I might actually freeze to death if he doesn’t turn up soon, I’m so excited I could burst. And I can’t wait to get my hands on him, if I’m honest. He’s gorgeous, charming, has an amazing job in investment banking, and a pretty good line in chat. I think I might have struck lucky the first time. It has to happen to some people, doesn’t it? I mean statistically speaking, for all those people kissing frogs there has to be a one-in-a-million chance that I’ll be the one who ends up with the prince?
I wrap the long coat Sophie has lent me around my chest, trying to keep the rain out. Emma’s been really sweet, and done my hair up in a gorgeous mass of curls and so many kirby grips I won’t have a clue how to get it down tomorrow morning, but that’s the last thing on my mind. I don’t even care (well, all right, a tiny bit, but I’m going to let that go) that I’m pretty sure I heard her creeping out of Alex’s room yesterday morning. It might’ve been my imagination, anyway.
Oh come on, come on … It’s five past seven, and Theo said he’d be here at five to. I’m standing in the rain, watching as glowing couples and groups of chatting people make their way across the little bridge and onto the boat. The railings are strung with fairy lights, which are swaying in the wind, and for a second it’s as if I’m looking at myself from the outside, and it feels like I’m at the start of a movie.
And then I spot him. Hmm. All right, he’s shorter than I imagined, but definitely still cute. And he’s meandering along, talking on the phone – probably some terribly busy and important investment banking call, which is why he isn’t rushing, because otherwise he’d get out of breath – and as he sees me he raises an arm in greeting, and ends the call.
‘Jess,’ Theo says, kissing me on the mouth. He smells of whisky and I realise in a second that he’s already more than a little bit drunk. His eyes are crossing slightly, and he’s swaying – and not just because we’re being buffeted by the wind. ‘Sorry I’m a bit late, got caught up in a – thing.’ His jaw is stubbled and he looks hollow-eyed and exhausted. ‘You look lovely.’
He starts walking up the gangway towards the boat, and I realise I’m still standing, half expecting him to take the arm of my now-sodden coat. I hurry after him.
‘I’ll take your coat, madam,’ says a man in a white jacket as we step onto the riverboat. He hands us each a black mask. Mine is trimmed with tiny diamante sparkles, which glitter in the light. Theo’s is plain black. He slips his on immediately and his eyes gleam out at me.
‘The ladies are just over there, if you want to—’ He gives me an up and down look, and I suddenly feel very not-London and a bit scruffy, then checks his phone. He catches a glimpse of someone over my shoulder and waves at them. ‘You nip to the loo, and I’ll get you a drink. Don’t forget your mask.’
A second later, he’s gone. I go to the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror, fixing my lipstick – which I’ve chewed off, biting my lip in anticipation and nerves waiting for him to arrive – and try to tame my hair, which has come loose in the wind and rain so that lots of dark tendrils are fluffing around the edges of my face. I hook the mask on and look at myself once more.
I feel excited, and glamorous, and I tell myself that this is all very romantic. Me, at a masked ball, in London, with an investment banker as my date. A slightly drunk one, but nonetheless.
I climb the stairs and realise that while I’ve been down there they’ve loosed the boat from its moorings, and we’re sailing. The floor is swaying slightly beneath my feet.
The space is thronging with people, and I stand for a moment, trying to work out which one of the hundred or so men in black tie and a plain black mask is Theo.
‘There you are,’ he says, over my shoulder. I turn around and he’s holding a bottle of expensive champagne with a glass already poured for me. He takes a slug from the bottle. ‘Thought you’d