They both took a moment. Ed blinked hard a few times, while far away in Cornwall, his mum’s teaspoon clinked as she stirred her cuppa.
“Now,” she eventually said, “tell me who it is you’re ‘not really kissing’ in these photos that ‘aren’t real.’”
“There really is nothing to tell, Mum. Nothing real, anyhow. You know I’m not here to find a boyfriend.”
“Still, I can’t help thinking that’s a whole lot of protesting about something you say means nothing at all.”
Maybe being so transparent to her was more a curse than a blessing. A knock at his door saved Ed from having to answer. “Someone’s here. I’ll have to let you go now.”
“Don’t you dare hang up before you tell me,” she teased, and Ed shook his head when she added, “I want to know who thinks they might be good enough for my son.”
He shut the balcony door behind him before crossing to the bedroom door and pulling it open.
“Hi!” Pasha stood in the hallway holding two mugs that brimmed with tea. “I brought you up a brew.”
Ed’s huge, puffed-out sigh blew their steam toward Pasha, and his answering hi was grudging.
A couple of other contestants passed on their way to their rooms. Pasha spoke far more loudly than was necessary. “Milk and one heaped teaspoon of sugar, as if you aren’t sweet enough already.”
A squawk was faint but audible from the phone now tucked in Ed’s fist. He raised it to his ear again just as Pasha pushed past, practically yelling over his shoulder, “I missed you. Did you miss me? I definitely missed you much more.”
“I’ll call you back.”
“Edward Joseph Britten. Who was that?—?”
“This is the forgiveness part of the conversation. I have to go. I’ll call back to explain as soon as I can.” He hung up and then turned to give Pasha a piece of his mind for barging in without an invitation.
The bedroom was completely empty.
Gauzy curtains billowed in the breeze coming through the open door to the balcony. When Ed pushed them aside, Pasha stood against the railing, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He stared at a view marred by an ugly block of old council flats, out of place in a skyline of shining, modern, new-build apartments. When he spoke, he didn’t sound quite so chipper.
“Who were you talking to?”
“None of your business.”
“At least tell me you weren’t talking about—” Pasha abruptly turned. He unfolded his arms and waggled the phone he held. “—because that would be stupid beyond belief.”
The two mugs of tea he’d carried now sat on a tiny table in spreading milky puddles as if Pasha had placed them roughly. Ed picked one up and sipped while taking a moment to think. When he replied, he spoke quietly as well. “You think management are using the CCTV in our rooms?”
Pasha shrugged. “Maybe.” His arms were crossed tightly again. “They said they wouldn’t record in the bedrooms without warning, but we’ve got to be more careful—think like the production crew would. Just because they haven’t done it before doesn’t mean they won’t try to catch every second of drama in the house this year.”
This serious version of the man who’d called him as sweet as sugar only minutes before took some getting used to. Ed took another sip of his tea. “Very cloak-and-dagger. Anyone would think you were the one who’d had military training.” He picked up the other mug and held it out. “First I’m sweet, then I’m stupid. You’re giving me whiplash.”
“Sorry.” Pasha’s fingers brushed Ed’s as he took his mug. “But remember this from now on—loose lips sink ships.” His smile was more tentative than Ed had noticed before, his gaze focusing anywhere but on Ed’s face.
“No. I’m sorry.” What the hell had he been thinking? “You’re right. I’m pretty sure I only spoke about us out here, but I should have been more careful.” Maybe he’d already messed up their chances.
They drank, and Ed watched Pasha’s shoulders slowly, slowly lower.
“I’m just trying to cover every angle,” Pasha admitted and stood up straight. He looked across at Ed, eyes almost level with his. “There’s a small red light on the cameras downstairs. We need to keep an eye on the ones in our rooms. Listen….” His hesitation extended. “I’m sorry if what I said in the hallway made your phone call difficult. It seemed like a good opportunity to get contestants talking, that’s all. You know what this house is like for gossip. Give it ten minutes, and everyone will think we’re at it like rabbits.”
Ed felt a lot more relaxed now that he’d warned the one person this playacting might affect in real life. “Forget about it, Pash. But tell me this.” He put down his mug and stepped much closer. The toes of his boots touched the tips of Pasha’s scruffy trainers. “Is that really what you think we need to do all of the time from now on? Be affectionate whenever there might be a camera or people around? Verbally, I mean. And act like we’re….”
“In love?”
Did Pasha usually sound so breathless? Ed tilted his head to one side and tracked the quick flick of Pasha’s tongue wetting his lower lip.
“That’s…” Pasha hesitated, “that’s exactly what I think we should do. And I don’t think verbal affection on its own willcut it either. We should… we should probably touch. A lot. But naturally, you know? As if we have a hard time keeping our hands off each other.”