Page 47 of Wilder at Heart
I tried to steer him more towards a David Bowie (crew-neck t-shirt under blazer) or Andy Warhol (full-on jacket and tie) look, but he refused to tell me what he decided on. So now I’m both nervous and curious. Not to mention, Jonathan will almost definitely be here. AndLucy(yes, I’m incapable of saying her name without snarky italics). And loads of our old Cambridge mates who won’t have seen Jonathan or me since we broke up and certainly haven’t seen me ‘with’ Theo.
So basically, there are a million moving parts which could hit me in the face tonight.
I’m going to need a shot or two.
We get past the paparazzi. I say we, but obviously they have no interest in me. They’re all over Elle and Josh, shouting their names. Lotta being Lotta, there’s a short red carpet outside, so #Jellery, as the press dubbed them the first time around, posefor shots looking every inch the Hollywood power couple. I don’t get to see this side of Elle first hand too often—mostly, we just hang out at home when she’s not shooting—so it’s both surreal and cool to see her in her element as the total queen that she is. With the world’s most famous eye candy on her arm, naturally.
The beats ofLe Freakhit us as soon as we get through the door, and then we’re in a huge space. The party’s already in full swing. A quick glance suggests everyone’s made one hell of an effort with their costumes, and there are acrobats suspended from the ceiling. It wouldn’t surprise me if Lotta went full Bianca Jagger and rode in here on a white horse.
‘It’s mygirlfriend!’ Theo appears out of nowhere as we queue at the bar and sweeps me up in a massive hug that has my feet lifting off the floor. I squeal, and he puts me down.
Holy shit. It appears he’s gone for a John Travolta look, and it’shot.Black shirt, open way lower than I suspect John ever went for and tucked into tight black trousers with a silver belt buckle, exposing a tanned, hairy chest. He’s slicked his dark hair back, and his face has a faint sheen of sweat already. He throws me a devastating grin before his gaze sweeps down over my body, my boobs covered by the slinky jersey that drapes right down towards my stomach. He slides his hand over his face.
‘Jesus fucking Christ. Look at you.’ He peeks at me between his fingers. Uh-oh. Someone clearly started drinking early. ‘You are ababe.’ He loses the hand mask and slithers right in towards me, his hands snaking over my hips so our pelvises are touching. His mouth goes to my ear, his breath hot on my neck. ‘My fake girlfriend is on fucking fire. I’m a lucky bastard.’
He buries his head in my neck, inhaling me, and I look pleadingly over his shoulder at Elle and Josh.
Elle laughs and mouthsgood luck.She pats him on the back. ‘Hi, Theo.’
He comes up for air and releases me. ‘Guys!’ He holds out his arms and throws them around Elle and Josh. ‘You came!’
‘How you doin’, buddy? You want some water?’ Josh asks. I feel bad for him, if this is the level of inebriation he’ll have to deal with all night as a stone-cold sober person.
Theo ignores him and tugs at my hand. ‘Come on. I want to dance with my sexygirlfriend. And the birthday girl is looking for you. I told her we were dating, and she didn’t believe me, so you have to kiss me in front of her.’ His mouth goes to my ear again. ‘For show, you know.’
I roll my eyes at the others and they laughingly wave us off as he tugs me into the mass of moving bodies. We must have arrived later than we planned, if the dance floor is this full and Theo is this far gone. But I follow him willingly, enjoying the way his hair curls around the back of his neck, and the way his muscles flex under that black shirt, and the warmth of his hands around mine.
Lotta is, in fact, not on a white horse, but she is half naked, in an outfit I recognize from my intensive Studio 54 googling the other day as being inspired by Cher. It’s a kind of lamé flared jumpsuit, except the top consists solely of two bands of fabric cross-crossed over her boobs and displaying her entire stomach, with the waistband cutting away into a V that dips so low on her pelvis I’m guessing she’s had a full Hollywood wax to accommodate it. She’s completed the look with hair that’s a mass of Seventies-style frizzy curls and huge hoop earrings. Her stomach is taut and bronzed.
She looksamazing.
‘Ciao, bella!’ she screams, and throws her arms around me. Lotta was born and raised in London, but the Italian drama queen is a large part of her persona.
I hug her back. ‘Happy birthday, gorgeous girl. You look incredible. And this party is insane.’
She laughs her gorgeous, bubbly laugh. ‘Who needs Jagger when we have Theo fucking Montague, eh?’
I cast an appraising look at him as he slides his arms around both of us. ‘Quite.’
‘Hey. He says you guys are seeing each other. What the fuck?’
‘Tell her, Belle.’
I curve my lips into a self-satisfied grin, which isn’t difficult, because apart from Josh Lander, Theo’s got to be one of the most attractive guys here.
‘It’s true. Newish, but true.’
‘Holy shit! I don’t believe you. Prove it.’ She brandishes her glass of champagne at us.
Theo releases her and pulls me in towards him, his black eyes roving over my face. ‘D’you hear that, baby? She wants us to prove it.’
I feign confidence. ‘Watch this, Lotta.’
His hands slide down my waist, over my hips and around to my bum, slithering over the silky fabric, and I fix my eyes on that heavenly mouth of his coming for me as he licks his lips. I lay my palms on his pecs, my thumbs brushing over the plackets of his shirt to the soft, warm skin that lies beneath them.
I can do this. I’ve done it before, and it’s purely for show. Jonathan’s here somewhere, and Lotta’s such a gossip queen that she’ll make sure the word gets around that she saw me kissing Theo Montague.
My eyes drift closed as his mouth fastens onto mine. His lips are soft and slightly open, and the tips of our tongues touch just the perfect amount as he lingers there.
