‘You better get ready! Send me a photo in your outfit. Remember to wear the low-cut red dress I bought you. You want to show him what will be on offer for dessert.’ She cackled.
I wasn’t so sure. It was very revealing and surely it was better for him to be attracted to my mind rather than my breasts.
‘I’ll send you a photo.’
‘And one of him too. We are all excited to see who you’ve been matched with. Marjorie has already messaged twice to ask for pictures.’
‘Will do!’ I said. ‘Right! I’d better start transforming myself. Thanks again.’
Juliette hung up. She wasn’t one for gushing and clearly I’d maxed out my daily gratitude limit.
Anyway, like I said, there was no time to lose.
In just one hour and fifty-eight minutes I’d be meeting my match and I couldn’t bloody wait!
6
LAILA
I didn’t think I’d been this nervous since I went for my last job interview years ago.
Even when I went on those odd dates from the apps, I didn’t feel like this.
My palms were clammy, my heart was racing and I swear I’d weed three times in half an hour before I finally left my room two minutes ago and took the lift to the restaurant on the ground floor.
And wearing these new heels wasn’t helping.
I hobbled along the perfectly polished marble floors, desperately trying not to fall. If I didn’t slip and break my neck then the pain of squeezing my feet into these torture contraptions people called stilettos was sure to get me.
Normally I lived in comfy flat shoes or trainers so this was a real departure. So was being sucked into this figure-hugging, cleavage-spilling red dress. I felt like a stuffed turkey.
‘Good evening, Laila,’ Claude greeted me as soon as I stepped through the restaurant doors.
The huge room was the kind of place I’d imagine the rich and famous hiring for a wedding reception. It had the same tall white marble columns that I saw in reception, but what really struck me was the striking domed glass ceiling. As it was starting to get dark, I couldn’t see much right now, but I’d imagine that in the daytime the room would be flooded with lots of lovely natural light.
The square tables were covered with thick white tablecloths and gold-trimmed plates and gold cutlery were neatly arranged on top.
They didn’t even have normal dining chairs. Instead, they were elegant gold armchairs that looked so comfy, you could probably sit in them for hours without your bum hurting. I supposed they’d done that deliberately to encourage couples to stay and chat with their match all night.
‘Hi!’ I said.
‘Is your room to your satisfaction?’
‘Everything’s perfect, thank you.’
‘Excellent. Your match has arrived safely at the hotel and will be here shortly. In the meantime, please allow Benoît, our maître d’, or in Love Hotel language, yourDining Director, to show you to your table.’
‘Merci,’ I nodded, excitement pulsing through my veins.
This is it.
I was now just minutes away from meeting the man of my dreams.
Crazy to think that before Juliette, Marjorie and Cordelia showed me the deposit receipt, I had very little interest in meeting anyone. But now I was so excited I felt like I was about to explode.
Ever since I’d got here, I’d tried telling myself to lower my expectations about my match. But everything about the hotel so far had been first class: the transportation, the hotel interior, the champagne (I may have asked for an extra glass), my room and the customer service, so as cynical as I typically was, it was hard not to expect that my match would be perfect too.
I followed Benoît to the table, where he pulled out a chair for me and I sank into the plush seat (which I’m pleased to report was even comfier than it looked), my heart thundering against my chest.
