Page 39 of Another Lucky Number

‘It’s fine, Sébastien,’ I say between gulps. ‘The dancing was lovely. And thanks for the water. I probably just need some sleep.’

‘I think that is a good idea,’ he says. ‘I will call the concierge to drive you back to your suite.’

‘There’s no need for that. I’m fine to walk.’

‘Non, Emma. You must not walk if you are feeling faint. Allow me.’ He disappears across to the bar to arrange the transport.

‘How are you feeling now?’ Cat places her hand against my forehead.

‘I’m OK, but…’ I shake my head to clear the jumbled thoughts. ‘I was dancing and it was weird… I saw James… He didn’t look happy, like he assumed that Sébastien and I were “together”.’

‘Sorry… you saw who?’

‘James. I saw him over by the entrance. At least I thought I did, but… that can’t be right, can it?’

I catch Cat and Amber sharing a concerned look.

‘Let’s get some more water down you and pack you off to bed.’ Cat rubs my back soothingly. ‘You might have a touch of sunstroke or something.’

‘Um… I feel a bit better,’ I say. ‘Can we go for a walk around the resort? I want to check if it was him.’

‘Emma, it couldn’t have been him,’ says Amber. ‘He’s in the US. You told us that yourself.’

‘I know, but—’

‘Emma, youimaginedit.’ Amber’s tone is caring but firm. ‘Your mind is playing tricks on you. You must have seen someone who looked like James and your brain filled in the rest. It’s probably a mix of stress, dehydration and the guilt you’ve been feeling about liking Sébastien. It’s created the perfect tropical storm.’

‘I guess.’ I sigh, only half-convinced. ‘It seemed so real though.’

‘Mesdames, your chariot awaits.’ Sébastien has already returned with a colleague. ‘Ricardo will see you to your suites. I wish you a goodnight and, Emma, I will check on you tomorrow.’

Before we can say anything else, he shoos us out of the bar and onto the waiting golf buggy.

Back in my suite, once Cat and Amber have tucked me up in bed, made me promise to go straight to sleep and left for their own rooms, I get straight back out of bed and retrieve my phone from my clutch. Disappointment washes over me as I see I have no messages. Nothing from James, which means he’s either too busy having a great time to message me, or he really was in that doorway – and now he hates me. Neither of these options are particularly appealing, but it’s not like I can message him to ask which it is, because the far higher probability is that my brainwasplaying tricks on me. He’d think I’ve lost the plot.

Climbing back into bed, I place my phone on my bedside table and settle down for an inevitably restless night, as I repeatedly check for a non-existent message.

I wake up early the next morning, and despite my broken sleep and there still being no word from James, I feel quite good – a blessing considering the amount of interview prep I’ll have to pack into my day.

After doing some more work on my presentation content, I have a quick FaceTime call with Lottie, who I’m pleased to see is still recovering well, then I get showered and changed and wander along the corridor to breakfast.

On approaching the entrance to the restaurant, Sébastien materialises by my side.

‘Emma,ça va?I was hoping I would see you. How are you this morning?’ He greets me with his signature double kisses, to which my body responds with a flush of awkwardness and involuntary desire.

‘Morning, Sébastien. I’m good. And well hydrated.’

‘I am glad to hear this. I was concerned for you, especially after you were also feeling unwell the evening we went to dinner. I can arrange for you to see a doctor if this would be helpful?’

My flush deepens at this suggestion. Obviously, I don’t want to lie to Sébastien but I can hardly tell him that the cause of my “sickness” is a guilty conscience.

‘Thank you, that’s very kind, but there’s no need. I’m feeling much better.’

‘D’accord... if you are certain.’ He doesn’t seem satisfied with my decision but it’s clear that he respects it. ‘If you change your mind, please ask reception to contact me.’

‘I will. Have you had breakfast?’ I inwardly curse myself for asking this in case he takes it as an invitation. I can barely stomach the effect he has on me, so he’s hardly a good pairing with a buffet breakfast.

‘I have eaten, yes,’ he says, to my relief. ‘I am what I thinkyou British call “an early bird”. I wish you a pleasant one, Emma.’

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