I wasn’t bad at understanding people, but I was a little clueless sometimes with women’s subtleties.
So I messaged Amelie.
Me:Zoey’s just said this: “I think I’m done pretending to pretend for tonight.” What do you think she means?
Amelie – and therefore probably my dad – knew I’d slept with Zoey. I’d mentioned it a few months after, when I’d been in a funk because I’d seen a photo of her with an actor that she was dating.
I’d been jealous and moody and Amelie had called me out on it, so I’d told her without any details, what’d happened, leaving out that it’d been Zoey’s first time.
“Sugar, unless you tell her how you feel, she’s just going to think you’ve put yourself in the friend zone. Probably not where you want to be, judging by you turning into your father.”
“What do you mean?”
“Roman’s grumpy. You’re usually sunshine like me, except for this. Get over it or do something about it.”
So I got over it.
Kind of.
I didn’t have to wait too long for a response.
Amelie: She’s not pretending when she’s pretending to be in love with you. Colour me surprised.
Me: So you’re saying she’s in love with me?
Amelie: That would be the conclusion I would come to. Especially after seeing that performance from you both on that red carpet. At least she didn’t throw you on the floor like I did your dad.
Me: What did you think about that interview?
Amelie: That you were a very convincing couple and if it was fake, you both deserved awards. What you going to do about it?
Me: See how it goes. We’ve both had a bit to drink, so nothing tonight.
Amelie: Wise child. Enjoy London. I’m going to go and murder your father.
Me: Again? I would’ve thought he’d have run out of lives by now.
That was it, wisdom imparted just in time for Zoey to return, the same time as the waiter brought over our drinks. I’d ordered a whisky, she’d gone for a White Russian, one of her favourites that she knew how to make for herself.
“This feels surreal.” She sat down and took a sip of her drink, shifting closer to me.
I put an arm around her, not sure whether we were still meant to be pretending or if the boundaries had blurred once again.
“Being in London with me, having a fake relationship, the fact I dance like a god or all of the above?”
“I always knew you could dance. That wasn’t the first time. There was that horrendous night club when you were at uni, the bar in Copenhagen when I met you there that time, the beach in Hawaii – that was fun- and at least two Puffin Bay weddings.” She studied me as she spoke.
“You remember all of those? That’s impressive.” I didn’t linger on why.
“You don’t remember them?”
“Some of them. I might’ve been a bit drunk at the weddings.” Definitely Gully’s wedding. I could just about remember the ceremony. Everything after that was a blur.
“You were. You got handsier when you were drunk.”
“Then I’m sorry and you should’ve slapped me.”
“I like handsy you.” Her chin tipped up.
