‘What do you want to chat about?’ I yawn, looking him over. He’s covered in sweat. It’s dripping down his arms over the copious amounts of oil he has slathered on. He is bare-chested and wearing only tight, lycra shorts that, really, look like girl’s knickers. It’s too much for this early in the morning. ‘Have you been to the gym already?’
‘No. Not yet,’ he says. ‘It’s just so hot out there.’
He looks soaked.
‘Look no sling!’ he says, waving his arm in my face. ‘I’m on my way to the gym. Needed to strengthen my wrist.’ He starts laughing. ‘In case I fail to win you over and I need it later. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.’
I. AM. GOING. TO. VOMIT.
‘Fancy a workout with me?’ he asks.
Anything to get rid of him. I had enough of that last night, dreaming that Porscha was milking Cam like a goat, while they drove back to the village. I’m on the verge of saying I’d rather stick needles in my eyes when I remember everything is being recorded and Porscha will be watching. In a bid to throw her off the scent, I will pretend to take an interest in this oily buffoon.
‘I’ll meet you there,’ I sigh. ‘Give me a second to get changed.’
I make my way round the side of the huge property towards the outside gym, over by the pool area. I turn the corner and gasp, as I take it all in.
Oh, my word. It’s breathtaking. It’s magical. It’s an explosion of colour. It’s like I’m in a dream.
I catch sight of a runner in an apron laying out breakfast in the outdoor kitchen. She looks up startled as though I shouldn’t have caught her in the act.
‘It’s incredible. It’s like some sort of paradise.’ I can barely take it in. I’ve seen the show on TV but in real life, in the bright sunshine, everything is a million times prettier, more colourful, more impressive. ‘Is any of it real?’ I shout over to her, pointing to the gardens bursting with tropical plants, vivid pinks, yellows, greens, blues, every colour imaginable. There are neon archways covered in flowers, palm trees dotted across neat grass lawns, fairy lights built into every surface, climbing around every tree and strung across the whole of the villa, criss-crossing above us. The deep green hedges are dotted with stunning pink flowers and trim every walkway, every wall, every balcony, every terrace.
‘None of it. It’s all fake,’ she says. ‘We have a whole team of expensive designers working round the clock for months to get everything perfect for you. Enjoy!’
I realise again just how bizarre being here is.
The outside gym is very well stocked and looks brand-spanking new. Giovanni wolf whistles as I approach. All I could find to wear was a one-piece Lycra shorts body suit in neon pink.
‘At least I match the garden signs,’ I say, pointing to a huge neon sign above the weights bench that says, ‘Pump it, pump it real good’. I shake my head, who thinks these things up? It’s one innuendo after another.
‘That’s my favourite,’ says Giovanni pointing to a sign by the side of the pool.
It really is a wonderland of fake flowers and twinkling fairy lights.
‘Love is Reel.’ He waggles his eyebrows at me. ‘Geddit? Reel as in social media? But it works on another level too as in real love.’ He shakes his head in disbelief. ‘They’re so clever theseLove on the Islanddudes. They think of everything.’
I smile blankly. His parents must be so proud.
‘So, Libby. I wanted to pull you for a chat.’
I pump my arms, keeping my focus on the weights in my hands.
‘Because I erm, … I have a request to make. It’s er, it’s about the bed situation.’
Why? I’ve not shown him the slightest bit of interest since I got here.
‘Uh-huh?’
‘I’d like you to come back to the main villa and share a bed with me.’
‘Why?’
This has thrown him because he drops the heavy medicine ball he is squatting with and looks at me frowning. His mouth falls open, but words elude him.
I carry on pumping my arms to give him time to think.
He drops down onto the mat, into a perfect press-up position. Finally, after a succession of one-armed press-ups, he hits on something to say. ‘Why don’t we get to know each other a bit?’
