Page 82 of Forsaking All Others

I’m still shaking, but doing my best to try to calm myself. I don’t know how I feel after the kissing competition. I hated it, yet his arms hadn’t felt quite as terrifying as I thought they might, not after the initial moments.

‘My first kiss.’

All things being equal, he’d been kind and not forced himself upon me when he realised my reticence. But part of me, a very, very small part, wished he’d tried harder. And part of me also wonders why he hadn’t tried to kiss me before now. I thought it was because I’d told him I wasn’t here for love, or maybe because he might have realised I was traumatised from what happened when I was a child. But if that was so, then surely he wouldn’t have even attempted anything tonight.

Not that I want it, I mean, obviously I don’t. But..’

“And…Action!”

I look up from where I’ve been pensively studying my toes while my brain was being stupid and realise he’s standing in front of us, watching me.

Meeting his gaze I frown quickly and look back away as he clears his throat.

“Ladies, I want to thank you for an evening full of delights.”

There are giggles from the women, and Claire shouts out, “The pleasure was all ours,” to more laughter.

Shaking his head and smiling, he goes on.

“Alas, there can only be one winner tonight. One woman whose kiss I have on my mind.”

He pauses, as we all know he’s been instructed to do, and I look up, waiting to see who he’ll choose.

Once more he flicks his gaze towards me, so quickly I could almost think I imagined it, before turning his attention to the Greek contestant.

“Vasiliki, will you do me the honour of coming on an overnight one-on-one date with me this evening?”

She nods enthusiastically and steps forward, her grin Cheshire, and all the girls politely applaud, their claws, for the moment, retracted.

All except Valérie, who begins to cry softly.

I make a mental note to take out the Greek in the next challenge, but catch the eye of one of the Zurich twins, and change my mind.

60

I pour another drink while Vasiliki continues to look into her little compact and study her reflection.

We’ve been on the jet for two hours and this is the fourth or fifth time she’s done this.

‘It’s going to be the world’s longest six-hour flight if this goes on.’

“You look beautiful, Vasiliki,” I murmur, trying to draw her attention for no other reason than because the camera demands some conversation.

She looks up, smiling, as she snaps shut the compact.

“Thank you, Viscount, so do you.”

I groan inwardly and look at the director. He’s signalling to get her attention and holding up a sign prompting her to ask questions or tell me something. I imagine she needs all the prompting she can get. I haven’t heard anything sensible come out of her mouth yet.

“Ah, I hear you like to cook,” she says, her vacant dark eyes turning, once more, to mine.

“I do; it’s a hobby of mine. Are you a keen cook?”

“Oh, yes. I mean, being Greek I love my food. Not cook, though, ah, but I like to eat. Although I have to watch my figure, you know.”

“Surely not,” I murmur, wishing the plane would crash and put me out of my misery.

“You know, Viscount,” she goes on, the director nodding like a madman behind the camera, “you being so open allows me to be vulnerable with you. I feel like I need to tell you, I mean, we’ve had so little time together, I should tell you that I can’t fight my feelings for you any longer.”