by Zoe May
‘Not exactly my taste.’
‘No, your taste is totally alpha male. Totally butch.’
‘Exactly,’ Daniel laughs, grabbing me and pulling me into bed with him.
Two seconds later, the dressing gown falls among the cushions onto the floor.
Chapter Fourteen
I open my eyes and see St Paul’s Cathedral. For a second, I think I’m still dreaming, until I take in other details – the twelve feet tall windows, the floral scent of the silk sheets, Daniel’s book on the bedside table. It all comes flooding back to me – having dinner at the banquet table, making love at the top of the Shard. I can’t help laughing to myself at the absurdity of it all. I glance round, but Daniel must have already got up. I grab the dressing gown from the floor and go to find him.
‘Daniel?’ I call down the corridor.
‘Making coffee. Do you want some? Milk? Sugar?’ he asks.
‘Just milk please!’ I nip into the bathroom to make sure I look presentable.
My eyeliner has smudged during the night. I dab some wet tissue on it but it doesn’t really help. I don’t look great but then what can Daniel expect? And anyway, he said he wanted a real woman. I squeeze some toothpaste onto my finger and rub it over my teeth, before running Daniel’s comb through my hair.
‘Coffee’s ready,’ he says from outside the bathroom. I open the door to find him sitting on the bed, wearing nothing but a pair of white Calvin Klein boxers. His hair is damp, combed back from his face.
‘Morning.’ He hands me a steaming mug.
‘Thanks.’ I take a few sips, looking out over the boats chugging along the Thames, the London Eye revolving slowly round, the sunlight glinting off the windows of the Gherkin.
‘Who needs wallpaper?’ I comment.
Daniel laughs. ‘Did you sleep well?’ he asks.
‘Yeah, amazingly well actually.’
‘Hmmm… I must have tired you out,’ he says, as we both slip back into bed.
I snuggle up next to him and rest my head against his shoulder, breathing in his woody scent.
‘Why do you always smell so good?’ I ask.
‘I wash,’ Daniel quips.
‘Ha! Good idea. Can I have a shower?’
Esther jumps up onto the bed and crawls onto Daniel’s chest.
‘Hello Esther baby,’ he coos, tickling her neck. ‘Of course, you can have a shower. You don’t need to ask.’
‘Okay,’ I reply. ‘Hello Esther baby.’
I give Esther a tickle and smirk at Daniel before slipping into the bathroom and locking the door behind me. I turn on the gigantic power shower. A warm stream of water drenches me in a second. There are dozens of bottles of shower gel, exfoliator, shampoo and conditioner, all by brands I’m pretty sure aren’t stocked in Superdrug – Acqua di Parma, La Prairie, Sensai, Valentino. I pick up a bottle of shower gel, The One, by Dolce & Gabbana and squeeze out a pea-sized amount. It smells so rich and delicious, like oranges and lychees; it’s no wonder Daniel always smells so nice. I squeeze some more onto my palm. After all, I’m not at home anymore where shower gel is rationed. I’m at the top of the Shard for crying out loud! Daniel won’t care; I can use as much shower gel as I like!
As I lather the delicious smelling gel over my skin, I replay last night in my mind. Sushi overlooking the city, the amazing sex, and then falling asleep in Daniel’s arms. It was all so perfect and I can’t help but feel revived after my dry spell.
After a long, fragrant shower, I emerge feeling fresh and invigorated to find Daniel is sitting on the bed fully dressed, looking incredible in a pair of tight black jeans and a black t-shirt. He glances over and smiles.
‘Nice shower?’
‘Amazing.’ I’m about to add something about his incredible selection of bath products but manage to stop myself.
‘Want to head out for lunch? I don’t have a lot in the flat. Food isn’t really my forte.’
‘And there’s me thinking you were the perfect man,’ I comment without thinking.
‘The perfect man?’ Daniel echoes, smiling wryly.
I feel my cheeks flush red. So much for playing it cool. I laugh nervously.
‘Well, you’re alright.’ I’m desperate to back pedal. ‘I’m just trying to make you feel good about yourself. Boost your self-esteem.’
‘Thanks. I was feeling a bit insecure.’ Daniel pulls a glum face.
‘I know, I could tell. Just trying to help.’
‘You’re too kind,’ Daniel adds and we both laugh before my stomach rumbles.
‘Come on, let’s head out,’ he says.
I glance across the bedroom floor before remembering that my clothes are by the dining room table.
‘I’ve only got my work clothes. Bit of a walk of shame.’
‘Borrow some of mine,’ Daniel offers.
‘Yours?’
‘Yeah.’ He shrugs. ‘Just wear one of my jumpers over your dress or something. It’ll look fine.’
I’m not so sure but Daniel’s wide-eyed optimism is so endearing that I can’t help but nod enthusiastically.
‘Okay’ I give in. ‘I’ll go and get my dress.’
‘Cool.’ Daniel returns his attention to his phone.
I head down the corridor towards the dining room where I find my dress crumpled in a pile by the chairs. A hot air balloon rises over the horizon and two planes glide across the sky. I look down at the pin-sized people coming and going on the street below. Life is crazy. One minute I’m gorging on nachos in a depressing flat in Lewisham and now I’m here, at the top of the Shard, wearing a Dior dressing gown. I look out over the city: London, it never ceases to surprise me. I watch the hot air balloon disappear behind a cloud before heading back to Daniel’s bedroom.
‘I found a jumper for you,’ he says, gesturing towards a bluish green V-neck draped on the bed. ‘Thought it would match your eyes.’
I can’t help smiling. ‘You’re so cute.’ I pick it up. It’s soft. Probably cashmere.
‘I aim to please.’
‘Thanks.’ I take the jumper, grab my handbag and head to the bathroom.
‘You’re getting changed in there?’
I shrug. ‘What can I say? I’m a prude.’
Daniel scoffs. ‘You’re no prude.’
I roll my eyes indulgently as I close the bathroom door. I put my knickers and dress on. I wish I had some clean underwear but I can hardly borrow a pair of Daniel’s boxers, that might be taking it a bit too far. I pull on the jumper, glancing at the label. Another Dior purchase. It looks like it’s never been worn. I look in the mirror. Daniel’s right, the jumper does bring out my eyes. The shade is a perfect match. Still, an oversized jumper over a boring work dress; it’s hardly the cutting edge of fashion but I suppose it’ll do for lunch. He’s hardly going to take me to The Cavendish Club. Or is he? Shit! I grab a comb and run it through my hair, trying my best to make myself look presentable. Thankfully, I have my makeup in my handbag. After ten minutes of grooming I look reasonably nice, but still not private members’ club-ready. Not that I’ve ever truly felt private members’ club-ready. Daniel smiles as I come out.
‘I was right. That does look nice on you.’
‘Where are we going?’ I ask.
‘I thought we could have a wander round Borough Market,’ he suggests.
I feel a palpable sense of relief. Thank God, we’re just going somewhere normal. Daniel shrugs on a distressed leather jacket that makes him look like the singer in a band with his black skinny jeans. He looks gorgeous. So completely gorgeous. I tear my eyes away and try to act nonchalant as I put on my shoes and coat. I have to stop drooling at Daniel all the time.
‘Come on my little prude, let’s go,’ he says.
We leave the flat and get into the lift. Daniel presses the button for the ground floor.
‘What are your neighbours like?’ I ask as the lift moves down the shaft.
‘Neighbours? Hardly anyone actually lives here. Most of the f
lats are just investment properties owned by wealthy Russians. That couple last night were the first neighbours I’ve seen in months.’
‘Really?!’
Daniel nods.
‘Doesn’t it get lonely?’
Daniel’s eyes cloud over momentarily. He presses a button on the lift that he’s already pressed.
‘A bit but probably no lonelier than anyone else in London,’ he says.
‘But do your parents visit much?’ I ask, thinking about the photo I saw last night.
‘No, not really,’ Daniel admits, forcing a tight smile.
‘What do you mean?’
‘They’re busy, Sophia. My dad’s has a really demanding job and my mum stays at home,’ he explains, a little irritably.
‘Oh. When was the last time they visited?
‘When they bought this place.’
‘What? You’re seriously telling me that the only time they ever visited your flat when they bought it?’ I repeat, stunned.
‘Yup. That’s my family for you! That’s just how we are.’
The lift doors ping as we reach the ground floor.
A pair of doormen greet us in the hallway.
‘Morning, Daniel,’ one of them says, with a playful twinkle in his eye as he holds the door open for us. I must look like such a booty call.
‘Good morning,’ Daniel replies, his face impassive as he takes my hand.
The conversation Daniel and I had in the lift is bothering me a little bit, but I can tell he doesn’t want to say anything more and it’s a bright beautiful day, so I put it out of my mind. We head towards the market. The street is bathed in crisp autumn light and the air is cool. The smell of sizzling pork from an outdoor spit roast fills the air as we approach. We walk past bakers selling fresh loaves of bread, a chocolatier and a juice stall with a rainbow display of cups. We pass a vegan stall, a Turkish one selling falafel wraps, a coffee stand, a sushi stall.
‘What do you fancy?’ Daniel asks, looking around the market.
‘You,’ I reply. Daniel laughs.
‘You’ve already had me,’ he teases, hooking his arm around my neck.
The market is full of people. Crowds filter through the narrow pathways between stalls. Eyes flick towards Daniel, and not just women’s eyes, men’s eyes too. Faint whispers follow him and the words ‘Robert’ and ‘Pattinson’ are just about audible amid the hum of conversation. A Chinese girl walks past and says to her friend, ‘I think it’s that guy from Twilight.’ They both stare brazenly. Daniel fishes around in his jacket pocket and pulls out a pair of Ray-Bans.
‘Robert Pattinson, Twilight!’ I echo in a sing-song voice, teasing him as he puts his sunglasses on.
‘Soundtrack of my life,’ he groans.
‘Let’s get something to eat and get out of here,’ he says, drawing to a halt at the falafel stand. ‘Falafel?’
‘Sure.’
We queue up and buy falafel wraps, before heading out of the busy market towards Southwark Cathedral next door, where we find a bench in the sunny, dappled graveyard. Smells of food from the market drift across the graveyard as we eat our lunch. The Shard pierces the sky overhead.
‘I can’t believe that’s home for you,’ I remark. ‘At least you’ll never get lost. You can always find your way back after a drunken night out.’
Daniel smiles, before eating the last mouthful of his sandwich.
‘What do you want to do now?’ he asks, scrunching up the paper his wrap was in.
‘I don’t know. Wander around.’
‘Cool,’ he replies.
We stroll hand-in-hand along the riverbank until we reach Southbank. Skaters glide across the skate park, dipping over a half pipe, and scooting along the ledges. We stroll past and browse the tables of second-hand books and records on sale under Waterloo Bridge. Daniel picks up a battered old copy of Madame Bovary and nudges me.
‘Your favourite,’ he says, handing me the book.
The market seller, a middle-aged woman with glasses dangling on a chain around her neck, smiles at us and then it occurs to me, like an out of body experience – we’re like those couples I used to see, the trendy cool couples I used to wander past and envy. But now I’m one of those people! The woman’s eyes linger on Daniel as he flicks through the pages of an ancient copy of Bleak House. Is there anyone who isn’t attracted to him? He seems to have cross-culture and cross-generational appeal. Standing there, in his leather jacket and Ray-Bans, reading an old book, I can barely believe this is the guy I’m dating. I wonder when the dissociation will end and this will actually start feeling real? I put Madame Bovary down and amble over to the next table, where I pluck a book from a self-help display. Daniel approaches me from behind, slipping his hands around my waist.
‘How to Stop Worrying and Start Living?’ he reads the title out over my shoulder.
‘I’ve just got… umm… eclectic tastes,’ I insist, reluctantly putting the book back.
It looked quite good actually. I make a mental note to buy it later on my Kindle. We walk further along the riverbank until we reach a street performer blowing gigantic soapy bubbles. They rise into the air, jiggling like jelly, shades of neon pink, orange and green glinting off their soapy films. A huge one drifts over our heads. I jump up and try and pop it but it’s too high. Daniel reaches up and pierces it instead. We lean against the railing and watch the bubbles rise over the river, Daniel’s arm wrapped around my shoulders as the sun shimmers in the sky. Eventually Daniel drops a fiver into the man’s hat and we wander on towards the London Eye and beyond, pausing to watch buskers along the river bank, stopping for ice cream, and lounging for a while, people-watching on a grassy bank, relishing the lovely weather and cuddling, until the sunlight begins to fade and we head home.
The softening light makes the river glint like a ribbon of gold. The gentle glow catches on the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben, and reflects off the river onto the underside of Westminster Bridge. It looks magical. I pause to take a photo.
‘Get in!’ I shove Daniel into the frame.
He groans but breaks into a smile as I take the picture. It’s perfect. The whole day has been like a dream. We walk back in a dreamy daze, passing the buskers, who are now packing up their instruments and counting their takings for the day, as the sun sets in the distance.
Chapter Fifteen
The rest of the weekend passes in a blur of cuddling (okay, maybe a bit more than just cuddling), takeaways, gazing at the incredible views of London and beyond, and watching films on Daniel’s enormous TV. By Sunday evening, I’m lying on the sofa wearing one of Daniel’s t-shirts, with my head resting on his lap. He strokes my hair as we watch the news.
My phone buzzes. It’s Kate. One text and one missed call.
Wtf!!?!? Daniel lives at The Shard?! Are you serious???? If that’s true, then I get that it’s amazing, but are you coming home?! Just got back from Max’s and no signs of life here! Tried calling earlier but no answer. Text me! x
I sit up, unsettled. I feel like I’ve been in a bubble this whole weekend. I sent a quick text to Kate yesterday rambling about how Daniel lives at the Shard, but she didn’t get back to me. Then I guess when she called earlier, Daniel and I must have been, umm, busy.
‘Daniel, I’d better go,’ I tell him.
‘Huh?’ He turns his attention away from the TV.
‘Kate’s wondering where I am and anyway, I’ve got work tomorrow. I need to get home.’
‘But why?’ Daniel asks.
‘Because all my stuff is at home.’
‘What stuff?’ Daniel asks.
‘My clothes,’ I add, a little exasperatedly. I move to get up off the sofa but Daniel grabs my hand and pulls me back down, smiling playfully.
‘Daniel, I can’t go to work in Friday’s crumpled old outfit, come on.’
‘You don’t have to go like that,’ he says.
I look at him, confused.
‘If you need clothes, we’ll get you some. Don�
��t go,’ he implores.
‘But the shops are shut, it’s too late.’
Daniel shrugs. ‘Order online. Next day delivery,’ he suggests.
I laugh. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Yeah,’ he replies casually.
‘But they won’t arrive before work.’
‘They will,’ Daniel insists. ‘You’d be amazed the lengths people will go to please you when they realise that you live at the Shard. I do it all the time, especially if I’m travelling and I need something last minute. I order loads of stuff online,’ he says.
‘But I can’t afford it, Daniel. I can’t go splashing out on clothes when I’ve got loads at home anyway,’ I say, although we both know he doesn’t expect me to pay.
He hasn’t let me pay for a single thing since we met. I really wanted to pay for the pizzas we ordered last night but Daniel wasn’t having any of it. He said he’d tell the chef to put anchovies on mine if I mentioned paying one more time.
‘Just use my card.’ He grabs his wallet and iPad from the coffee table and hands them to me.
‘Shop!’ he says before turning his attention back to the TV.
‘Are you actually serious?’
He shrugs. ‘Well, you’re not exactly buying haute couture are you? Just some work clothes. Go for it,’ he says, tuning out of the conversation as his focus fixes back on the TV.
I laugh, shaking my head as I swipe my finger across the iPad. I go onto a department store site and start browsing through work clothes. I find a regular black shift dress and choose size 12. I add it to the basket and select a cute pink cardigan, £40 down to £25. The news ends and Daniel starts channel hopping.
‘Really?’ He looks over my shoulder and appraising the contents of my basket.
‘What?’
‘It’s just a bit…dull.’
‘Well, I hardly work at Vogue, it doesn’t really matter what I wear. It just has to look vaguely professional.’
Daniel takes the iPad from me. ‘Let me have a look,’ he says.
He scrolls through the clothes and selects a red silk mini skirt with a scalloped hem and matching cropped jacket. The ensemble costs £299.