‘No,’ he said, taking my wine glass and putting it down with his. ‘We are in one of the most beautiful cities in the world and your boss is safely tucked up in bed, so let’s go out.’
He had a masterful energy that was hard to resist and I was far too heightened to stay in the room with him now – I’d be buzzing about like a lost wasp. He was right; we needed to get out and explore. We jumped in a cab outside the hotel and Leo said something in Portuguese to the driver. ‘There’s a roof bar I want to check out, are you OK if we go there?’
‘More than OK. It’s nice to go along with someone else’s plans for once – being away with Heidi is like being a single parent. I’m part business director, part PA.’
The taxi turned into a derelict side street and stopped outside a car park. Leo and I exchanged a nervous glance.
‘Chegamos!’ the driver said with a cheerful smile. ‘Park bar!’ He pointed to the barricaded entrance where there was a small door covered in graffiti. No doubt where the Grim Reaper was waiting to take our coats.
Leo googled and paid at the same time, while I locked my door. ‘You take me to all the best places.’
‘Looks different in the photos,’ he said. ‘But this is it.’
We got out and the cab sped off, which did nothing to reassure us. My inner voice was clearly telling me I was about to be mugged, but I ignored it and took Leo’s hand, holding on tight as he knocked on the gross graffiti door. It creaked open to reveal a set of concrete stairs and he glanced at me and shrugged.
‘In the words of Yazz…’
‘The only way is up.’
And up was a bloody long way. Five flights of stairs later we arrived at the top, sweaty and panting. Which is how I’d imagined the night might have ended in the hotel, not in a multi-storey car park.
Leo opened the door onto the roof, and it was a relief to find Lisbon’s answer to Club Tropicana hiding behind it. An open-air bar, full of sofas and high-top tables, where all the beautiful people were hanging out. The blood rushed back to my face as happy house music pumped out of the decks and a vigorous violinist grooved past. We were safe. I kept hold of Leo’s hand as he weaved through the crowd, past groups of friends drinking colourful cocktails and couples dancing to the beats. Tiny candles flickered inside blue jars, and lamps with white globes had been dotted around to give the place a soft light. It was like being on set in a music video.
‘What do you want to drink?’ I shouted, trying to get control back of the situation.
Leo either couldn’t hear me or ignored me, brandishing a fifty euro note at the barman who caught his eye. ‘Doischampagnes!’ he said, holding up two fingers. How did he know what I wanted? I’d been doing dating all wrong – somehow I always ended up buying the first round. And the last.
We crammed into the crowd, eventually finding enough space to face each other as the saxophonist started playing ‘Baker Street’ over a beat from an old Chemical Brothers song. She had black corkscrew curls and was giving it some welly, so there was no hope of us having any kind ofconversation. Leo looked at me unblinking, really looked at me, then smiled and clinked his glass against mine.
‘Cheers,’ he mouthed. He was tall enough to see over all the heads, while I was blocked in by necks and chests. A bloke barged through the crowd towards the bar and Leo put a protective arm around me as if I was his and the pair of us were one unit. It felt strange to be out with a man like this, rather than getting lashed with the girls or going on a pub crawl of average dates. To be out with a man I genuinely wanted to spend time with.
He leant down and kissed my cheek, but it wasn’t enough; the connection between us was hot and electric and I wanted his lips on mine. I beckoned him back in, snogging his face off in the middle of the melee, the champagne adding an extra layer of fuzziness to the moment.
‘Maybe going out wasn’t such a good idea,’ he breathed in my ear, starting to dance. ‘You’re getting me all excited.’
‘Good,’ I replied mirroring his moves. It was a very different style of dance to the silent disco – pumping his body to the beat. I tried to channel my old Ibiza days, when swinging arms were an acceptable dance move. The violinist appeared next to us and the crowd shrank back as the spotlight found her. Leo seemed to go up a gear, keen to be part of the show, whereas I wanted to shy away into the shadows. The crowd clapped along, egging us on, and Leo did some breakdancing spins, then dropped to the floor and launched into the worm. I shimmied next to him, then reverted to waving my arms. Basic and boring in comparison. The saxophonist piped up over the other side of the bar and the spotlight switched to her, our moment of fame over.
A couple of Portuguese bros slapped Leo on the back, with nods of admiration, and he held up his hands in thanks. I hovered in the background like a proud wife.
‘Wow. Are you a professional street dancer? Where did you learn all that?’
He laughed. ‘It’s an evolution from trampolining in my youth to try and impress girls.’
‘Well, it impressed me. Very cool. What other surprises have you got up your sleeve?’
‘Ohhh… all sorts. There’s loads of stuff you don’t know about me – and I don’t know about you. But that’s half the fun, isn’t it? Finding out.’
He twirled me round, then clasped my hips and pulled me close. I tried to think if there was anything out of the ordinary he should know about me. Had I been an Olympic athlete in my teens? No. Was I the child of a billionaire? No. Could I fold myself up into a suitcase? Not anymore.
***
We rolled into the hotel reception and nervously ran into the lift. Presumably Heidi was sound asleep in her bed, but better to be safe than sorry.
‘I honestly don’t mind going back to the ship, you know,’ Leo said, putting his arms around me.
‘Whatever you want. Just see me to my room, at least.’
‘With pleasure.’
