Because I could never be with a popstar. I have my own career and direction in life. I’m never going to be able to follow a man around the world. Obviously, I’m getting ahead of myself, he probably isn’t interested in that either. And yet, I can’t scramble the words together to explain that to Hattie. “He lives miles away.”
“Well, why are you planning your futures together anyway? Stop looking so far ahead, you weirdo. Why not just see how the night goes?”
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“I know. That’s why you’re so brilliant. But maybe it’s what you need? Remember at uni when you would say,When I graduate, I’m going to quit drinking, get a kickass job and work my arse off to get the life I want?And that would be your reasoning for going wild while you could? While you were free?”
“I never saidkickass. But yes. Sort of.”
“Use this holiday to do the same. Use the time. Why not?”
Why not, indeed. I want her to be right. There’s an exhilarating buzz building under my skin as if I’ve just turned a key in a certain part of me. The reckless part. Theperson who wouldn’t think twice about taking what she wanted.
I sigh. “I’m putting on you on video call. Can you tell me if this dress is too slutty?”
“No. It’s fine.”
“You haven’t seen it yet.”
“I miss slutty Sara, so I think it sounds great.”
After mustering up the confidence to wear a little black dress to dinner, I finish my hair and makeup only to turn aroundthreetimes on the way to the upper deck.
This is silly, I know.
But I’msonervous.
It’s wildly out of character for me and it’s doing weird things to my body.
The nerves in my stomach reach a crescendo by the time I walk into the restaurant. I have to keep reminding myself to calm down. The hostess offers me a warm greeting and seats me by the window, where I can enjoy the gorgeous backdrop of the Italian coastline at sunset. It’s stunning. The lights of the nearby towns twinkle against the silhouette of the mountains behind it.
I’m picking at a warm bread roll when he walks in.
I don’t think he spots me right away. He’s dressed smart, in a loose fitted shirt only partly buttoned up, sleeves rolled at his elbows and light chinos, his hair once again combed back and gelled in place. It makes him look like a movie star.
I swallow down a sip of wine and savour the taste of it on my tongue.
He’s also seated alone.
I try not to look his way but he’s right in my line of sight in the middle of the restaurant. I could quickly swap so I’mfacing the other way, but I think if I stand right now, he’ll spot me and then it would be too obvious.
And besides, I’m hardly trying to avoid him. It’s just these weird nervous jitters that have me on edge.
My starter of soup is served and when the waitress walks away again, I find him staring across the room at me. He grins. I bite my bottom lip and take a deep breath.
He mouths something but I can’t work out what, so I shake my head.
He mouths it again. I think he says, “What are you having?”
I glance at the bowl and assume it’s obvious, mouthing back, “Soup.”
He reads his menu. I take a spoonful and close my eyes because this isn’t just soup – this is yacht-cruising, five-star, luxury soup, and it might have just ruined all other soups for me, forever. I stifle a groan, covering my mouth.
I feel his smile before I even look. “Good?” he mouths.
I nod, eyes wide. “So good.”
“That does it,” I think he says before flagging down a waiter. Five seconds later, he’s stood next to my table. “Please let me sit with you. I can’t bear not to hear your unfettered thoughts on the food.”
