‘Shall we?’ He indicates for us to go into the villa.
I hear him clear his throat and realise, too late, that my gown will be flapping open at the back, revealing my backside like a randy baboon to a prospective mate. I grab the flaps and pull them closed, not daring to turn around.
‘Good trip over?’ he asks politely as we make our way through the villa to the lounge area.
‘Sort of,’ I say, one arm clamped behind me to keep the flaps tightly together. I wave the other hand around to make my point. ‘Apart from the jet lag, the lost luggage, the unfriendly welcome and two days without food or water. Not to mention the serious lack of shut-eye, because it has been like trying to sleep in a bovine birthing suite. But yes, it was all fine, thanks.’
Cameron bursts out laughing, revealing the cutest little gap between his two front teeth. ‘Sorry,’ he says, trying to hold it in. ‘I don’t mean to laugh. You Brits are so funny. It doesn’t sound like you got off to a great start. How can I help?’
I melt at the kindness in his voice and, oh, that accent. That dreamy Canadian accent.
He leaves his case by the table and flops down on the sofa. He looks very tired.
‘It would be great if you could help me to get my luggage back,’ I say, indicating my gown.
He stifles a huge yawn. ‘Yeah. No problem. I’ll call our reps at the airport now.’
‘Thank you so much. Let me make you a coffee while you get it sorted,’ I say, pointing to the lounge area.
‘Coffee would be awesome, thanks, Libby.’ He has such an infectious easy smile. At the sound of him saying my name, goosebumps appear on my arm. ‘I’m really sorry we’ve let you down like this. I’ll do what I can to make sure you settle in comfortably, and I’ll order some nice food and supplies. Let me know what you like.’
‘That’s so kind, thank you.’ I am instantly lifted by his lovely thoughtfulness.
I disappear backwards into the kitchen and quickly switch my gown around so that the ties are at the front. While I hear him talking authoritatively on the phone, I flit about making us both a coffee and rummage around in the cupboard for the biscuits that I unpacked earlier. I imagine Cam could do with a pick-me-up, so while I wait for the coffee machine to finish whirring, I arrange them neatly on a plate ready to carry through.
I’m so nervous around him. Partly because he is so much better-looking in real life than I’d thought and, secondly, because he obviously keeps himself trim with his part-time veganism and exercise. Only a blind woman would fail to notice how well his T-shirt and shorts contour the shape of his tanned, athletic legs and torso. The last time I used my legs for running purposes, I was ten years old. I also didn’t expect him to be quite so cool. He’s got a competent and professional air about him that is very charismatic.
In truth, he could just as easily go on the show himself, he’s that good-looking. I’d put him around thirty however, so too mature for the show. In fact, I think, even with my dreadful track record in matters of the heart and hanging around with eight- and nine-year-olds all day long, I may well be too mature for the show.
‘It must be exhausting to organise a TV show like this, is it? Who knew there was so much involved? Contestants in secret villas, runners, chaperones, producers,’ I shout through from the kitchen, genuinely interested in what goes on behind the scenes. But more than that, I’d like to draw his attention away from the fact that I look horrific and greeted him with my pale bare bum cheeks in this piece-of-string bikini. ‘I imagine there’s so much to do.’
I slam cupboard doors looking for a tray, some sugar, spoons.
‘I know you probably aren’t allowed to tell me, but do you think that I’ll be going in the villa soon?’
Slam, open, slam.
‘As a bombshell? Or as an original? Because my sis— I mean, I’ve heard it’s much better to be one of the first people on the show rather than come in later once all the relationships have been established.’
I’m like the prosecution leading the witness.
Silence. Plenty of it.
‘It’s just because I need to have my luggage back before I go in, otherwise I will look like a complete horror show. A bit like I look today.’ I let out a nervous laugh and wait for him to refute everything I have just said because, as I’m sure he will remember, he told me that I am gorgeous, stunning and naturally beautiful. All in the same sentence.
More silence. I’m worried I have crossed a professional line.
I carry the tray of coffee and biscuits through to the lounge area to find Cameron flat-out asleep on the sofa. His long legs are spread wide. His head is thrown back on the cushions and his arms are flopped on either side. He’s still holding a bunch of keys in one hand and a pile of papers in the other. They have CONFIDENTIAL written across the top.
I glance at the papers. They look like the schedule for the show. It’s nerve-wracking not knowing anything. I am tempted to take them from him but knowing my luck he’d wake up to find me manhandling him.
I look at the papers again.
You do have to wonder if this level of secrecy is strictly necessary.
‘They’re hardly the White House nuclear codes,’ I mutter quietly, looking for a place to put the tray down. Cam shifts in his sleep, loosening his grip, and the papers slip gently onto the floor.
I will not look.
