Page 19 of Another Lucky Number

‘Bonsoir, Kavashti.’ Sébastien greets the man. ‘It has been too long.’

Kavashti shows us to our table in a large air-conditioned dining room with beautifully laid tables, and I find myself wondering how many women Sébastien has brought here. Am I the latest in a very long line of casual flings he has wined and dined? The staff never seeing the same beautifully made-up face twice?

Once we’re seated, there’s a flurry of activity. We’re served water and chilled champagne, and the menus are explained to us. Sébastien laughs and jokes with each staff member as they come across to greet him, one after the next. It’s clear that he’s a VIP here – and a very popular one at that. Even the chef delivers some canapé-style snacks personally. I watch in awe as he charms every person he talks to, remembering personal details about them, giving them his undividedattention. It’s easy to see why he’s so successful in business. He’s a natural born leader.

With my attraction to Sébastien growing, I will his adoring fans to leave us in peace so I can have him to myself, and eventually, my wish is granted. Our starter – a beautifully presented seafood platter – is served and the staff melt away, shifting their focus to their other clientele.

‘Alors, Emma…’ Sébastien’s thick French accent makes my name sound way more exotic than it is. ‘What do you think of this place?’ His exquisite dark eyes meet mine.

‘It’s… great.’ I feel myself redden. ‘I’d love to see the gardens in the daylight. They look very well kept.’

‘Ah, yes. The gardens. They are…très romantique.’

Heat creeps up my neck and I break eye contact, biting my lip coyly. It’s an almost perfect moment with a seemingly perfect man.

So, why doesn’t it feel right?

Frowning at this unwelcome thought, I try to push it aside. Of course it feels right. How could thisnotfeel right? I’m a single woman – on holiday, enjoying the company of a very eligible bachelor. Sure, it’ll be short-lived. We’ll have our fun then go our separate ways, and Sébastien will no doubt return within weeks or months, with his next paradise island fling. But there’s no harm in that if there are no expectations beyond this trip.

I re-focus my attention on Sébastien, attempting to fully immerse myself in our conversation, but I can’t shake the feeling of discomfort that’s plaguing me. Between courses, I excuse myself to the ladies.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ I demand of my reflection in the mirror.

Maybe I’m still jet-lagged. Or maybe it’s because I feel like I’m not worthy of a man so incredible. He is on another level with his money and charisma and superhuman hunkiness. Thereality is that it’s probably a bit of both, and I need to get myself in check.

Running the cold tap, I plunge my wrists under the flow of water in a bid to calm myself down: one of the few helpful nuggets of advice (among all the useless overbearing ones) I’ve received from my mother over the years. It works quicker than I expect, creating a soothing sensation through my body. This is fine.Everything is fine. I need to relax and enjoy myself.

‘Ça va, Emma? Is everything all right?’ Sébastien asks when I return to the table. ‘You look a little… how do you say…queasy?’

I realise he’s right. I may feel calmer but there’s a clawing sick feeling in my gut.

‘I’m OK… I think. Probably still jet-lagged or dehydrated or something. Not used to this climate.’

On hearing this, Sébastien tops up my water glass and signals for me to drink from it.

‘Perhaps a break from eating would also help,’ he suggests, once I’ve sunk a few mouthfuls. ‘Lacherra, hold the main course, please. We will take a short walk in the gardens.’

‘Yes, Monsieur Dumont.’ Lacherra – our server – swoops across and accompanies us to a door that appears to exit the property at the rear.

I allow Sébastien to lead me outside onto a large terrace and along a path, which I can’t help thinking could be made more of at night with some creative outdoor lighting. Despite having a brightly lit building full of people behind us, it feels very intimate.

As we weave our way around the gardens, I focus on breathing deeply, devouring the fresh air while enjoying what I can make out of the tropical trees and plants, which look almost eerie, but in a good way.

After a few minutes of continually checking that I’m notgoing to pass out, and me eventually confirming that I’m feeling better, Sébastien stops me and points to the sky.

‘Regarde, Emma.’

I look up and see hundreds of twinkling stars winking back at us. Under the cloak of darkness, interrupted only by the light from the restaurant’s windows, it’s a moment bursting with romance.

‘Wow… that’s so beautiful.’ I glance up at him, jittering with nervous anticipation.

He must sense my eyes on him, because he turns his gorgeous face towards mine, our lips now just inches apart. ‘Itisvery beautiful, though not quite as beautiful as—’

‘Stop!’ I suddenly blurt out. ‘Don’t say it.’

Chapter Nine

Having been shocked into a moment of comprehension, I now know why I feel ill:I can’t do this. I can’t find myself wrapped in Sébastien’s arms, no matter how delicious an experience that could be – because of James. It may only have been one date and a slew of flirtatious messages, but it doesn’t matter. We’ve connected in a way that I already know is special. I can’t risk ruining that; especially not for a sizzling but ultimately meaningless holiday romp. Which makes this – whatever is developing between and Sébastien and I – impossible.

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