‘Ilike him,’ I bite my lip. ‘And not just because he’s ridiculously fit. I don’t know how I’m going to sit next to him through a whole marriage ceremony without ripping his clothes off. He looks so fine in a suit.’
‘I love a man in a suit too,’ Violet coos. ‘You’ll have fun on the Eye, I’ve been on a date in one of those cute little pods before. He’d booked a private capsule and we were served champagne. Do you think James will do that for you?’
‘I highly doubt it. It’s just a Thursday night date, it’s not like we’re getting engaged or anything. . .’
‘Wait, what if he does propose?’ Bruce asks, gripping the sides of his chair.
I shake my head firmly.
‘He won’t. It’s way too soon.’
‘But you like him, right?’ Violet asks.
‘Of course!’
‘And he likes you?’
‘I think so. He watched a whole episode ofFirst Dateswith me the other night without complaining and I was blatantly crushing on Fred the entire time.’
‘Such romance!’ Violet rolls her eyes. ‘As you know, I’ve been proposed to quite a few times now.’ Here we go. ‘One ex asked me to be his wife after just three dates.’ Poor, misguided fool. ‘The best thing to do, if you’re not quite sure, is simply kiss him on the cheek and tell him you’ll think about it.’And rinse him for a few more champagne-fuelled dinner dates before you realise he is a complete plank.
As if sensing my internal monologue, Bruce steers us back to safer ground. ‘Vi, let’s focus on you. This tan is looking just perfect. I’ve got a new TV star coming up in fifteen so shall we get those balcony snaps done?’
‘Fabulous!Now, did we get those lemons sorted?’
My killer boobs. Will James propose? Violet’s bloody lemons.I’ve been racing through these topics on repeat for the entire tube journey. By the end of today’s shoot the all-too-familiar sinking feeling had set in, which has a lot to do with my boss being so, um, challenging, but Bruce perked me up with some tanning goodies to try before Cannes.
I’m clutching the bag of products in my hand, camera in my backpack, as I walk along the Southbank. It’s a perfect May evening, the sun just dipping behind Westminster, throwing a golden glow over London’s most famous landmarks. The Thames glistens and I smudge on some lip balm as I walk. Normally I’d slick some lipstick on for a date, but James isn’t into it, so lip balm will have to do. Violet would have blocked out the afternoon and dedicated it entirely to getting ready if she’d been the one with a date. She once went to a Harley Street skin specialist because she’d woken up with a spot and wanted it professionally treated before she met up with one poor fool guy. I am definitely more low maintenance than my boss. I don’t have the time to be contouring myself a new nose every morning and besides, even the sturdiest foundation couldn’t withstand a day of running around after Violet.
Tall, dark, handsome (tick, tick, TICK!) James is striding towards me and I give him a giddy wave, then feel immediately self-conscious.
And the prize for Dorkiest Photographer of the Year goes to. . .
‘Jasmine, hi,’ he half-smiles as a bunch of ominous charcoal clouds loom behind his head.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Fine,just. . .’ He looks distracted, fidgeting with the top button of his work shirt. ‘Shall we just get this over with?’
‘And they say romance is dead,’ I say, standing on my tiptoes to kiss him. Ilovehaving a tall boyfriend. I used to get called Jasmine the Giraffe at school and I’m pretty sure my attempts to explain that Jasmine and giraffe don’t fully alliterate didn’t win me any cool points.
‘How was your day? I spent the afternoon staring at Violet’s arse. So, same same for me,’ I chat as we join the snaking queue.
James peers down at me in a really weird way. WTF is going on? I’m about to quiz him further when a big fat droplet splatters onto my forehead.
Then it happens again.
‘It’s raining,’ states James. He’s really pulling out all the stops on the chat front tonight.
We’re ushered into a capsule and I try to hide my disappointment that the weather has gone tits up. So much for my pictures of the city at sunset. Still, I can just chill out and enjoy a date with my boyfriend now. My boyfriend who appears to be repeatedly patting the breast pocket of his suit jacket.
Bruce’s earlier words pop up in my head.
What if he does propose?
He won’t. Will he?
Oh holy crap.Willhe?
