A huge lump forms in my throat, causing Destiny to repeat the question. ‘Remember, Marcel is the guy that said he wasn’t interested in you to Ella, before she got dumped. He made that quite clear, didn’t he? He said – we have the quote here – he’s “not in the slightest bit interested in you”, remember?’
Marcel is looking very sheepish now.
‘Please make your choice,’ instructs Destiny. Then a runner comes over to whisper in my ear that I am to stand for seven seconds staring straight ahead looking as though I’m worried sick, then I have to give two reasons for choosing Giovanni.
‘Any reasons will do. We don’t care. Then smile apologetically at Destiny and we’ll pan back to Mimi. Okay? Do not move off this spot until we tell you.’ The runner runs off.
Luckily for me, I have plenty of reasons to help with looking worried sick. I stand counting sheep, while staring into the middle distance, and think about my new credit card bill, my disastrous entrance and the fact that everyone I know at home will be watching me on TV. I hear a ghostly voice floating on the air, hissing, ‘Action!’
I snap back to the task at hand. ‘I, erm, I am choosing this man because he is tall, dark and handsome. And he seems like a hopeless romantic, because he says that he is writing a romantasy novel in his spare time when he’s not working in construction or feeding the homeless or saving blind donkeys.’
I cannot look him in the eye. I cannot. I’m sure we’ve all told untruths to get here, but blind donkeys?
‘So, erm, the man I’d like to couple up with is… Giovanni.’ One quick glance tells me Giovanni is pretty fudging furious before he slaps a fake smile on his face and gets up to come over.
Mimi looks knocked for six.
Then it is my turn to be shocked because Mimi yells, ‘Giovanni,no!’
We watch as she leaps to her feet, grabs his arm, yanks him back dramatically and kisses the sweet baby cheeses out of him. Right in front of me.
Destiny can’t decide which of us to keep an eye on. But as the kiss lengthens into an alarmingly long and uncomfortable clash of veneers, we are forced to watch Giovanni hoick Mimi’s leg up so that it is practically wrapped around him. Then he really goes for it, his tongue probing her mouth, his hand almost but not quite cupping her breast, the other almost but not quite cupping her left buttock. Her hands reach for his hair and tangle themselves in it while she thrusts her pelvis at him. When they finally part, after an eternity of squelching sounds, they look dishevelled and breathless, and the other Islanders all look very feckin jealous.
Like an apex predator, Mimi whips her head round to face me, fixing me with a triumphant look.
Fair play to her. That was a genius move guaranteed to make it on to the show. She has basically staked her claim. Giovanni is her man whether I like it or not.
I can’t help myself. I start giggling and begin a slow clap. Soon everyone joins in the slow clap with me, even Destiny.
When both Mimi and Giovanni realise what is happening, they instantly relax. Giovanni has the good grace to put Mimi down, looking embarrassed when he walks over to stand next to me at the firepit.
‘I hope you’re not expecting me to do the same,’ I joke, and after a long minute, where he works out if I’m serious, he throws his head back and laughs like a drain.
Thankfully, everyone starts laughing, even the mardy Mimi.
‘Don’t worry,’ I say in a playful tone. ‘I’ll return him in one piece.’
17
All the attention has gone straight to Giovanni’s head. He looks me slowly up and down with an appreciative look on his face, which makes me immediately uncomfortable. While Porscha is instructing the crew to change camera angles, he leans over to whisper, ‘I like a funny woman. And you’re not bad to look at. I don’t usually go for brunettes, but for you, I’d make an exception. You get me?’ He looks very pleased with himself and stands with his legs apart, facing the firepit, hands clasped at his groin.
Oh my God. This empty-headed muscle-mountain is trying to hit on me, even though his lips are still wet from slobbering over Mimi.
He winks at me, making it very clear that if I try really hard, I may be in with a slim chance. What a time to be alive!
‘That’s quite all right,’ I whisper quickly. ‘You’re really not my type.’
Giovanni seems to take this as an opportunity to prove me wrong. While we are told to take five, so that Destiny can get some powder on her too-glowy face, he turns to me.
‘Seriously,’ he says, leaning in. ‘Look at me, bro.’ He flexes his biceps. ‘I’m every woman’s type. I’m God’s young dream.’
I can’t help laughing.
‘I appreciate that you have an ego the size of Japan, but I hate to break it to you, some of us have deeper core values than shiny biceps. But I’m happy to play along until you are recoupled with the love of your life.’
‘Who?’ he says, looking genuinely baffled.
I can’t decide if he has attachment issues or just a really bad memory.