Page 23 of Benidorm Again

I pretend to consider it. ‘Hmmm, do you have an account with George at Asda by any chance?’ I joke, trying to relieve the tension between us.

While Luke throws his head back to laugh, my mind fast forwards to me trying on cheap, sexy thongs and lacy underwear from Primark. It’s a world away from what he’s used to, and I don’t need a personal shopper or any help for that. And God forbid the press catch us doing it.

‘Anyway, it’s not that kind of clothes shopping that I need to do,’ I blurt without thinking.

And as though he is reading my mind, a smile tugs at his lips as his eyes twinkle with mischief. If things weren’t awkward before, then I am definitely making things awkward now. My cheeks are on fire. Actual flames.

Chapter 9

Oh, God.There’s an atmosphere between me and Luke, even though I ran off from him earlier like an Olympic sprinter hearing a starter gun go off. I ran straight back to the hotel and didn’t even get my shopping done because I was so flustered. Luke then messaged me to apologise for following me and that he hopes he did not overstep with his comments. I replied to confirm that he did not overstep, and that I am looking forward to singing with him tonight. He replied with one word - likewise.

Now I fear that he thinks I fancy him. When I don’t.

To make things worse, Dolly has knocked on everyone’s doors to let them know the Royals are in attendance tonight, and the Maestro wants everyone at the theatre earlier than usual and to play their best.

It took me four attempts to do my make-up after Ged and Liam had facetimed me to wish me luck. The conversation went like this:

Liam (gasps): Christ Almighty, what have you done to yourself?

Me: Whatever do you mean?

Ged: You have a face like a melted welly. Why the radioactive blue streaks?

Me: It’s for the stage. I need heavy make-up. The lights are strong. I thought I’d try something new for His Royal Highness.

Liam: The one that’s coming to the show? Or the one you’re singing with?

Me: Ha ha, very funny.

Ged: You look like Barbara Cartland having an extremely bad day. Perhaps tone it down a bit?

Me (very childish): No, Ged. You tone it down a bit!

The journey to the theatre in the coach does nothing to help matters. Luke and I, for some bizarre reason, choose to ignore each other completely which causes raised eyebrows from all on board. Dolly says nothing as we make our way backstage to the dressing rooms. The atmosphere backstage is hostile at best. The chorus girls are refusing to speak tome because their chances of milking a Norwegian Count have been severely reduced.

Dolly helps me into my first gown and accompanies me to the stage. Luke is already there waiting. He nods at me, his face unreadable. The musicians have taken their places, the lights are about to go down, the Maestro has scowled at both of us because he can sense somehow that there is a spark, a tangible electric current flowing between Luke and me. And he was extremely displeased that members of the press were swarming around backstage, and none of them wanted to interview him. They were after Luke. They have found out who he is and have become obsessed with making a story out of nothing. To make things worse, the Royals have returned, again, but in droves. Apparently, according to Dolly, everyone, royal cousins, aunts, sisters-in-law etc, are intrigued to see what all the fuss is about.

Who knew singing for the Royal Northern Sinfonia would be so full of drama… or Royals? And I thought Benidorm had been bad.

‘Break a leg,’ whispers Luke, finally turning to look at me as we stand waiting at the edge of the stage. ‘Wait. You’ve got…’ His fingers lightly graze my cheek as he reaches out to remove a smudge. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth when he sees his thumb is now blue.

Christ Almighty.

It’s such an intimate gesture and in front of the watchful glare of the entire ensemble. I blink rapidly.Why would he do that?Adding fuel to the fire. And worse. Why do I have a stomach full of butterflies?

My eyes roam the full length of him. He’s wearing a custom-made tuxedo like he was poured into it. It clings perfectly to his lean frame. His body language is supremely confident. His blonde hair shines in the stage light. His chiselled looks are classic and manly. He’s got a voice to die for, and the stage presence of an A List celebrity. The more I see of him, the more I realise that he is talented and charismatic to a criminal degree. He catches me studying him. There is a dangerous glint in his eye.

I hurriedly tear my gaze away and wait for the Maestro to introduce me onto the stage.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

I can handle this. It’s just a form of Stockholm Syndrome. I’m reacting to Luke because I’m new, and I’ve never had a singing partner before, and he saved my life, for Christ sakes, and I’m also missing Matteo like crazy. That’s all. My heart is thundering in my chest as I hear my name called but my whole body is frozen to the spot. There’sa deafening silence while the maestro holds out his baton ready to welcome me.

My legs won’t move. I find the Maestro terrifying. His beaky nose is pointing skyward while his cold eyes slide over to meet mine. He arches an eyebrow at me. I see a tick pulsing in his left eye as he pierces me with an unfriendly glare. He too, seems suspended in time.

What if I peaked too soon last night?

‘You’ve got this,’ Luke murmurs in my ear.

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