Page 43 of The Suite Life
‘Nothing,’ I practically protest.
‘Something strange is happening,’ Mum chimes in. ‘Is this to do with your mystery date? Is he someone famous? Oh, my goodness, is he someone royal?’
It’s not that I don’t love how livid Sunshine looks right now, but I can at least nip that in the bud without ruining all my fun.
‘No, he’s no one royal, so you can put your big hat away,’ I insist.
‘A royal, whether senior or way down the succession line, wouldn’t typically go for a girl like Gigi,’ Sunshine points out – helpfully, I think? Like, she thinks she’s being helpful, but really she’s just being rude.
‘What?’ my mum shrieks, offended on my behalf. ‘Any royal would be lucky to have Gigi.’
‘I’m just saying, she’s more of a Pippa than a Catherine,’ Sunshine explains – although, again, I think she thinks she’s explaining, but she’s just being rude –again.
‘Was that the one with the bum?’ Dad asks. Yes, that’s about as far as his interest in the royals goes.
‘Okay, this is just getting weird now,’ I insist, not dignifying his question with an answer. ‘No one is royal, nothing is going on, you’re all imagining it.’
‘Ms Marsden, hello,’ a man in a suit says as he appears next to me. ‘My name is Trevor, I’m the restaurant manager – I trust you’re all having a lovely evening?’
‘Top-notch,’ my dad calls out.
‘Yes, really nice, thank you,’ I reply.
‘Our patissier was looking for someone to join him in the kitchen, to sample a few desserts so that we can whip up something truly special for your table – how does that sound?’ he asks.
‘Erm, yes, that sounds great,’ I reply. ‘Now… or…?’
‘Yes, if you’re ready now, please, follow me.’
‘I’ll be right back,’ I tell a table full of my silent, frozen nearest and dearest.
I follow Trevor across the crowded restaurant, weaving in and out of tables as I try to keep up with him. I suppose he knows the layout here like the back of his hand, whereas I feel like I’m a contestant onTotal Wipeout.
‘Oh, one sec,’ I call out to Trevor, as I notice Donnie sitting at a table on his own.
‘Hello,’ I say brightly.
‘Fancy seeing you here,’ he replies.
‘Do you want to come with me to try some desserts?’ I ask, offering no further explanation.
‘Of course,’ he replies in an instant.
‘The more the merrier,’ Trevor says.
‘Gigi,’ I hear a familiar Scottish accent call out. ‘How are you doing?’
‘But it is certainly a two-person thing,’ Trevor is quick to add as he watches Gary Garrie approach us.
‘Still living the dream?’ Gary asks – whatever that means.
It’s funny, he talks to me like we’re old friends, not just fellow Brits who bumped into one another at the bar.
‘You know it,’ I reply politely. ‘You?’
‘I’ve really landed on my feet this time,’ he tells me. ‘Anyway, see you at the bar.’
‘Yep,’ I call after him. Then I turn to Donnie and Trevor. ‘I have basically no idea who he is, but he seems to think we’re old friends.’
