Page 97 of What Happens in Dubai

Tom smirked and agreed modestly.

‘However, you do have a small bump in your nose. It’s ever so slightly out of alignment, and I could fix it.’

‘A sporting injury at school,’ Tom replied. ‘Got hit in the face during a friendly polo match.’

I grunted. ‘Polo?’

‘You don’t get polo at schools up here?’

I laughed. ‘Naw, we don’t. We get rounders, if we’re lucky.’

Tom rolled his eyes. ‘Continue.’

‘And you have small frown lines when you laugh, just a subtle sign of ageing. I could straighten them out with a few injections, darling.’

‘Quite finished?’

‘Yes!’ I laughed wickedly.

‘OK, Miss Smith, what do you like? And what would you like me to change about your face?’ he asked, looking right at me.

I thought about the question and suddenly felt insecure at what he might say. My head was messed up enough; my ex listing my physical imperfections could be enough to send me to Turkey or the fucking Priory.

‘Ahh, stop! I don’t want to do mine!’ I blurted. ‘Sorry!’

Tom gasped, holding his paper.

‘I know, I’ve just slagged you for five minutes solid, and now I don’t want to do me!’ I admitted, covering my face. ‘It’ll make me even more self-conscious. I know it will, and I’m holding off from Botox for another couple of years at least.’

Tom huffed, seeming deflated he didn’t get to share his consultation. He folded the paper up into a tidy little square, leaned over and inserted it into my blazer pocket.

‘That consultation would cost you one hundred pounds, Zara. When you’re ready, it’s there!’

Just then, a waiter arrived with our food. He set the plates in front of us and told us to enjoy our meal. ‘This looks amazing!’ I gushed.

‘It does! Cheers, Zara.’ Tom held his glass up, and I joined him in a toast. ‘To Individualise!’

‘YES! And to you believing in me. I couldn’t have done it without you,’ I said, smiling at him.

We took a swig each and tucked into our meal. The food was delicious, as was the champagne, and the conversation continued to flow into the night. As the restaurant began to empty around us, we decided it was finally time to go. The last night with Tom was over.

As promised, I paid for the meal, and the waitress called us a taxi. Outside, cold rain was bouncing hard down on the road, and the sky was dark and gloomy. We stood huddled under an arch at the entrance to the restaurant, glad of some shelter.

‘That was a real treat, Zara. Thank you,’ Tom said, his voice low and husky.

I became suddenly aware of how alone we were.

‘You’re welcome, Thomas,’ I whispered back.

The atmosphere was quiet, and I rubbed my arms up and down my blazer as the wind blew towards us.

‘Oh, you’re cold! Come here.’ Tom wriggled out of his jacket and draped it over my shoulders, gazing into my eyes. ‘You OK?’ he whispered. He was incredibly close.

‘Yes,’ I smiled back.

He didn’t move away. We kept looking at one another.

‘I think you’re beautiful, Zara. In every way. Inside and out,’ he said.

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