nods, confidently this time. ‘Yes. I accept your conditions.’ She leaves a small pause before adding, ‘I’ve not had a holiday in ages because I’ve been so focussed on my work—which isn’t particularly healthy, I know—so I suppose it’ll be good for me to take a break away from London.’
‘Great. Then we’ll fly out tomorrow.’
‘Okay. Tomorrow.’
I raise my glass, and when she does too I clink mine against it. ‘A nuove esperienze.’
‘To new experiences,’ she repeats.
‘You speak Italian?’ I ask, impressed.
‘Yes, some. Enough to avoid any embarrassing misunderstandings, I hope,’ she replies, grinning shyly for the first time since she arrived. She has a killer smile and the sight of it warms my chest.
I don’t quite know how it’s happened, but I seem to have landed on my feet here. I now get to spend the next week in bed with this enigmatic woman and all in the name of doing the right thing.
Yeah. This could actually turn out to be a lot of fun.
Juno
WE FLY OUT to Florence in Sandro’s family’s private plane the following afternoon, though we only just make our scheduled take-off slot, because he was half an hour late picking me up from my flat in his low-slung Italian sports car and has to put his foot down to get us to the airport.
He seems totally unconcerned about his tardiness, though, and throws me the merest of apologies when I raise my eyebrows and pointedly look at my watch.
He’s such a cool customer. I wish I could be so nonchalant.
Upon boarding the plane we’re shown to our seats—two large, cream leather armchairs positioned next to each other in a cabin that only holds six more. It’s a small plane but beautifully upholstered with silk wall linings and soft wool carpets. We take off only minutes later and I settle in for the two-hour journey sitting next to Sandro, my pulse on a high tickover as I breathe in his delicious scent and think about how much closer I’m going to have to get to him over the next week—though not, it seems, as close as I’d initially hoped.
At first I’d been a bit miffed that he was still refusing to take my virginity but, the more I thought about it, the more I’d come round to his point of view. He was probably right. It was a hell of a thing to ask of him and I’ll most likely be glad to have more of an emotional connection with the person I finally lose it to. Someone I’ll be in love with, perhaps.
In the meantime, I hope just by hanging out with him some of his charisma will rub off on me. And, if not, I have a week to study the way he acts and interacts with people, which I can then apply to my dealings with Adam when I get back. Perhaps he will hear about my ‘relationship’ with Sandro, realise I’m not the ingénue he thought I was and regret calling a halt to our burgeoning relationship after only a couple of dates.
I can only hope.
Once the plane is on a steady course we’re served drinks by one of the elegantly dressed cabin crew. I watch Sandro out of the corner of my eye while I pretend to read the guidebook to Florence that I’d picked up the day before in the bookshop round the corner from my flat in Notting Hill. He rolls his cut-glass tumbler round and round in his hands. He has a restless sort of energy about him, as if he finds it hard to sit still and is always on the verge of getting up to do something else. He was the same in the bar where we had the drink and I agreed to this proposal. He flipped the drinks menu round and round in his fingers as we talked, as if he needed something to do with them. It made me wonder whether he’d been a smoker and now needed something in his hands with which to distract himself. As he twists the glass I marvel at the perfection of his long fingers with their square, blunt nails and wonder how he’ll touch me with them, how it’ll feel to have his hands on my body. All over my body. I squirm in my seat as a wave of heat rushes through me, pooling at the juncture of my thighs.
Right at this moment I can totally sympathise with his need to move about.
Just sitting still next to him in our plush leather seats, I can feel the attraction pulling taut between us. At least from my side. He’s brought out a plethora of physical reactions in me. My heartbeat is accelerated, my skin hypersensitive and rushing with sensation and there’s an insistent throb between my thighs that’s steadily building the longer I sit here—as if my body craves something with which I’m not providing it.
It’s a hot, heavy want.
‘You know, I’ve never understood why people rave so much about sex. Practically speaking, it seems like it’d be a messy and uncomfortable thing to do,’ I mutter out loud to try and distract myself from these alien feelings.
He turns to look at me with a quizzical expression in those piercing eyes of his.
‘And how can people let it wreck their lives?’ I add nervously, realising I now have his full attention. ‘It’s just a physical act, right? Perfectly natural, and obviously imperative for continuing the human race, but surely it’s not something to destroy a marriage over? What drives people to do that—to cheat on their partners? Just for the thrill of sex with someone else? I don’t understand how it can be so overwhelming an urge that people are willing to do pretty much anything to get it.’
He shrugs. ‘Passion is an irrational thing.’
‘Passion? But that suggests emotions, feelings.’
‘Not necessarily. It can be a basic human urge. That’s a totally different thing.’
‘So you think it’s possible to have sex with someone without having feelings for them?’
He sits round in his chair, his knee brushing mine and sending an electric thrill of sensation through my whole body. ‘I think it’s perfectly possible. Otherwise I wouldn’t have agreed to my part of the bargain. What I think you’re talking about is something different. More than just the physical need for sex. When people cheat there are always other feelings at play. Insecurity about what they have or low self-worth. Or perhaps a fear they’re missing out on something they’ll regret not experiencing in years to come. I think, for others, the rush of sex with someone new after years of fucking their partner the same, predictable way can be like taking an addictive drug. That’s just pure laziness, of course. There’s no reason for sex to get boring. You have to work hard at being creative.’
‘Are you creative?’ I ask, though I think I already know the answer to that.
‘You bet your sweet ass I am,’ he confirms with an underwear-melting smile.
‘I knew you’d say that,’ I mumble, my throat tight with nerves.
‘Are you suggesting I’m predictable?’ he teases.
I can’t help but grin, which breaks the tension.
He grins back and for a moment I’m lost in the dizzying intimacy of the moment.
I clear my throat. ‘Have you ever felt
