Page 57 of Heart Match

‘Honey, do you actually think I talk to my clients like this?’

‘I sincerely hope not,’ I joke.

‘Is this your cute guy? Lucas Lamaire?’

What? How does she know his last name?

‘Now you’re talking nonsense.’

‘It is, isn’t it?’

‘How do you know his name?’

‘Who doesn’t know who Lucas Lamaire is, Olivia?’

She never calls me Olivia. Ok, that’s not the point. Again, what the hell is she talking about?

‘Can you just tell me what’s going on? No sarcasm, or jokes, or bossiness. Please, be gentle.’ I feel like the floor has disappeared and I’m on a free fall. My head’s trying to make sense of what I just heard, but it’s doing a very slow and poor job of it.

‘There are photos of you and Lucas Lamaire on the biggest gossip Instagram account of the UK,’ she says.

My breath catches, and the air seeps out of my lungs. My head does a 360-degree spin and the floor under my feet are shaking like an earthquake.

‘Livvy, are you there?’

One of my bags full of groceries falls on the sidewalk and tomatoes and carrots are everywhere, and broken eggs too. A guy stops to help. We’re both squatting on our knees to save what’s left. I don’t even know what I’m doing.

‘I am, I just … wait a second,’ I tell Naomi. ‘Thank you, thank you so much,’ I say to the guy, who gives me an apologetic smile back.

‘Livvy? Livvy, who are you talking to?’

‘A guy on the street who helped with my groceries.’

What a mess. People are going to hate those eggs splashed on the floor, I don’t know why right now this seems to bother me more than anything else. I keep walking, I need to get home.

‘Naomi, can I call you back?’ Before she starts protesting, I end the call.

When I’m finally home, I drop the groceries on the island and call her back, my hands shaking. There are a million different thoughts running through my head.

‘What’s going on, Livvy?’ She sounds much calmer now, whereas I’m still trying to wrap my head around what she was saying.

‘I don’t know Naomi, this is such a mess,’ I sit on one of the stools.

‘Have you been seeing him?’

‘Who?’ I’m still in a state of trance.

‘Livvy, listen to me. There are photos of you on the Instagram of the most popular gossip blog in the UK, with Lucas Lamaire, famous tennis player, hello?’

I wish I could hit pause on this conversation right there.

‘Do you know who he is?’ she asks.

Apparently not.

‘Do you?’ It’s all I can manage.

‘Yeah, I do … but it seems to me that you don’t.’ She begins the sentence with an indignant tone, but ends it softly, feeling guilty realising I’m in shock.

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