Merry Measure - Lily Morton Page 0,34

“So, if we didn’t order room service, then…”

“Oh my God, that’s probably one of the others,” he says, a look of horror appearing on his face.

We tumble out of the bed and spring into frantic action. He throws on his jeans and a long-sleeved grey T-shirt from the wardrobe, while I grab my underpants from the light fitting and wriggle into them. I rumple the second bed so it looks like I slept in it, and then frantically kick the bottles under the bed. I grab the lightshade and thrust it under the covers too.

“This is like a fucking French farce,” Jack says grimly.

I smile, but it dies abruptly as Jack flings open the door and says, “Steven,” in a stunned voice.

His ex stands there, looking as expensive and successful as ever, his hair sleek and his jeans, jacket, and scarf pristine. I’m sure he thinks he’s a young business titan. Like a young Richard Branson, I think sourly. Although without the holding-women-upside-down bit. He appears to be fresh and alert and, unlike me, is not attempting to evict his brain through his eye sockets.

He brushes past Jack and says, “It took you long enough, Jack. Were you asleep? I hope not. It’s not good to sleep late. You’ll miss the best part of the d—”

His words come to an abrupt stop when he spies me standing by the bed dressed only in my briefs. I can go months without someone seeing my underwear, but it appears to be a common theme of this holiday.

There’s a long and very affronted silence which I eventually break. “Oh dear, this is a teeny bit awkward,” I say.

“What the hell is he doing in your room?” Steven asks Jack, acting as if I’m not there.

A very long silence falls. I’m not kidding. I get a few grey hairs just by standing here. I sneak a look at Jack. He has a stunned look on his face, and I don’t think the hangover is helping his thought processes.

Steven’s nostrils flare, and he directs a killing glare at me. “It smells like spunk in here,” he says in a voice of doom.

“Are you sure that isn’t your breath?” I ask sweetly.

He narrows his eyes and turns to Jack. “What is happening?” he says loudly.

Jack winces and raises a hand to his head. “Please don’t shout like that,” he says pleadingly. “Your voice is hurting my face.”

“I don’t need a hangover for that to happen,” I mutter.

Steven looks at Jack closely. For a second, I think he’s going to make a scene. Then he takes a step toward Jack, a suddenly solicitous look on his face. “Oh dear,” he says. “You do look awful.” He raises his hands and cups Jack’s face. I eye him suspiciously. What is he up to? However, Jack just stares at him as if hypnotised. “You never could hold your alcohol, Jack. I’m not sure why you can’t identify your own limits,” Steven says bossily.

“I know mine,” I mutter but Steven ignores me.

He gives Jack a sweet smile and strokes his hair back. “I know just what you need. I’ll ring down to Reception and ask them to send me up what I need to make you my hangover cure. Remember Rome? It worked a treat.”

I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard Steven talk to Jack like this. His manner towards him has always combined sweet and bossy with an undertone of steel. I stare at them waiting for Jack to step back from his ex. Instead, he just stands there letting Steven pet him. A horrible thought suddenly occurs to me, and I reel back like I’ve been punched. Are they going to get back together?

I inhale shakily. Their breakup was recent. Plenty of couples have a spat and get back together. Or, so I’ve heard. The ending of my relationships have always been a bit more biblical with lots of fire and fury, and I’m sure it hailed once.

Maybe last night was an anomaly for Jack. He’s never displayed the slightest interest in me before, so why would he start now? My stomach lurches as I wonder whether he just felt sorry for me.

I dismiss that idea straightaway. No one can produce a pity erection. That’s an urban myth. He wanted me. I bite my lip. But we were very drunk. Maybe this was just a mad holiday thing where his common sense got thrown out of the window. Like when you come back from a lad’s