‘Are you fucking serious!’ I shout to the ceiling, enjoying how it carries along the ornate woodwork and down the stairs, hopefully to the ears of The American who will know that I have indeed discovered her attempts at organising a meet-cute.
I also take a lot of pride in the fact that my exclamation causes a slightly hungover Florian to squirm from the noise.
I let myself into my room before I can say anything else. I need to rehearse it anyway.
I think of all the things I can do with my morning and decide to rescue my swimsuit from the wardrobe and wrestle it on. I take my book for good measure, hoping that it might serve to quieten the thrumming internal monologue that is proving to be a rather exhausting companion.
In the daylight, the pool with its sheltered little courtyard feels much less dramatic. The deckchairs that Crispy and I had lay on before his betrayal had been pushed back together, fresh towels at their feet. The only sign from last night are my shoes, which have been neatly placed on a small side table.
However, in comparison to the rest of this place it is empty, and unlike my bedroom, there is air and a breeze and something to do.
I dip my toes in first; there is the faint promise of heat but as I let the water wash over me it still takes my breath away. I swim a few laps, at first trying to keep my head above the water until I can feel the wetness tracing its way up the back of my neck and decide to dunk my head under the water. I stay under for a few moments, let the cold drown out the voice in my head, the constant hum of emotions that I hadn’t realised I had been carrying. I stay there until my lungs start to feel as if they might burst open and when I emerge, gasping, Florian is sitting on the edge in a pair of salmon-pink swimming trunks, dipping his calves into the water.
‘Thought you might not be coming back up for a moment there,’ he coughs.
‘Considered it.’ I take a few deep breaths until the world around me begins to turn crisp and cold again. ‘I assumed you were going to breakfast.’
‘Couldn’t face it,’ he shrugs. ‘I thought this might clear my head; didn’t anticipate you’d be doing the same thing.’
‘Well, my foggy head was caused by my neighbour waking me up at three o’clock with some drunken crashing about.’
Florian manages a dry chuckle, a warmth returning to him. He looks up to the house, to our shared little terrace. ‘You have to congratulate them on their ingenuity.’
‘Do we?’ I scoff.
‘If it wasn’t so misjudged.’
‘I suppose.’
He bites the bullet and lowers himself into the water, his whole torso tensing, and I can make out the faint line of an ab. ‘Your flight was today.’ He shivers, bringing his shoulders under the water line and then bobbing around a few metres from me.
‘I changed it.’
‘So that’s what it took to keep you here – a party.’ He says the last bit with a flourish, his hands splashing around manically.
‘Don’t say it like that. I didn’t exactly have anything to go back for after all that.’
His head snaps up to me, a clarity descending. ‘What?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ I shake my head.
He looks unconvinced but also still bruised enough that he doesn’t want to give me the pleasure of knowing I have spiked his concern. ‘Okay.’
‘Am I allowed to ask why she wanted you to meet Rupert?’ I counter, feeling like I have earned at least one question this morning.
‘He’s an art collector, has connections in various galleries. He likes my work, wants to work with me.’
‘Great.’ I try a supportive little smile.
‘And I’ve apologised for causing a scene last night. I was just caught off guard. I said we would be civil.’
I nod and start to propel myself to the steps. ‘I can do civil.’
‘Don’t go on my account.’ Florian looks slightly apologetically at me. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt your alone time.’
‘It’s fine. I’m done anyway,’ I shrug and launch myself out of the water, reaching immediately for a towel. Yes, he may have seen half of my naked body in the café but that feels like a million years ago now.
I settle my damp body on a lounger on the lawn that overlooks a handful of guests playing a lazy game of Pétanque. I take the book out of my little bag and try to find the specific dog-eared page but after reading the first few lines, I have no idea what’s happening and instead start from the beginning, hoping that at least then I have something longer to distract me.
