Page 37 of I Knew You Were Trouble

It’s such an absurd thing to say that my immediate reaction is to laugh, but with the gravity of the situation, I do my best to swallow my laughter. It breaks loose regardless and when I look over at Adriana, a wry smile spreads across her face.

‘You certainly have a way with words,’ Willem tells Margot, reluctant amusement in his eyes.

‘Thank you,’ she replies, taking him at his word.

He looks over at me and I wish I could tell what was going on behind those intense blue eyes. Because despite everything that has transpired this morning – including him being an arseandme telling him off – I’ll admit that I’m captivated by the tall, brooding Dutchman.

Inappropriately and inconveniently captivated.

* * *

‘So, what are you wearing on your date?’

We’re back at the houseboat and I’m sifting through the contents of my small case. I didn’t pack much, as we’re only here for two nights. I also hadn’t expected to be going out alone with Willem, and everything I packed is casual.

‘It’s not adate, Margot. You invited yourself along on Adriana’s girls’ night, then guilted Willem into taking me to dinner.’

‘Semantics,’ she says, her default response when she can’t back a flimsy argument.

‘It’s not semantics. That’s exactly what you did and more to the point, you did it on purpose.’

‘So what if I did? What’s the harm in shagging the fit brother?’

‘Gah!’

‘I’m telling you, Kate. You and Willem together – there wasfrissonin the air.’

‘Frisson? Really? You’ve never used that word before in your life. I doubt you even know what it means.’

‘Of course I do. It’s what happened between you and Willem this morning.’

I roll my eyes at her, something I’ve done so many times over the course of my life, I could map the inside of my head –freehand.

‘Whatevs,’ I reply, tired of the conversation. I return to my outfit conundrum, contemplating wearing my jeans with a black boat-necked top. I hold up the top and look in the mirror.

‘So, if this isn’t a date, why does it matter what you wear?’ she asks, peering at me smugly from the bed where she’s stretched out.

‘It doesn’t,’ I reply tartly.

‘Then just wear what you have on.’

I look down at the outfit I selected this morning – my if-you-look-good-you-feel-good outfit. ‘You’re right,’ I say. ‘I’ll just wear this.’ I start refolding the clothes I’ve taken out of my case.

‘Perfect,’ she says, ‘but maybe freshen up a bit, fix your makeup.’

‘I’m not— Why would I bother?’

‘Because we’ve been out all afternoon.’

‘Tomuseums.’

Because I dragged Margot to the Rijksmuseum ‘under duress’ – or so she said –sheinsisted on a tit-for-tat visit to Madam Tussauds.

‘So? Don’t you want to look your best?’

‘It’s just dinner.’

‘God, you can be so stubborn,’ she says huffily.

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