Page 48 of Happily Never After
He thinks a little more. ‘Firstly, we don’t reveal whether any of them have correctly identified the rogue item until the very end. That introduces tension because even the winner won’t know in the final round if their fund is going to be doubled or not. Furthermore, if they choose an item that turns out not to be the joker in the pack or don’t choose one at all, their prize fund is halved. We could also reveal the item to the audience at home at the start, instructing them to look away if they don’t want to know what it is. I’ll say it again, Laura. You’re a bloody genius. That’s absolutely brilliant!’
Before I know what’s happening, he’s taken my head in his hands and planted a full-on smacker of a kiss on my lips.
‘Oh, shit,’ he exclaims, suddenly realising what he’s done and turning crimson with embarrassment. ‘I’m so sorry, I got caught up in the moment.’
‘It’s fine,’ I tell him, eager to defuse the sudden tension in the air. ‘I’m just glad I could help.’
What I’m not going to tell Finn is that it’s rather more than fine. It’s a long time since anyone has kissed me asuncomplicatedly and joyously as that, and I liked it. I liked it a lot.
18
‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ I ask Finn. Although the afternoon has been enjoyable, it hasn’t been as relaxed as the morning was. We swam in the lake, which turned out not to be rocky on the bottom after all, and then lay on our towels, letting the afternoon sun bake us dry. On the surface, Finn has been just the same as he always is, but I know him well enough by now to pick up that something is bugging him. We’re in the car on the way back to L’Ancien Presbytère but, instead of talking about the view, his show or my book, like he normally would, Finn is uncharacteristically quiet.
‘Fine,’ he says flatly. ‘Just, you know, thinking.’
‘Do you want to share? Is it something to do with your show?’
‘No.’ He sighs deeply. ‘Look, can we talk about what happened earlier?’
So that’s what this is about. ‘Do you mean when you kissed me?’
‘Yes. I know you said it was fine, but it wasn’t, was it. I really like you, Laura, and I love spending time with you, and I’m just worried this thing is going to hang in the air and ruin the rest of our retreat.’
‘Why would it do that? It’s a kiss, Finn. It’s not like you groped me or anything.’ I risk a glance away from the road down at his hands, clenched tightly in his lap. He’s got nice hands. They may be soft, but I bet they’d feel incredible against my skin. I do generally go for more manly men, but gnarly hands are a bit of a turn-off. I’m horrified to find that the thought of Finn putting his hands on me is actually rather nice, and hurriedly switch my attention back to the road.
‘I know, but I crossed a line. I really am sorry, Laura. I’m not that kind of man, honestly. I don’t know what came over me. It was a moment of madness, that’s all I can say…What are you doing?’
I’ve swerved off the road onto the verge, braking hard and causing the Fiat to skid a little, kicking up a cloud of dust as we come to a stop.
‘For God’s sake,’ I growl as I take his face in my hands and lean towards him, planting an equally, if not slightly more, full-on kiss on his lips.
‘Right,’ I tell him firmly once I’ve released him. ‘That’s one all. Better now?’
‘What was that for?’ he asks as I put the car back into gear and ease out onto the road.
‘I don’t know. To say thank you for all your help with my plotting. To stop you torturing yourself. Because I wanted to. Any of those do?’
‘Youwantedto,’ he repeats in a slightly stunned voice.
‘Yes. It doesn’t have to mean anything. I’m not expecting you to propose, just because I kissed you. But if it stops you beating yourself up and brings you back out of yourself, then that’s a good thing. Let me ask you this. When you kissed me, were you coming on to me, or was it just a physical expression of the joy you felt at unlocking the secret of your show?’
He laughs and, to my relief, it’s a genuine one that seems to come from the core of him, rather than the more superficial laughs I’ve had so far this afternoon.
‘Oh, Laura,’ he breathes. ‘I’d never dare come on to you.’
‘What? Why not? I’m not that revolting, am I?’
He obviously realises his mistake, as his expression turns serious. ‘Quite the reverse. You’re so far out of my league that I probably wouldn’t have dared speak to you that first morning if I hadn’t been desperate.’
I don’t think anyone has ever described me as out of their league before and, although I know he means it as a compliment, it’s caught me completely by surprise. I’m most honestly described as ‘incredibly average’. There’s a scene in one of my favourite books by Jane Austen where the Morland family are described rather scathingly as having ‘heads and arms and legs enough for the number’, and that’s what I would say about myself. I’m not hideous, but I’m certainly never going to be scouted to be a model.
‘I think you need to reassess your league,’ I tell him with a smile.
He says nothing, but I’m aware of him staring at me. ‘What?’ I ask eventually.
‘You’re either delusional and genuinely have no idea how attractive you are, or you’re fishing for compliments,’ he says. ‘I’m just trying to work out which it is.’
‘And you patently need glasses,’ I retort. ‘Now, stop staring at me. You’re putting me off my driving.’
