He sighs and cracks his fingers. ‘Rose. She’ll think I’ve moved on, like she has.’
I nod. I get it.
It took years to get to the point where we could talk as friends. And then he met Rose, and they made a promise to marry each other, and I pushed myself aside. Rose was so refreshingly normal, so perfect for Luc. A greetings card designer for Marks and Spencer. I mean,come on, it’s so fucking wholesome.
For a long time, I thought if I wasn’t going to get Luc in every way, I’d take the crumbs. But I don’t deserve to take the crumbs from someone who gives him everything.
From someone whose life wouldn’t overshadow his.
From someone who could let him live the life he wants to live.
I take a deep breath. We’re really doing this.
‘And, full disclosure,’ he continues.
Here we go.
‘I recently found out thatHostile Mindsisn’t being renewed. I somehow need to find a new writing contract and I could do with the good press myself.’
Tension zips up my spine and I have to quickly remindmyself that I can’t be annoyed about this. It’s different. He’s being honest, and I’m using him too.
The waiter comes back with the bill, placing the discreet envelope in the middle of the table. I reach out to grab it, but Luc has already picked it up.
‘Luc, I’ll get this.’
‘No. A lady should never pay on the first date.’
‘I thought we agreed this was a business meeting.’ I frown and touch the back of my neck. ‘And didn’t you just admit you were unemployed?’
‘It’s the debut of our relationship.’ He checks how much the bill is, nodding and pulling out his card. ‘I’m good for it.’
He should hate me. The disappearing, the dragging him back with a silly plan to get good press. Ruining his life over and over. But Luc is too nice. I don’t deserve it.
‘Right, shall we get this show on the road?’ Luc asks.
I watch the waiter leave the room and disappear down the stairs before nodding. ‘Follow my lead.’
I grab my bag on the way out the door, checking I’ve got everything, and Dennis takes it off me, listening to something on his earpiece.
‘Ready?’ I ask Luc at the bottom of the stairs.
But, truly, he can never be ready for what is about to happen. Not for the first time, I consider whether this plan will work or whether there will be another negative story about me having my third man this week in the papers tomorrow.
‘Thank you, ma’am. Thank you, sir,’ the maître d’ says as we open the door to flashing cameras. There are more now than there were when I came in, fans standing behind them and screaming for my attention. Word got out that Sienna Martin is here.
There are seemingly hundreds of cameras, both professional and phones, trying to catch a glimpse.
‘Sienna, is this your next victim?’ one shouts.
‘Are you in a relationship with this man, Miss Martin?’
In answer, I reach out and find Luc’s hand. The shouts get louder, hungrier, and I’m unable to distinguish what each person is saying over the cacophony of the others. The cameras clicking. The screams of fans somewhere in the periphery. Luc’s hands are clammy, and my hand nearly slips out of his grasp. He squeezes and runs his thumb over my index finger. It’s slippery but has the same effect as a tight hug. It makes me feel twenty years old again, when we would leave restaurants with coats draped over our heads so that we could develop a relationship privately. Those early stages are so vulnerable, and we didn’t want the added pressure with the increased media interest around me since crying on Eric Lancaster’s sofa. Oh, if baby Sienna and Luc could see us now.
We follow Dennis, with the restaurant’s security right behind us, towards Kareem’s car.
‘Hey, Kareem,’ I say, climbing over the seats to make room for Luc next to me.
The cameras are blinding, every few seconds a new flash tries to catch their perfect shot of the happy couple, or whatever the headlines are going to call us tomorrow.
