His warm lips touch mine, tentatively at first, gently caressing, then in the next breath, he surprises me by really going for it. I match his passion and arch into him.
This is everything I imagined and more. It’s like fire surging through me, liquid gold powering through my veins. He breaks off panting to give me a bewildered look.
He can feel it too.
He smiles at me before deftly switching on the microphone and disappearing into the darkness.
My heart is pounding. My lips are tingling. My head is in a complete spin. I lean back against the wall to recover. After a few seconds, I clear my throat and make my way to the terrace all flustered.
I. AM. FALLING. FOR. HIM.
I climb the slippery stairs to the terrace very carefully. I try to clear my mind of what just happened with Cam. For all it was the best kiss of my entire life, maybe I should not have kissed him. I’m a terrible person. He is trying to help me while I am trying to seduce him. He will get sacked if we are discovered. My lust for him is overriding my ability to make sensible decisions. My heart is beginning to rule my head for the first time in my life and it scares me.
I shake the thoughts away. I must concentrate on what evil thing Porscha has in store for me next. I reach the terrace to see Giovanni is waiting with our drinks. He is lounging on a daybed scattered with giant brightly covered cushions. He has arranged himself as though he is posing for a men’s magazine shoot. I look at the two mocktails perched on the coffee table.
In hindsight, I wish we had picked a better code name than pineapple because while the fruit itself is pleasant enough, I’m not a fan of the juice. ‘Thank you,’ I say, sitting down on a cushion beside him. I tuck my legs underneath me and try to get into a position that is vaguely comfortable. Whoever designed this thing has obviously never had to sit on one.
Giovanni stares at me, grinning, while I wait for him to start the conversation. ‘After you,’ I say.
‘After me, what?’ he says as though I’m flirting with him.
‘After you, as in you can go first to talk.’
‘What do you want me to say?’ he asks, still grinning as though there is some hidden meaning.
‘Whatever you want.’
He looks panic-stricken.
It’s as though the man has never before taken part in a conversation.
I roll my eyes. ‘Tell me about this novel you’re writing. Does it have a feisty protagonist with a tragic character arc? How many POVs are you writing in? Are you in first draft or is it polished and ready to go? I’m sure you’ll have no end of publisher offers at the end of this show.’
I sip my drink, urgh, and wait for him to reply. And wait. And wait. He is struggling to think of an answer.
‘Yeah man, like that was pretty dope. Sick, yeah. You get me?’
I’m a little startled, to be honest.
‘Are you… are you answering the question I asked, or is this the answer to another question? One that I haven’t asked?’
He looks uncomfortable.
‘I was asking about your novel. You know, the one you said you’re writing?’
He remains blank.
‘The romantasy? The romantic fantasy?’
Nothing. There’s nothing behind his eyes to suggest any hint of understanding.
It’s no use. I’m going to have to administer some basic nursery-style communication. I point to myself. ‘I like reading books.’ I point to him. ‘You like writing books.’
Giovanni looks grateful. I wonder if he is nervous about all the cameras, and it is making him forget all his basic motor skills. ‘You like books, yeah?’ he manages, clutching for conversation. ‘That’s cool, bro.’
‘Libby. My name’s Libby. And just for the record, we’re not siblings.’
He pauses to stare blankly at me as though I’ve just explained how to do quadratic equations. I will help him. After all, I am a teacher. Like the police, iPhone call centres and other emergency services, we are never off duty.