He’s already back on his phone when I open my mouth to say don’t worry, it can wait. I swallow it back. I know Lucas is skint, but he’s also very proud.
“Thanks,” I say instead.
A few clicks later, and it’s done. Unbelievably, incomprehensibly, I am about to spend the night in a hotel room with Lucas da Silva.
* * *
? ? ? ? ?
The first thing that strikes me about the room is that nobody will be able to sleep on the floor in here. Every spare inch is taken up with a desk, a chair, side tables for the bed, and a footstool that’s way too big for the space. Plus that ridiculous thing they put out for your luggage, like a small hammock for your suitcase. Who uses those, and why?
We have no suitcases, obviously. I don’t even have a toothbrush. I try to give my teeth a particularly vigorous lick, which achieves nothing other than hurting my tongue, and then I throw myself down on the bed with a long, loud ugh.
At least it’s warm. There’s an air-conditioning unit whirring away over the bathroom door, blasting out hot air. Everything in here is a very washable shade of dark grey. It’s completely impersonal—the opposite of Forest Manor Hotel and Spa. This hotel isn’t a place where people go the extra mile, it’s a place where colleagues go to bed with each other when they shouldn’t.
I lift my head to look at Lucas, who is still examining the room with his arms folded. We’re not doing that, obviously.
Except a few hours ago I really did want to have sex with Lucas, and that thought hasn’t completely gone away.
“You did a good thing today,” he says abruptly.
My thoughts immediately go to the dance floor. The sound of Anitta, the feel of Lucas’s hand pressing the small of my back . . .
“It’s better for both those women to know the truth.”
Oh. Graham. Yes. Graham the bigamist. The other major event of the day.
“That wasn’t a good thing for the hotel, though,” I say. “I’ve made Mrs. SB and Barty’s life even more stressful.”
Lucas shrugs. “Some things are important enough to cause a little drama.”
I raise my eyebrows. It’s not like Lucas to be in favour of drama.
“It’s early for bed,” Lucas says, checking his watch. “I think I’ll go for a walk.”
“A walk? In central Woking? In a snowstorm?”
Lucas turns his attention to the window, as if remembering the problem.
“We could go to the bar?” I suggest, sitting up on my elbows.
Lucas grimaces. Ah, right—no spending unnecessary money. I reach for the remote control and turn on the telly. It lands on Love Actually. I let out a delighted yip and shimmy up the bed so I’m propped up on the pillows.
“You’ve seen this, right?” I say to him.
He watches for a few moments. “No.”
“Oh my God. Sit down. That’s a crime against Christmas right there. Is this not a thing in Brazil? There’s even a super-hot muscly Brazilian guy in it and everything.”
His lip quirks. “Do you think us super-hot muscly Brazilian guys seek each other out?”
I flush. “No, that’s not—whatever. You have to see it.”
He looks slightly fatigued by this but perches on the bed beside me, and then, after a moment, swings his legs around.
“It’s Love Actually? My sister does tell me I must watch this all the time,” he says. “What have I missed? Who is that man?”
“Just watch,” I say. Because of course Lucas is one of those assertive males who talks over crucial dialogue.
On-screen, David meets Natalie for the first time. Lucas settles in beside me, fingers linked on his chest.
“So he is going to fall in love with that woman?” he asks as Annie appears on-screen.
“No, that’s his chief of staff,” I say, laughing. “It’s Natalie he falls in love with. Your romance radar is terrible.” Then I pause. Is that unkind? “Sorry,” I say just as Lucas says, “So they’re colleagues—that means they can’t be anything more?”
I keep my eyes on the scene playing out on-screen and give up on actually hearing anything.
“Well, I guess . . . the Prime Minister sleeping with his chief of staff would maybe be a no-no?”
“Hmm,” Lucas says, taking this in.
“What’s the deal with office romances in Brazil? Is everyone cool with it?”
“It depends,” Lucas says, “on how you conduct yourself at work. You have to be appropriate.”