I went into the meeting with the recruiter and I was sat down in front of this hipster-looking guy. He was skinny, with blown-back hair and a long shaggy beard. He was dressed in a suit that made him look fresh out of Peaky Blinders, as if perhaps he should be working in an overpriced barbers’ shop and not a recruitment firm. Coupled with his South Yorkshire accent, that seemed so out of place amongst all the southerners, which only made him stand out and seem like someone from a bygone era even more. It was Daniel.
At first, he asked me questions about my work experience and my career goals, but then his questions got a little more personal. He started asking me what I did for fun and what my favourites foods were. I thought it was a little unorthodox, but I just went with it – after all, I really wanted to change my job, and Daniel was easy on the eye.
I didn’t get the job, but I did get a date with Daniel. The good book news arrived a few days after our first date, and as things went from strength to strength with my work and my feelings for Daniel growing, I was on top of the world.
Daniel wasn’t like the other boys, which I liked and found a little frustrating in equal measure.
I liked that he wasn’t a ‘lad lad lad’ type. He’d never dream of going on a messy boys’ holiday to Magaluf, coming back with a fiery red sunburn and a really bad case of chlamydia. Even though he enjoyed watching football, he was the furthest thing from a hooligan you could imagine, and the word ‘banter’ just isn’t in his vocabulary. I never worried about him playing the field, juggling birds on Match, Tinder, Plenty of Fish and Bumble, serial dating a bunch of girls while he was dating me. I think that’s why his affair has jarred me so severely, because you kind of expect the people you’re dating to be dating other people in the early days, but Daniel just wasn’t interested in anyone else and it wasn’t long before we made things exclusive and official.
On the other hand, the thing that I wasn’t so sure about with Daniel was his lack of explicit emotion. It took me a little while to realise we were actually dating. At first things seemed way more casual, with Daniel not exactly showing his affectionate side. I had to make the first move when it came to our first kiss – and when it came to the first time we had sex, weeks later, which was slower than you’d expect from your average male. Eventually, he did say his feelings out loud for me, but that touchy-feely, tactile side of things I usually love in a relationship never came. But that was Daniel. I figured he was just the silent type – your stereotypical northerner, not really wearing his heart on his sleeve.
So, I suppose, with Daniel never really being a fan of the mushy stuff, I knew that coming here was only going to be so romantic. I think I hoped that being on Valentine Island would bring out a bit more of his mushy side, but I knew at the back of my mind that I wouldn’t get him to do anything like this.
I suppose, with that in mind, even if the wedding had gone ahead, I wouldn’t actually have had anyone to do this stuff with and I’d be in the same position as I am now. And with a hubby in tow, there would have been no way I could’ve struck a deal with Freddie to coast through the holiday as a friendship couple.
Suddenly, I feel a little less stressed. Just as the massage ends.
The masseur and masseuse excuse themselves, so that Freddie and I can put our clothes back on.
‘Well, that was weird, wasn’t it?’ he jokes, still lying face down on the table.
I make no attempt to move either.
‘Just a bit,’ I say. ‘I didn’t realise just how couply a couple’s massage would be.’
‘Well, now we know.’
‘Now we know,’ I reply, returning his smile.
‘Would you like to get up first or second?’ he asks.
‘Hmm, first,’ I say, unable to see a reason for either, other than getting my clothes back on as soon as possible.
Freddie buries his face deep in the cushion, so that I have as much privacy as possible. I hurry on my bikini, my jean shorts and my white Hollister crop top.
‘Done,’ I say as I let my bun down, allowing my long hair to fall around my face.
‘That was fast,’ he replies.
‘Yeah, I learnt my lesson from earlier, when they walked in on us trying to hide behind towels.’
‘I’ll be quick, then,’ he replies.
I dutifully turn around while Freddie gets dressed.
Facing the sideboard, where all the lotions are kept, I admire the candles sitting on top. In addition to the relaxing flicker of light coming from them, there’s an absolutely delicious smell; I can’t quite put my finger on what it is. As I lean close to take a big whiff, I find myself at eye-level with the mirror, and in the mirror I see Freddie, butt naked, from behind. He looks so fit and muscular, like a regular superhero…
I freak out at my accidental perving and jolt upright. As I do, my hair whips one of the candles over, which quickly causes a towel on the table to catch fire.
‘Oh, fuck,’ I blurt.
Freddie, who has hurried into his shorts, quickly soaks another towel in the sink and places it on top of the burning one to put the flames out. He is successful, but not before the smoke alarm on the ceiling starts going off.
‘What happened?’ he asks me, just as panicked staff members start flooding into the room.
‘I, erm… I don’t know,’ I lie.
Well, I’m not about to tell him how hot under the collar he made me, am I?
16
Tonight, Freddie and I are going for dinner together… and I’m weirdly terrified.
With my break-up being so fresh, and so out of the blue, I haven’t had much time to think about what happens next, but I suppose I'm going to have to go on a date with another man at some point, unless I want to die alone, which no one wants, do they?
In a way, going on a date with Freddie is a lot less pressure, because there is nothing romantic between us, so it’s not as if I need it to go especially well. On the other hand, just because I don’t need it to go well, doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t aim for that.
Take earlier, for example. If that had been my and Freddie’s first-day date, it would have been an absolute disaster (or, if by some miracle we’d stayed together, one hell of a story to tell our grandkids). First of all, it was awkward. So awkward. From the getting naked in front of each other, to the forced hand-holding – and then there’s the icing on the cake, you know, when I set the room on fire. I don’t think I’d ever go on a second date with someone who caused a fire, just by being their awkward self, even if they were a movie star. Which brings me on to my next point…
Freddie is one of the hottest men in the world right now, in terms of both how famous he is, and how incredibly sexy he is. On the one hand, in the outside world, Freddie would never look twice at a girl like me – he wouldn’t even end up in a room with a girl like me – so it’s amazing that I’ve ended up at a candlelit dinner table with him. If you’re going to have a trial-run first date with anyone, why not practise on the sexiest man alive, right? Not my words (although I am tempted to say it), the words of People magazine, in their annual Sexiest Man Alive feature.
While I was in the bath, getting ready for this evening, I did what any self-respecting girl would do. I did my due diligence on my date – even if it’s not a real date. Normally I’d just type my date’s name (or, in more recent years, Ali’s date’s name – because she isn’t as security conscious as I am) into social media and troll through pictures of his ex-girlfriends and holidays. With Freddie, finding out what I want to know about him is the easiest thing in the world, because the Internet is full of everything you could possibly want to know about Freddie Bianchi, and the more I read, the more I want to know.
If there’s one thing I know about the Edge of Eden books, it is that they have been responsible for the sexual awakening of many a woman. I low-key knew this when the first book blew up, and everyone and their aunt (literally, their aunt, which isn’t a pleasant thought for anyone) couldn’t stop talking about it, and what
an incredible read it was, and how it has spiced up their sex lives. I’ve never really been into erotic fiction, so I’ve always given the series a wide berth, and then when the movie came out at the end of last year, I gave that a miss too.
I can forgive myself for not recognising Freddie. In real life, he doesn’t bear too much of a resemblance to the character he plays – Edward Eden, a big-shot attorney with a penchant for justice and BDSM. Freddie looks like a cross between an LA surfer dude and a Muscle Beach colossus. He has longish, messy brown hair, a bit like Kit Harington from Game of Thrones, and a very laid-back dress sense. Edward Eden, on the other hand, wears a suit throughout the entire movie – in fact, the only times when he isn’t wearing a suit, he’s completely naked (at least that’s what I read – I’m considering verifying this for myself). His hair is much darker – practically black – and always slicked back. He has this sort of moody, brooding look about him, whereas Freddie almost always has a loveable smile on his face.
I love that I’m talking about them as if they are two different people, when it’s actually just one person acting. He must be a good actor, because when he walked into my suite yesterday and kissed me on the cheek in front of Daniel, I genuinely thought he’d hit his head in the pool or something.
‘Well, it might suck that your ex turned up, but at least it scored us this dinner tonight,’ Freddie says, across our candlelit table.
Oh, I’d kind of forgotten about this. Of course, this is our free dinner, and not just something Freddie has organised because – all together now – this is not a real date.
‘Yeah,’ I reply. ‘The silver lining.’
‘You look absolutely stunning, by the way,’ he says.
I look down at my black Bardot cocktail dress, with the lace-up front. Another dress I bought just for my honeymoon, which I purchased with a particular fantasy in mind. One might argue that wearing it to dinner with a super-buff American movie star is way more of a fantasy than wearing it with your skinny northern husband, but it just reminds me of everything I’ve lost.
‘You don’t have to compliment me, no one is around,’ I remind him, although I suppose it is a good habit to get into, for when we do have an audience.
‘Maybe I meant it,’ he says.
Maybe he did, but it’s more likely he didn’t.
At night, the vibe in Sabatini is completely different. The mood shifts, from cool and casual Italian coffee bar to a romantic Italian restaurant. Everything is the same, from the white marble tables to the leafy green plants all around the room. The only things that are different are the music and the lights. Impossibly romantic-sounding Italian music is playing, loud enough for you to hear, but quiet enough to allow for a decent conversation, and the lights are low – most of the light is coming from the candles on the table and the little fairy lights that hide in the leaves of the plants. With the way the tables are spaced out, with more distance than usual between them, and the lighting positioned just right, to make each table exist in its own little spotlight, it is easy to forget that anyone else is here. Until the waiter drops by, of course.
Speaking of the waiter, he places our starters down in front of us. Freddie is having Milanese meatballs, served in a tomato sauce with Gran Moravia cheese. As the waiter places it down in front of him, his eyes light up.
‘This is actually the fourth time I’ve had these since I arrived,’ he tells me. ‘They’re just so good.’
They must be, if he’s so set in his ways with them. I wonder how long he’s been here, and why he decided to come to Valentine Island, of all places, all alone.
I’m just a little jealous of Freddie’s meatballs, until my Sicilian arancini are placed down in front of me. Hand-rolled risotto balls, made with mozzarella cheese and peas, coated in breadcrumbs, and served with a red pepper tapenade – they smell absolutely incredible. I can hardly wait for the waiter to leave before I am reaching for my fork.
‘At least we can talk while we do this,’ Freddie says.
‘That’s true,’ I agree, although I'm a lot more enthusiastic about the eating than I am the talking.
As Freddie tucks into his meatballs something occurs to me.
‘Are you Italian?’ I ask him.
‘Me?’ he replies. He seems a little confused by me asking. ‘Oh, no, you mean because of my surname? No, I’m not Italian. My real name is Freddie Wells.’
‘Freddie Wells sounds like an actor’s name,’ I say between eager mouthfuls.
‘It does,’ he replies. ‘Because it is – there is already a famous Freddie Wells. So, when it came to picking a new name, I decide to honour someone who had always believed in me, Miss Bianchi, my drama teacher.’
‘Wow, that’s really nice,’ I say.
‘Yeah, she was stoked when I told her. She’s always been really proud of me. She says I’m her finest work.’
‘Well, there’s no one bigger than you right now,’ I reply.
‘You didn’t even know who I was,’ he says with a wild laugh, one that shows off his perfect white teeth, his cute dimples, and the twinkle in his eyes.
‘I know… I’m so embarrassed.’
‘Don’t be,’ he insists. ‘I like it. Things have been so crazy… too crazy. No one knew who I was before the Eden movie and I knew that things would change, I just didn’t know how much. I can’t go anywhere. I can’t do anything. Things like going for coffee or to the store for toilet paper – I can’t do them, not without it making TMZ. Everyone wants to know what I’m wearing and who I’m dating, and I just couldn’t take it any more.’
‘See, being famous seems so attractive to plebs like me. But you make it sound awful…’
‘It isn’t awful,’ he says. ‘Or, at least, it isn’t always awful. It’s amazing, to finally have an acting role in a picture that people want to see. The money is great, and the special treatment isn’t unwelcome… but I just needed a break. The press constantly trying to find out who you are dating – when you aren’t dating anyone – gets pretty tiresome. They don’t think you’re single, they think you’re hiding something. It’s just too much sometimes, which is how I ended up here.’
I savour my last mouthful of arancini, devastated to be nearing the end of my starter, but excited for my main course. I feel as if I’m eating for fun now, and for the flavours, rather than because I want to get fat out of spite – because that would teach Daniel a lesson, right? (Wrong, it absolutely wouldn’t.)
‘So, why did you decide to come here?’ I ask. ‘To Valentine Island…’
‘Why did you?’ he replies, putting my question back to me.
‘Erm, because I’d already paid for it,’ I tell him. ‘And because I wanted to get away, fast, and this was already booked for the day I just so happened to be wanting somewhere to escape to.’
‘That checks out,’ he replies. ‘For me… I guess, I wanted to escape too, but I didn’t really know where to go. I thought about trying to find a private island, but I just wanted peace. I didn’t want to be all by myself.’
‘I can just imagine you going full Tom Hanks in Cast Away,’ I joke.
‘Well, thankfully I wound up here, with you as my Wilson, rather than being stranded by myself, trying to crack open coconuts.’
I laugh.
‘Why did you choose here specifically though? Didn’t you know it was for couples?’
‘I did, actually,’ he replies. ‘It’s sort of like hiding in plain sight. I figured, everyone here is going to be too loved-up to even notice me.’
‘How’s that working out?’ I ask.
‘If I wear my sunglasses and keep my hair messy, I don’t know, it’s like most people can’t quite place me, because they only know me from the movie. But then there are people like your, er, ex-friend, who can recognise me instantly.’
‘Can I get you more drinks?’ the waiter asks.
‘Yes, can I have a porn star martini, please?’ I reply.
Freddie orders a Peroni.
�
��I can’t drink too many cocktails,’ he tells me. ‘They’re too sweet.’
‘If you’re not actually a barman, how did you get so good at making them?’
‘I used to be a barman,’ he tells me. ‘Right up until I landed the Eden role, I was still working bar jobs around my small roles. The small roles don’t really pay.’
‘And the big roles?’ I ask casually, jokily playing it down.
‘Yeah, they pay better.’ He laughs.
‘What’s the first thing you bought?’ I ask curiously. ‘I’ve always wondered what the first big thing I spent money on would be, if I came into real money.’
‘Ah, it’s nothing cool,’ he says, fidgeting with his cutlery as his cheeks flush.
‘Oh, now I really want to know what it was,’ I say excitedly.
My mind races, wondering what uncool thing he could’ve bought with his first big pay cheque. Perhaps he’s a model-train enthusiast, or maybe he collects something not all that exciting, like stamps or coins.
‘You sure you want to know?’
‘Oh, I’m so sure,’ I reply.
‘I paid my parents' mortgage,’ he confesses. ‘Not exactly rock ʼn’ roll, hmm?’
I feel my jaw drop.
‘I was expecting something lame,’ I tell him. ‘That’s amazing. I’d love to do that for my mum and dad. I’d love to do that for myself!’
‘Where is your house?’
‘It’s in London. Not the nice part though. You need to head out pretty far before you can find something affordable. We bought a fixer-upper.’
‘You and your ex?’
‘Yep,’ I reply. ‘Not sure what’s going to happen with that yet. I’m scared to even think about it.’
The waiter saves me from a difficult conversation by placing our drinks down in front of us.
‘Are you finished with the starters?’ he asks. We say yes.
As the waiter clears our plates, I take a sip of my drink and he notices an expression on my face that I didn’t realise was there.
‘Is everything okay with the drink?’ he asks.
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