Page 37 of Worth Every Moment
She laughs and accepts it. “Fine. Go buy a new copy. That’s an order.” I rest my elbows on my knees and hang my head, but Amy crouches in front of me, pushing my head back up with a fingertip. “Wait, you do masturbate, don’t you? Flick the bean? Get yourself off? Tell me you give yourself an orgasm from time to time?”
I shake her off, wishing I hadn’t raised this whole issue in the first place. But then again, if I can’t raise it with Amy, who can I talk to about it? Whatever I say, I know it’s not going any further. She’s not going to judge me, even if her tone is vibrating with shock at the possibility that I might tell her I’ve never touched myself. “Yeah. Sometimes.”
She pins her lips. “Do it more. You look like you needmore.” She cocks her head as if reconsidering. “What you really need is to get laid. Finally. What are you waiting for? Prince Charming?”
The words are like an electric wire that runs right through me.If she knew how unfortunate that choice of title was… It has Seb frolicking through my mind like he lives there. Like he’s dancing naked in the fucking rain. “No. It’s just… the brand, and Mum, and—”
“You’ve got to kick your mother out the bedroom. Energetically. Throw her the fuck out, lock the door, and go have sex.” She nods emphatically at the book. “That Vanessa bitch is the horniest woman to survive the end of the world. If you want the role, you have to be prepared.”
I give a helpless laugh. “They won’t put all that on screen. It’s not a porno.” I’ve been avoiding thinking about this particular aspect of the story. About how sexual this character is, and how I’mnot. It’s not the camera thing that I’m worried about. I’ve done a lot of sexual photo shoots. They’re always pairing me up with male models and having me pretend to swoon. I can do it for the photos… but the idea of doing it in an audition kinda freaks me out. But I really,reallywant to get this job, not least because it’s the kind of role that Mum would absolutely loathe.
“Taming the Beastis not on brand.” Amy cackles like she’s read my mind. “It’s worse than Seb Hawkston. Your Mum will really hate it.”
“I know. But Ireallywant it.”
If I’m going to do this acting thing, I am going big. Every other dream I’ve had, I’ve made come true.Or Mum has,a little voice whispers.
Well, this one is for me. If there’s one thing I am manifesting, it’s this role.My freedom.
Amy rises to sit next to me and slaps her hand on my thigh. “You can do anything. You’re Erica Lefroy.” She says the nameas everyone does: like it doesn’t belong to a person, but a commodity. “And you know what else?”
“What else, Amy Moritz?” I reply, throwing her famous name right back at her, but she doesn’t rise to the jibe.
“You can totally fuck Seb Hawkston too, and there’s bugger all your mum can do about it. Call him up and tell him you’re sorry. And then go have hot, sweaty make-up sex with him.”
13
SEB
Ididn’t like the sound of Dad making my life hell, so here I am, walking in to one of Antonio Marchetti’s restaurants. He owns a string of high-end Italians across the West End. Black and white tiled floors, well-placed wall lights, red velvet banquettes, and green velvet stools at the long marble bar. It smells like hot olive oil and garlic.
Dad is tucked into a booth at the back. He looks remarkably well, considering it’s only been a few weeks since his heart attack. I feel a tiny pinch of something that feels disconcertingly like disappointment, and it makes me feel like I deserve to go straight to hell.
I’m late, so Antonio Marchetti and his daughter Diana are already seated.
Dad and Antonio stand when I reach the table. Diana stays seated, hands clasped on the table. She doesn’t even look up.Guess she wants to be here about as much as I do.
“We were worried you weren’t coming, Sebastian,” Dad says.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say, taking Antonio’s hand and giving it a firm shake. “This is a great space.” I gesture around the room.
“Diana did the interiors,” he says with pride.
On cue, Diana looks up to acknowledge that we’re talking about her. She’s pretty, her cheeks a little rosy, her eyes a honey brown colour. She gives me a cute smile that looks almost like a smirk. Something about this scenario amuses her, that’s for sure, but I can’t fathom what it is.
“Great job,” I tell her.
“Glad you like it,” she says, her voice smooth and her vowels rounded with an unmistakable public school accent. There’s something feline about her. Maybe the almond shaped eyes or her straightened blonde hair that clings to the sides of her head.
“Diana,” Antonio says to his daughter. “This is Mr Hawkston Junior.”
Junior, my arse. We’re not in America. I’m junior to nothing.
Diana rises from her seat, but when I offer her my hand, she doesn’t take it. Antonio watches the interaction with a narrowed gaze, and Diana deliberately averts her eyes, as if she’s reluctant to catch her father’s stare. “Hi,” she says to me. “I’ve been saving myself for marriage. I hope you’re ready to pop my cherry because it’s going to go off like a bomb.”
My mouth drops open, a surprised laugh caught in my throat. Dad jerks back in his seat so hard his spine slams against the leather. Beside him, Antonio splutters and springs to his feet. The glasses on the table shake and dad touches the base of his wine glass to steady it.
“Diana!” Antonio growls, his cheeks shaking.
