Page 24 of The Actor and His Secret

Honey actually contemplates this. I see the wheels turning behind his eyes. I almost expect him to refuse me, but when he speaks, I feel as though I’ve just been handed the secrets to the universe.

‘Oli,’ he says.

‘It’s lovely to meet you, Oli.’

I long to lean in, pull him to me and inhale his scent. I have to bite down on my tongue to stop myself from telling him that, as much as the name is lovely, I still prefer Honey.

‘Well,’ Megan says awkwardly. ‘Shall we get on with preparing the content? I’m sure you don’t want to be hanging out with us all afternoon, not when you have all of London to explore.’

‘Good idea,’ Selina adds, equally noticing the tension hovering around the reception. Even the worker behind the desk is peering over the tip of her rounded glasses, thin lips quirked into a grin.

‘There’s no rush,’ I add, finally releasing Honey’s - Oli’s hand. ‘There’s nowhere else I’d rather be then here.’

Selina barks a laugh. ‘Ever the charmer.’

‘Indeed,’ I say, hoping Oli knows my comment is for him and him alone.

There is so much I want to say but can’t. Not with the audience. But I also know I cannot go an entire afternoon wading in this sea of tension. I have to speak with Oli. I just need an out which won’t make Selina and Megan ask questions.

Apparently Megan can read minds, because she offers one. ‘Oli, do you mind taking Nikos straight to the audio department? Selina, if you don’t mind, I would like to run over the schedule for the afternoon with you before we begin.’

Oli snaps his attention to his colleague, clear annoyance evident in his eyes. But before he can refuse - and it’s clear he wants to - Selina speaks up. ‘Sounds like a plan. Although, for fear I will sound like a demanding diva, can I ask that some refreshments are brought to the room? I fell asleep on the massage table this morning and missed lunch.’

I know Selina well enough now to hear the flirtatious tone in her voice. That and the way her hand lays itself on Megan’s upper arm, gently guiding her and the conversation down the path she desires.

‘I can do that,’ Megan says with a smile, before shooting Oli a look. ‘I’ll meet you in room A10, okay?’

Oli nods hesitantly, before turning on his heel and beckoning for me to follow him. I do as he gestures, chasing his heels like the desperate puppy I am. Selina doesn’t even pay me mind as she heads in another direction with Megan, both engaging in conversation as if nothing else in the world matters.

This is my chance.

Oli stops before the entrance to a lift, pressing the call button until it lights up with a red glow. I stand at his side, aware of the countless people watching on from a distance. But nothing else seems to matter when his arm is inches from brushing my side.

‘You’re angry with me,’ I accuse as the metal doors slide open and a crowd of surprised people walk out.

Oli doesn’t reply until everyone is out of earshot. He steps into the lift, lips so tense that they’re practically white on his face. I follow in, and Oli presses yet another button. The doors slide closed, locking us away.

Only when they seal closed does he reply. ‘So, you’re Nikos Ridge.’

I laugh because it’s easier to fall into humour when I’m feeling awkward. ‘I am, although I’d prefer if you still called me Adonis.’

‘Why?’ Oli bites out.

I gape like a fish out of water, unsure how to explain that the hours I spent as Adonis were the easiest of my life for as long as I can remember. No expectations, no past or future. As Adonis I’m allowed to exist only in the moment.

‘Because I prefer it,’ I reply, pathetically.

‘Well, I prefer not being tricked and lied to.’

My hands wring together, giving them something to do. ‘It wasn’t my intention.’

Oli exhales a long breath. I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t.

‘I gather you already knew,’ I say. ‘So what’s the issue?’

He turns on me. We’re so close I’m forced to look down at him. His pale hair is swept back with product, his knitted cardigan practically slipping off his left shoulder. I notice how his shirt - which is more grey than white - is likely a result of him not separating his clothes out when washing them. I like that. I like that he doesn’t care. Most of all, I like how I see my warped reflection in his round glasses.

‘I’m not annoyed at you,’ he says with a tone that suggests he’s definitely lying. ‘I’m annoyed at the situation.’

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