Page 36 of What Happens in Dubai

‘Anything!’ I waved my hands in the air, eager to start the night off.

‘Can we have the large bottle of Cîroc, please?’ Indie asked the waiter. The other girls nodded back, agreeing with her choice of spirit.

‘This place is incredible, girls!’ I blurted. My head couldn’t stay still following the crowd’s dance below us while acrobats flew from the ceiling above – not to mention the unbelievable amount of talent swaggering by.

‘Yeah, it’s always a good night! Right, dolls, selfie!’ Laureen squealed, and we bundled together to try and squeeze into the shot. I suddenly felt self-conscious wedged between the three attractive girls as my triple chin took up most of the photo.

‘I’ll take it. Give me your phone.’ I rose and grabbed Indie’s phone.

‘No, you get in. Come on, Zara.’ Laureen ushered me back.

I shook my head and began their photoshoot.

‘OK, OK, go!’ I began clicking the button, standing tall, then small, conducting my little shoot animatedly. The girls were laughing as I screamed, ‘Oh yes, yes! Beautiful girls!’ imitating the photographer from earlier.

I took a step back and felt a clatter from behind. A massive ray of light blinded my eyes, and my body swerved as I felt heat on my skin. The bottle of Cîroc came with a gigantic firework stuffed in the top, and I had almost knocked it out of the waiter’s grasp. I stumbled back and fell into the next booth, landing with my hands flat on the table for support. I panted for breath and looked up, slowly cringing, as the four men at the booth grinned.

‘Bonjour.’

I turned to my right where a handsome man with a cigarette hanging from his mouth was watching me.

‘Bonjour. Eh, hello. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry about this.’ I blushed as I wiped my hands down my dress, which were now damp from the table as I had sent their drinks rocking.

I could hear the girls screaming with laughter while the waiter holding the bottle of Cîroc looked as traumatised as me. I swivelled back to the table and my cackling group of friends, feeling mortified. As I sat down, I glanced back towards the group of men. The handsome Frenchman was looking over, still smirking.

‘Right, let’s get this party started!’ Skylar screamed as we raised our glasses together with an almighty clash and began our night.

The drinks flowed freely as we partied to our favourite R&B old school classics. My jowls ached from smiling as we knocked back another round of Tequila Rose shots. The girls mingled with some of the regulars while I stayed put to rest my feet and watched over our drinks. I felt relaxed and happily drunk as I lip-sync’d to ‘This Is How We Do It’ by Montell Jordan when I was approached at the booth by a young man dressed in a tailored all-black suit.

‘Miss, I am one of Mr Beaumont’s security guards, and he was wondering if you would like to join him while your friends are away.’

I was confused. Perhaps the message was meant for one of the other girls, I thought.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t know anyone by that name. You must be mistaken.’ I shrugged my shoulders. The man grinned and pointed over to the next table – the one I had dived into earlier that evening.

‘Oh, right.’ I bent my head, realising who Mr Beaumont must be.

‘I’m fine sitting here just now, but tell him thanks,’ and glanced over the booth towards the attractive stranger, watching keenly.

The security guard headed back to Mr Beaumont’s table as I lifted my glass and sipped my drink, feeling flattered.I’m here with my friends; I am trying not to have one-night stands,I told myself. I resisted the urge not to stare over at the booth while Beaumont got his message, taking out my phone instead to fiddle with and check in with Ashley. I was having the most amazing time, meeting new people, hitting cool clubs but I wished more than anything my best friend was here to experience it all with me.

‘Bonjour. Hello,’ a deep voice called out from above.

A solid, masculine, musky smell enveloped me and I smiled as I saw the beautiful Frenchman I almost mounted earlier stand before me.

‘Bonjour,’ I giggled.

‘May I join you?’ he asked.

‘Sure,’ I replied, watching another three security guards accompany him to the table.

‘Eh, what is your name?’ He took out a cigarette and lit it up so coolly. I watched the smoke gather between our faces. There was something weirdly attractive about his filthy habit.

‘Ah, hold on.’ I pulled my shoulders back and cleared my throat cockily. ‘Je m’appelle Zara.’

He clapped his hands. ‘Bravo, Zara. Mon nom est Henri.’

‘Nice to meet you, Henri. I’m afraid that’s how far my French vocabulary goes,’ I smiled.

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