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‘You noticed my body language?’
‘I noticed the way you stormed up to the bar like you wanted to bust balls.’
I laugh at his description. He’s not wrong. ‘I didn’t know I stormed.’
‘It was actually a fucking sexy swagger, if I’m honest, but I could practically see steam coming out of your ears.’
My stomach swoops. I would usually hedge the question, but that’s another ‘why bother’ because I don’t really plan on seeing him again and it’s not like it’s a state secret. I’m not the only person who has issues with their family.
‘Family dinner,’ I say with a grimace, reaching for the champagne and taking a few big sips. There’s only a third of the bottle left, but I don’t feel even a little tipsy. My cheeks warm as I think how much was spilled on my breasts and down my cheeks. I replace the bottle and grab another oyster, thinking about dinner at my parents’.
‘Not your favourite pastime?’
‘Is it anyone’s?’
‘My family’s not big,’ he says, running his fingers through his hair. He’s incredibly handsome. Not just hot, but beautiful in a way that would drive an artist to their canvas. ‘It’s just my brother and me. Mum, our stepmum. We don’t do a lot of get-togethers.’ Then, after a pause, he swears beneath his breath. ‘And my brother’s wife and kid.’ He shakes his head. ‘That’s new. I keep forgetting.’ An uneven laugh.
‘That’s right. A secret child or something?’ News of Dimitrios Papandreo’s sudden family had been in all the papers.
He shakes his head, clearly not keen to talk about it. ‘I’ve kn
own Annie—Dimitrios’s wife—a long time. She’s great.’
Defensive, ready to fight for her. I barely know the guy but I like that. I mean, I really like it—it shows integrity and class that he wouldn’t open up to me about something that’s been in all the papers. And nor should he. Despite our physical intimacy, we’re virtually strangers.
I don’t ask him anything else, respecting the boundary he’s gently drawn. ‘My family’s not big either. It’s my parents and my sister, Jemima. Her husband, Simon.’ I can’t help but add a layer of inflection to his name, a whisper of contempt. I smile in an attempt to cover it but even my smile feels awkward. ‘They just drive me crazy.’
‘In the usual “families can make you batshit crazy” way or for a particular reason?’
‘A bit of both.’
‘Plus it’s Christmas,’ he prompts gently, as though that might be adding to my situation, a type of seasonal malaise.
‘Oh, I love Christmas. Are you kidding me? Give me a glass of eggnog, a blanket, some kind of cheesy holiday-romance movie and I’m the happiest girl in the world.’ I’m pretty sure my expression reflects that. ‘And every year I promise myself I’ll organise to spend Christmas with some friends, get a cottage in some quaint little snowy village somewhere, or go skiing in Aspen, but every year I let my sister and my mum nag me back into coming here.’ I shake my head. ‘I really thought I was going to do it this year. I found the perfect village and everything—Fiamatina, in Italy.’
‘But?’ he prompts.
‘But?’
‘Well, you’re not in Italy turning yourself into a paragon of cheesy Christmas. So?’
‘It’s my dad’s seventieth in a couple of days.’ I pull a face. ‘I contemplated missing it but I’m pretty sure that’s a bridge too far.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘So I came and don’t even get me started on how much I’m regretting that.’
‘But you don’t stay with them when you’re here?’
‘God, no. I know my limits and thankfully they do too. I just go spend some time through the day. Either breakfast or dinner usually.’
He frowns reflexively. ‘You’re not close to your sister?’
That’s a tricky question, with so much behind it. ‘We used to be.’ Used to be, before Simon.
‘Sounds like there’s a story there.’ He winks, leaning forward and grabbing a strawberry. I watch him eat it, surprised by a strong desire to confide in him.
‘What about your parents?’
