“Oh, fuck right off,” Robbie shouts from somewhere behind us, and I hear scattered laughter.
Xavier’s wink at me is barely perceptible, but it’s still there—a light in the dark of my panic telling me that he’s here. He turns to Francois, who’s hovering, looking slightly thwarted.
“Check my contract if you like, Frank,” Xavier says.
“My name is Francois,” he snaps. “I’m sure you can get over this phobia.”
Dean stirs. He’s been looking between Xavier and me, and as perceptive as ever, I know he’s guessed what’s happening. He squares his shoulders. “I’m afraid I’ve got it too.”
He nudges Bowie, who is currently giving the impression of someone sleeping while awake. “What?” he mutters.
“Tell him about your claustrophobia,” Dean orders.
Bowie blinks a couple of times. “My what, now?” He looks at me, then at Dean and Xavier, and realisation dawns. “Oh yeah, it’sbad, man. I can’t even go into my wardrobe.”
“What?” Francois’s voice is very loud in the confines of the small lift.
“It’s true. I’m like a reverse Mr Tumnus.”
“He never actually went in the wardrobe,” I clarify and Xavier glares at me. “Never mind me,” I mutter.
Dean stirs. “Yes. I’ve even got an appointment with—” He hesitates because lying really isn’t his thing. “Erm, with the proctologist,” he finishes.
Xavier turns his laugh into a cough. “Wow,” he says.
Dean nudges him. “Anyway, I have to go soon. I’m sure Reuben has got everything he needs.”
I straighten and nod. The sweat is drying on my forehead, and a wave of dizziness sweeps over me. It’s a combination of things—not sleeping properly, abject fear, and no food. I feel a hand on my back and realise it’s Xavier. He rubs my back, the tiny movements shielded from onlookers. I concentrate on the small, gentle movements and the dizziness eases.
Francois is staring at Dean. He opens his mouth to blast him, and I see the second he remembers that Dean isn’t just a model but also the partner of the co-owner of Durands.
“Yes, of course,” Francois says immediately. “You must go to the … to the proctologist.”
I bite my lip to hold in a smile and nod at Francois. “I’ll send everything over to Olivier.”
He nods, spins on his heel, and walks away.
With the chance of confrontation gone, the other people in the hallway start to talk and wander off. Xavier’s hand falls away, but I fancy I can still feel it on my body like a brand. He goes to move away, and my hand snaps out and grabs his. He looks at me, his face once more locked down.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says coolly and strides out of the lift, followed by Bowie. I can’t help admiring Xavier’s arse in those tight briefs. It’s a world-class arse—full, round, and tight.
A throat clears, and I turn to see Dean watching me. There’s a gentle amusement there and curiosity, too. But I know he won’t ask. He’s an honourable man who’s as pretty in his soul as his body.
“Well, I hope you won’t have to wait too long at the proctologist,” I say.
“What actuallyisthat? I know I’ve heard the word before, but I forgot to look it up.”
I snort. “An arse doctor.”
“Really?”
I laugh, and he joins me. “Wow. Lying does cause someinterestinglife events,” he says. He steps out of the lift and then looks back at me. “We’re going to a club to celebrate the end of the shoot. Are you coming?”
I hesitate. Usually, I wouldn’t. I hate clubs. They’re likely to trigger all sorts of not-so-delightful reactions in me. “Any naked sex swings?” I ask, grabbing for time.
His eyes twinkle, but he says gravely, “That’s only on Fridays, so I think you’re safe. Well?”
