.
‘That’s an interesting name.’ This is the second time someone’s remarked on it today, but Gabriel’s tone is curious as opposed to critical.
‘It’s short for Victoria,’ I tell him.
Another smile. ‘Of course. Well, Tori, do you have any requests?’
God, he’s beautiful. I can think of a few highly inappropriate requests, but try to push them out of my mind as I can feel the heat already spreading across my cheeks.
‘Umm, nothing that I can think of right now,’ I say. ‘Are you here every day?’
‘Most days, so if you do think of anything, feel free to come and find me.’
‘Thanks. It was nice to meet you, Gabriel.’
‘You too, Tori.’
‘What can I get you, honey?’ the woman behind the bar asks as I approach.
‘A large glass of white wine, please,’ I tell her. ‘In fact, never mind the glass, I’ll have a bucket.’
She smiles. ‘That’s good. What would you really like?’
‘I’d really like a large glass of white wine,’ I repeat.
Her face falls. ‘Honey, you do know this is an alcohol-free resort, don’t you?’
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
10
‘What?’ Priya’s voice is outraged. I’ve put my ear buds in and settled myself in the opposite corner of the bar from the other customers to video call her and Rosie. ‘What kind of Caribbean hotel doesn’t serve alcohol? You’re in Jamaica, for God’s sake. Rum is practically mandatory, isn’t it?’
