Bill’s straight back at her. ‘First you stick to the dress codes,thenI’ll think about talking.’ Which seems to have worked a treat, because Miranda’s opening and shutting her mouth, but nothing’s coming out. He turns to me. ‘The guys were looking for you before they left.’
‘They’ve gone?’
‘It was the Extreme Surfers fancy dress disco, they had to rush off.’ He’s saying it like it’s a completely normal, everyday occurrence. ‘They thought you might like to go?’
‘Me?’ I’m screwing my face up in disbelief. ‘Whywould I?’
He shrugs but this time the twist to his lips is bigger. ‘If you’re on the lookout for Ian Somerhalder, why wouldn’t you?’
Fuck, fuck and fuck that he heard. And even more fucks that he was brazen enough to admit to listening in.
When you’re completely stuffed, there’s only one way to go. I pull myself up to my full height, look straight ahead, ignore that Merwyn’s tail is hanging down in the water that’s lapping around my waist, and clutch him very tight. ‘Well, we’re going for a shower. And then we’ll have supper. And then we’re going to check the castle.’ As everything else has turned to total shit, I might as well cheer myself up with that. As I turn my scowl onto Bill I hope it’s hard enough to drill through him. ‘I’ll see you in the entrance hall in an hour.’
As if throwing myself into a hot tub fully clothed wasn’t embarrassing enough. How am I going to get through Christmas now?
