It’s Friday morning and for the first time in the three years I’ve worked with Sandra, I arrive at work before her. I turn on my computer.
‘Where’s Sandra?’ I ask Ted.
He shrugs, his eyes fixed on his screen.
‘But it’s 9.35,’ I point out. Ted looks over.
‘So, Sandra’s five minutes late. You could give her a run for her money, Sophia.’
‘Hmmph.’ I sit down and open my inbox.
As usual it’s full of boring medical newsletters and invitations to unimaginably dull conferences. I bulk delete the lot of them and get to work on my latest paper, which isn’t much higher in the excitement stakes. A glorious piece entitled, An in-depth analysis of intestinal tract mucus in normal and inflamed colons. I proofread the first couple of pages and check the time again: 9.55am.
‘Sandra’s still not here,’ I pipe up. Ted glances at his watch.
‘Hmmm… I’ll call her.’
He picks up his phone and gets halfway through dialling when Sandra bursts into the office. Her long hair, which she usually wears in a tight plait down her back is loose and tangled-looking as if she forgot to brush it. It almost looks like sex hair.
‘Hi. Sorry I’m late,’ she says as she unwinds her scarf. ‘Had a terrible morning.’
‘What happened?’ Ted asks.
‘It’s Betsy,’ Sandra says as she drapes her coat over the back of her chair. ‘I woke up and went to check on her and she’s practically doubled in size. Imagine a golf ball morphing into a tennis ball overnight. I don’t know what’s happened to her. I called an emergency vet and I just lost track of time. I’m sorry.’
She hangs up her coat and slumps down at her desk.
‘Could she be pregnant?’ Ted suggests.
‘No, of course not. She’s not pregnant!’ Sandra tuts as she switches on her monitor.
‘But you said she’s doubled in size,’ Ted points out.
‘Well, yes, she looks pregnant but she can’t physically be pregnant. She’s hasn’t had sex.’
‘Well, maybe it’s an immaculate conception,’ I chime in. ‘The Virgin Betsy.’
Sandra shoots me a look.
‘I’m really worried that it might be…’ She takes a deep breath, gathering strength. ‘A tumour,’ she utters.
My lips twitch as I suppress the urge to laugh.
‘Are you sure you haven’t been overfeeding her?’ Ted asks.
I can’t help giggling.
‘It’s not funny, Sophia!’ Sandra huffs. ‘And no! I haven’t been overfeeding her!’
She lowers her head in her hands.
‘I’m sorry, Sandra. What did the vet say?’ Ted asks, his voice deliberately soft and sympathetic.
‘She wasn’t very helpful, she said she couldn’t diagnose Betsy over the phone,’ Sandra replies in a small voice. A tear rolls down her cheek but she quickly flicks it away.
‘Look, why don’t you take the day off and take Betsy to the vet?’ Ted suggests.
Sandra gasps. ‘But what about my paper?’
‘It can wait, it’s fine. If Betsy’s unwell and something happened to her on my watch, well, I’m not sure I could live with that.’ Ted’s eyes glint with humour but Sandra doesn’t seem to notice.
‘Oh, thank you, Ted. Thank you!’
In a shot, Sandra jumps up and puts her coat and scarf back on.
‘Let us know how you get on, won’t you?’ Ted asks.
‘I will, of course.’
‘Good luck,’ I call after her as she hurries out the door.
‘So now I know how to get a day off. Get a fat hamster!’ I joke once Sandra’s safely out of earshot.
Ted cracks up and I can’t help laughing too.
‘She was crying for goodness’ sake!’ He chuckles.
‘I know!’
‘We shouldn’t laugh.’ He wheezes a little. ‘Oh dear. Poor Betsy,’ Ted sniggers, before taking a deep breath and turning his attention back to his monitor.
Even though I’m writing about intestinal tract mucus and it’s the kind of day that would normally drive me stir crazy with boredom, I’m still buzzing with excitement, because tonight’s the night! Tonight’s the night I’m going to Daniel’s! I plough through the paper as the day wears on and finally reach the last page, correcting a typo in ‘colonnic’. After giving the paper one last read-through, I print it out and drop it on Ted’s desk.
‘Here you go!’
Ted picks up the paper and scans the first few pages. ‘Very nice,’ he says approvingly.
‘Great!’ I edge away. ‘Well, have a good weekend, Ted.’
‘And you Sophia,’ Ted adds as I dash out the door.
As I sit on the tube, I daydream about the kind of flat Daniel might live in. I bet it’s incredible. I can’t wait to see the décor! I arrive at London Bridge and my phone buzzes the moment I’m out of the station. One new email from Sandra.
To: ,
From:
I just got back from the vet and I’m still in shock. The vet says that Betsy is, in fact, pregnant. I can’t figure out how she can possibly be pregnant! Did she sneak out of her cage for a midnight rendezvous? It doesn’t make any sense. And apparently hamsters can have up to 20 babies in their litter. What am I going to do with 20 miniature Betsies!?
I can’t help laughing to myself as I walk towards the Shard. I hold my phone up and take a photo. Mine and Daniel’s plan was to have a drink at the bar on the 32nd floor, followed by dinner at his place.
I text him before sending him the photo. I’m at the entrance. X
I drop my phone into my bag and wander over to Starbucks nearby, where I catch sight of my reflection in the window: my boring office dress, grey coat and blue scarf. I look a bit plain but I figured I can’t dress up for Daniel every time I see him. At some point, he’s going to have to see me in my normal day-to-day clothes. And anyway, they might not be staying on for long! I contemplate getting a coffee but I sit down on a bench instead and watch office workers funnelling up the escalator to London Bridge in a hurry to get home. My phone buzzes. It’s a picture message of a woman sitting on a bench. Me. On this bench. I turn around to find Daniel a few metres away, grinning.
‘Hi!’ I say as he swoops round and sits next to me.
‘Hey.’ He plants a kiss on my cheek.
‘Sorry I’m late. You look lovely as usual. I like the office look.’
‘Thanks.’ I smile, looking him up and down.
He’s wearing a black suit with a white shirt and skinny black tie, and looks like something straight out of a magazine
‘You look…’ I search for the right word. Gorgeous. Amazing. Sexy.
‘How was your day?’ Daniel asks as he takes my hand and we walk up to the Shard. He laughs as I tell him about Betsy’s pregnancy.
‘Maybe she had sex with a mouse?’ he suggests. I scoff.
‘Hamsters don’t have sex with mice. They’re not the same species. What are they going to produce? Mousesters?!’
‘Yeah. Why not?’ Daniel grins as we get to the entrance.
‘Evening, Daniel.’ The doorman greets him with a smile, holding the door open for us.
‘Evening,’ Daniel replies, smiling awkwardly.
‘They know your name?!’ I ask under my breath as we walk into the lift.
‘Yeah!’ Daniel laughs.
‘Do you come here a lot then?’
‘Yeah, I suppose I do,’ he says as the doors close and the lift shoots up the shaft to the 32nd floor.
A couple more doormen greet Daniel as we walk into the bar, where the windows stretch from floor to ceiling, revealing a panoramic view of the city. We sit down at a table with an incredible view over the Thames. We order glasses of white wine and as the sun sets over the city, Daniel tells me about his trip to Milan. It’s funny to think that an hour ago I was sitting in a poxy office writing about intestinal tract mucus and now I’m up here, with Daniel Hamilton-Reed at the top of the Shard discussing the purchase of fine silk!
My phone buzzes. A picture message from Chris showing a cute restaurant with gingham table clothes and tea lights on the tables. ‘Waiting for my date! Sorry for slow reply, was at my games meetup and got distracted. Hope you’re having a good night, wish me luck!’
I quickly type a text wishing him a good date, before dropping my phone in my handbag.
‘Sorry about that,’ I say to Daniel, who is gazing out at the sunset.
I reach over and take hold of his hand.
Clouds drift in the distance as we catch up, shifting slowly over the buildings below us, capturing the rich amber tinge of the fading light. They glow orange to red and gradually soften to pink as the sun dips below the horizon.
‘It’s so beautiful up here,’ I comment.
‘Yeah, it’s nice.’ Daniel smiles, but it’s a strange, thoughtful smile. One I can’t quite figure out.
‘I loved your photos,’ he says. ‘Getting to see into your life.’
I shrug. ‘They were a bit dull compared to yours.’
‘No, they’re weren’t.’
I drink the last sip of my wine and place the glass down.
‘Do you want another drink or shall we go?’ Daniel asks, a hint of flirtation in his eyes.
‘Ummm… Yeah, sure, let’s go,’ I reply, suddenly nervous.
Am I really going to do this? I want to sleep with Daniel, I really do, but it’s all just so surreal. Fantasies aren’t meant to become reality. Fantasies are comfortable things you have in the bath after a long gruelling day writing about stool output. They’re not meant to actually materialise. They’re not meant to be standing in front of you, picking your bag up off the table, while you put on your coat.
‘Everything okay?’ Daniel asks as we get up to leave.
‘Yep, everything’s fine.’ I smile brightly.
‘We can stay here if you like? Order some food. We don’t have to go to mine.’
‘No, it’s fine! Let’s go to yours,’ I insist.
‘Okay.’
We head out, and bizarrely, we don’t seem to be turning many heads as we leave. It’s completely different to that Covent Garden bar the other night. Here, people don’t seem to be giving Daniel much attention. Perhaps it because it’s the Shard, and it’s already pretty exclusive, packed full of people who could pass as celebrities, or maybe even are celebrities.
Daniel holds the door open for me as we leave the bar.
‘It’s this way,’ he says as he swipes his wallet against a sensor at another door, which makes a puckering noise as he pushes it open.
‘Is that a members’ pass or something?’ I frown. ‘The lift’s this way, remember?’ I gesture down the hall.
Daniel’s cheeks flush. ‘We can’t take that lift,’ he says. ‘It doesn’t go to my floor.’
‘Your floor?’ I freeze.
Daniel scratches his neck, the redness deepening on his cheeks.
‘I live here,’ he mutters.
My heart thumps in my chest. ‘You live at the Shard?’
Daniel nods and looks at down at the ground, avoiding my gaze. ‘I know it’s a bit showy, ostentatious or whatever but—’
‘You live at The Shard,’ I repeat, dumbstruck. ‘Are you kidding me?’
Daniel shakes his head. ‘My family bought the flat ages ago. An investment property. I didn’t really want to live here but I’m always coming and going from London, it was just easy for me.’
‘Right…’ I utter. ‘I thought your family were wealthy but this, this is just…’
I find myself taking a few steps back. It’s one thing to meet an absolutely gorgeous, charming man online, I’m still struggling to get my head around that, but to find out that he lives at the Shard! I mean, what the hell?
Daniel takes a step towards me.
‘Sophia, it’s just where I live.’
I meet his gaze. He’s actually for real. He really does live at the Shard. A group of tourists walk past, glancing curiously in our direction. They whisper and I catch the words ‘Robert Pattinson.’
‘Are you Robert Pattinson?’ A young woman wanders over tentatively, batting her lashes at him.
‘No, I’m not!’ Daniel snaps, exasperated.
‘Oh, sorry…’ the woman mutters, shrinking back to her group of friends. They disappear into the bar.
Daniel takes a step closer and tentatively takes hold of my hand. ‘I know it’s a lot to take in, but let’s just go up to my flat and talk there? Your palm’s all clammy,’ he observes.
‘I’m just so shocked.’
‘I know. That’s why I don’t like living here. I’m living in a tourist attraction. I may as well camp down in a pod in the London Eye. It’s just as ridiculous.’
I let out a weak laugh.
‘I can’t believe that place,’ I gesture towards the bar, ‘is your local.’
‘Yeah.’ Daniel smiles tightly.
No wonder people were more blasé than usual towards him in there, apart from those tourists, of course.
‘Come on.’ Daniel holds the door open for me and we walk in silence to the lift.
My mind is reeling. He lives at the Shard. I’m dating a man who lives at the Shard!
‘Are you okay?’ Daniel asks, as the lift doors open.
‘I’m fine!’
‘Come here.’ Daniel slips his hand around my waist and pulls me towards him, his lips finding mine as the doors close.
I kiss him but the magnetic attraction I feel towards him is at odds with my mind, which is still racing. The Shard. He lives at the Shard. I’m standing here kissing a man who lives at the Shard! The last guy I kissed – a geeky journalist who burped in my mouth – lived in a flat share in Elephant and Castle with a busker who played the digeridoo. Daniel traces his hand down my back. His lips are so soft. He smells so nice. Everything about him is just too good. I slip my hands around his waist, pulling him closer. The lift pings, the doors opening. A middle-aged couple carrying Louis Vuitton luggage shuffle inside, eyeing us coolly as we pull apart.
‘Good afternoon,’ Daniel says, with a courteous nod.
If he was wearing a cap I’m sure he’d doff it. I can’t help smirking. The man smiles tightly and presses the button for floor number 72. We all stand in silence as the lift travels up the shaft. Daniel catches my eye and smiles. He looks so boyish and playful, and I feel a twinge of laughter rising in my chest and look to my feet, my mouth twitching. Daniel pokes my side as the lift arrives at his floor. We scurry out, barely managing to hold in our laughter before the doors close.
‘Last time I ever kiss you in a lift!’ I comment.
‘Hmmm… Somehow I doubt that,’ Daniel teases as he turns his key in his front door.
‘Your door looks fairly normal,’ I comment, taking in the grey door which looks ordinary apart from the chunky lock.
‘What did you expect? A gold-plated door?’ Daniel quips as he pushes it open to reveal the most amazing flat I’ve ever seen. It’s flooded with light, the London skyline spilling out over the edge of a huge open space. The ceiling is forty, maybe fifty feet high and adorned with a gigantic chandelier, glittering and sparkling magnificently.
‘Are you coming in?’ Daniel asks as I stand, stunned in the doorway.
‘Yeah.’ I take a few steps forward.
At the far end of a huge open-plan space is a flat screen TV as big as a double bed, mounted to the wall in front of a suite of grey leather sofas. At the opposite end, a monochrome kitchen with a breakfast bar overlooks the city to the west. A huge mahogany dining table dominates the centre of the room. It could seat twenty people, with high-backed, velvet cushioned chairs, like small thrones.
‘Jesus Christ, Daniel.’
He smiles awkwardly.
‘I didn’t decorate this place,’ he points out. ‘I know it’s a bit crass. The chandelier and everything. I wish I could renovate it, you know, from scratch with all my own furniture and designs, none of this showy stuff.’
‘You poor thing,’ I tease. ‘That must be so hard for you.’
Daniel laughs. ‘Want a drink?’
He shrugs off his jacket as he walks towards the kitchen, draping it over a seat at the breakfast bar.
‘Yeah, sure.’ I perch on one of the seats while Daniel pours me a glass of wine.
The kitchen is so spotless and expensive that I feel scruffy in comparison. I actually quite liked my Warehouse dress and patent leather River Island loafers when I got dressed this morning. They may just be office wear, but I still felt fairly smart. But now I feel like a complete commoner, sitting here in my cheap high street clothes, on a chair that probably cost more than my monthly rent.
Daniel places a glass of wine in front of me.
‘Thanks.’
He smiles and pours himself a glass, before placing the bottle back in the fridge. He looks like a model in a showroom or an actor in a TV ad. His kitchen is so neat and flawless.
‘Where’s all your clutter?’ I ask.
‘Umm… This is clutter,’ Daniel says, holding up a design magazine that’s been laid next to a few others in a perfect fan shape.
‘Hardly. I mean your stuff.’
Daniel shrugs. ‘What stuff?’
‘I don’t know, your things.’
‘My things are in drawers, cupboards. Anyway, Elena tides everything away,’ he says.
‘Elena?’
‘My cleaner.’
‘Oh right. Of course.’
I sip my drink and look out of the window. Blackbirds swoop over the roofs below. They slide across the sky, back and forth, like falling feathers. Trains come and go from London Bridge station. Kate’s words come flooding back to me, again: When something seems too good to be true, it usually is. Why would a guy like that be mixing with normal people like us? She’s right. This whole thing is too weird. And I don’t really know Daniel. What if he’s the next Craigslist Killer? Or he’s the real-life Patrick Bateman from American Psycho and he’s got a woman’s head in the fridge? He could be just luring me into a false sense of security before he goes in for the kill. He might have slipped some sedatives into my drink. After all, I didn’t see him opening the wine, he just took the bottle out of the fridge and removed the stopper. And he hasn’t even touched his glass. It didn’t taste like it contained sedatives, it was actually really nice and sweet, but then again, knowing Daniel, he probably bought some really high-end sedatives that don’t taste of anything. He touches my knee. I flinch and his hand falls away.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing, I’m fine. Absolutely fine!’
‘Something’s wrong. You keep touching your hair. Your voice has changed. You’ve gone all high-pitched.’
I try my best to smile nonchalantly. ‘I’m alright, really.’
‘You’re quite clearly not,’ Daniel says, a little huffily.
Oh God, I’m provoking him. I take a deep breath and try my best to look relaxed.
‘Sophia, just tell me what’s wrong,’ he insists.
I rap my fingernails against the surface of the breakfast bar. The sound rings out through the flat. Daniel shifts in his chair. He scratches his neck and a flush begins to rise up around his collar. Would a serial killer blush like that? I glance out of the window again, at the swooping birds below, the dirty city beneath us. That’s where I belong, not up here.
‘I’m not sure this is me,’ I comment. ‘I just… I’m not used to your world. It makes me a bit… uncomfortable.’
Daniel frowns. ‘You said you wanted a millionaire?’
‘That was a joke!’
‘Oh, well, sorry.’ Daniel takes a pensive sip of his drink. Maybe it doesn’t contain sedatives after all.
‘I just don’t get why a guy like you would be on a site like Dream Dates. You’ve got women falling at your feet everywhere you go. Even on our first date, within two minutes of meeting you, a woman gave you her number. A super-hot woman, at that. And you live at the Shard for goodness’ sake. There are women who’d kill to be with a guy like you. Other rich women. Models. Celebrities. I don’t know, I just feel like… There’s just…’ Something you’re not telling me. Something that doesn’t add up, I want to say, but I bite my tongue. After all, what if he does have meat cleavers stashed away somewhere? I don’t want to piss him off.
Daniel gets up and walks over to the window, his gaze fixed on the horizon, his back tense. A silence passes between us. The flat is deathly still, the noise of the city reduced to nothing.
‘Daniel…’ I venture.
He turns around. ‘I’m sorry, but I just hate it when I can’t be myself because of all this.’ He gestures around at the flat.
‘I didn’t choose to be wealthy. I didn’t choose to be born into a rich family. I can’t do anything about it but it means that I can’t be myself. Everyone sees me through this lens of money. I just wanted to get to know you, person to person, but now my wealth’s come into it and you’re treating me differently.’
He sits down a few seats away from me and regards me with a cool, impassive stare. All the light and sparkle that’s been in his eyes ever since we met has gone. It’s like he’s shut down.
‘It’s just all a bit much. You can’t blame me for feeling out of my depth? I’ve never met anyone like you before and I—’
‘Anyone like me?’ Daniel interrupts. ‘You were fine with me before. Before you knew I lived up the Shard, you were absolutely fine with me. You liked me. We were getting close.’
He frowns and rubs his fingers over his forehead as if to knead out the tension. He seems so upset that I start to feel genuinely bad. Maybe he hasn’t got meat cleavers stashed away in a drawer after all.
‘I know, I’m sorry. I guess I’m so used to meeting absolute loser guys on sites like Dream Dates that I can’t get my head around this situation. I just don’t get why you were on the site. It seems so strange. Picturing you sitting up here logging onto a site like that.’
‘Well, if it’s so bad then why were you on it?’ Daniel retorts.
‘Kate wanted me to join. I told you, it was just a joke profile. Anyway, it’s not the same thing,’ I comment.
‘Right.’ Daniel nods, his jaw tense. ‘Look, the reason I went on it is because, like you, I wanted to meet a dream person, a “dream date”’ he says, doing air quotations.
‘I’m tired of playing the field. I wanted to meet someone special. I’ve dated super rich girls and they’re not for me, Sophia. I don’t want to be in a relationship with a woman who spends her life shopping for handbags, or eating brunch in Chelsea, or going to the dermatologist, I want to—’
‘Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,’ I point out.
‘Maybe… Well, yes,’ Daniel admits. ‘But believe me, that’s not what I want. I don’t want to meet a rich girl who thinks there’s nothing more to life than designer shoes and makeup or clothes. I want to meet someone different. Is that so wrong?’
I squirm. ‘It’s just a bit unusual, I suppose.’
Daniel shrugs. ‘You know, my dad met my mum when he was on a business trip to Croatia. She was working as a receptionist in the hotel lobby, a dark-eyed girl from a tiny little village where they had a goat in their yard. They were from completely different worlds and yet they fell in love! I don’t think it matters how much money you have or where you’re from; it’s about two people and whether or not they get on.’
‘I guess so,’ I agree, feeling a little less anxious as I imagine the Cinderella-like romance between a small town Croatian girl and Daniel’s wealthy oil-trader father. He must have swept her off her feet.
‘Look, I wasn’t expecting much,’ Daniel continues. ‘To be honest, I thought you sounded like a laugh to begin with. Your Dream Dates profile was mad! I thought you’d be a fun date but it’s more than that now. There’s something about you. A spark, an energy. You’re just special.’
He looks so serious that I can’t help feeling moved. Maybe he does just want to meet someone different. I move a little closer to him and slip my hand over his knee. He looks up, his eyes wide and vulnerable. He clearly hasn’t got meat cleavers or sedatives; he’s not a serial killer, he’s just like me. He just wants to fall in love. And maybe he’s right. Even though I asked for a millionaire on that stupid profile, all I’ve ever really wanted is to feel that spark, to fall in love and money doesn’t really come into that, whether the guy is broke or rich. Maybe Daniel’s right; maybe I am seeing him through a lens of money.
‘I’m sorry, Daniel, I was just a bit taken aback.’
I slide my hand a little further up his leg. He meets my gaze, the sparkle returning to his eyes.
‘Okay, but will you drop it? All these hang-ups about my background? I can’t help being rich any more than I’d be able to help being poor. It’s not a choice. It’s just the family I was born into,’ he says grumpily.
‘I know,’ I comment, resisting the urge to smile. He could give Oliver Twist a run for his money, he’s so forlorn.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay.’ He pulls me close and plants a kiss on my lips. ‘Shall we have dinner now? You said in your texts that you liked sushi so I ordered some in.’ He opens the fridge door and pulls out a giant silver tray.
‘I’m not the best cook, I’m afraid,’ he says, unpeeling a layer of cling-film to reveal the prettiest sushi I’ve ever seen.
‘It looks delicious. Are you going to lay it all over my naked body now and eat it off?’ I ask, but Daniel looks confused. He’s clearly not a fan of Sex and the City.
‘I could do but it might get a bit dangerous with the wasabi.’ He pulls out a bottle of soy sauce and a tube of wasabi from the fridge.
‘Do you want to eat here or at the dining table?’ he asks. I cast my eyes across the flat, towards the giant wooden table, which is so perfectly polished that it reflects like a mirror the light streaming in through the window.
‘Dining table.’
If I’m going to accept Daniel’s wealth and roll with it, I may as well have a little fun. Why not have dinner sitting on a plush velvet chair underneath a humungous glittering chandelier?
‘Great.’ Daniel smiles, carrying the tray over.
‘Can I help?’ I offer.
‘No. You just sit there and look pretty,’ he says.
I watch as he sets the table. The light reflects off the shiny wood, illuminating his face and neck. He looks unreal, like an angel or a fairy. He places the napkins down next to the plates and lays the chopsticks neatly on top of them. He’s trying. He’s really trying to please me – getting sushi, laying the table so nicely, and I’ve just been sitting here, treating him like a serial killer. I feel a pang of guilt. I pick up our glasses of wine and carry them over.
‘Your table is so beautiful,’ I comment as I place the glasses down. ‘How did you get it so shiny?’
Daniel smiles a little tightly as he pulls out a chair for me. It’s heavy and the wood has been ornately carved. It’s clearly incredibly expensive. I sit down and it’s like sitting on a cloud, it’s so comfortable.
‘Wow, this chair! It’s so soft! It’s so—’
‘Sophia!’ Daniel cuts me off as he sits down. ‘There are a lot of expensive things in this flat. It’s all high quality but let’s just make this about us and not all this stuff.’
‘Okay!’ I pick up my glass and clink it against his. ‘To us.’
‘To us!’ Daniel chimes, taking a sip while scanning the sushi platter.
‘Daniel! You have to look me in the eyes while you take a sip or else it’s seven years’ bad sex,’ I tell him.
He laughs. ‘We wouldn’t want that now, would we?’ he says, meeting my gaze.
I smile to myself as I pick up my chopsticks and pluck some sushi from the tray. We work our way through the platter, chatting intermittently as the light fades to black outside. As we reach the last few pieces of sushi, I feel something brush against my leg and look down, startled, to see a fluffy black and white cat. Esther! I forgot about Daniel’s rescue cat Esther!
‘Hello kitty!’ I reach down to stroke her. She looks up, her eyes round and black like marbles.
‘Meow.’ She rubs her body against me.
‘She’s so cute!’
‘She wants some fish.’ Daniel picks up a slither of salmon and dangles it towards her,
‘Esther! Esther baby!’ He waves the fish around. Esther bites it out of his hand.
‘Esther baby?’ I raise an eyebrow.
‘Shut up, you,’ Daniel retorts, smiling.
I pick up a piece of salmon and hold it out to her. She guzzles it and then jumps up onto Daniel’s lap.
‘That’s right, come to daddy,’ he coos, tickling her.
‘Daddy!’ I tut as Daniel makes kissing noises while Esther curls up and purrs softly.
I gaze out at the city lights glittering endlessly in the horizon. I place my glass down and walk over to the window to get a better look.
‘Wow, it’s even more beautiful at night.’
Daniel approaches me from behind, slipping his hands around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder.
‘It’s good when I need to think,’ he says.
‘I’m impressed you manage to leave the house. I’d just want to look out the window all day,’ I comment, watching the lights twinkling in the distance.
‘Well, you can do that if you want,’ Daniel says.
I turn around and look up at him, taking in his perfectly-chiselled face, the symmetry that never ceases to amaze me. When God made Daniel, he really took his time. He got out his rulers, his protractor, his compass. Regular people look slapdash in comparison, as if God made them after one too many sherries. Daniel’s eyes are still piercingly blue even in the dim light. He smiles ever so slightly and lowers his lips to mine. He kisses me softly, running his hand down my back.
‘Let’s sit down,’ he says as he pulls over two seats from the dining table.
‘You know, on a good day, you can see the sea from up here.’ He plants a chair at my feet before pointing towards the southeast.
‘Sure, you can.’
‘No, it’s true!’ Daniel insists. ‘You can see all the way to Southend on Sea. The sky has to be crystal clear though.’
‘Really?’ I peer into the darkness.
‘And it has to be daytime!’ Daniel adds.
‘Shut up!’ I give him a gentle push.
‘No, really, this is the only place in London where you can see the sea. From the top of the Shard.’
‘That’s crazy,’ I remark as I sit down.
‘Yeah, it is. It’s strange up here. You can see everything yet no one can see you.’ Daniel looks at me with a dark, unreadable expression, before pulling his chair closer to mine and placing his hand on my thigh, pushing my dress up my legs.
‘Daniel…’ I place my hand on his, making a weak attempt to stop him.
‘I’m sorry, Sophia, I can’t resist anymore.’ He draws his lips to mine. We kiss slowly and tenderly, until lust kicks in and our kisses grow more and more intense. Daniel unzips my dress and pulls it down over my shoulders.
‘I’ve been dreaming about this ever since I met you,’ he murmurs into my ear.
I could try to resist him and be coy, but the truth is, I’ve been dreaming about this too. I unbutton his shirt. His body makes Adonis look like a slob, he’s so toned and flawless. His skin is so unbelievably soft and smooth, it’s almost inhuman. He’s so beautiful in fact that the whole thing feels completely unreal, so unreal that any nervousness I had before simply dissipates. We make love on the chair, the city sprawling beneath us. It feels so good. Unbelievably good. I knew Daniel matched pretty much all my criteria on Dream Dates, but there was one thing I wasn’t sure about.
‘The perfect eight inches,’ I murmur as I catch my breath after the most amazing orgasm of my life, my hands draped lazily around his neck.
‘Hey, don’t forget about the diameter,’ Daniel jokes.
‘Are you real?’ I pinch his side. ‘You’re not just a figment of my imagination?’
Daniel laughs and kisses me on the forehead. I rest my head against his shoulder and breathe in the scent of his skin as I look out over the city sparkling beneath us.
‘Let’s go to bed,’ he suggests.
‘Okay.’ I slip my underwear back on and we walk in a post-coital daze down a corridor leading to his bedroom.
Daniel opens the door and I’m greeted with the sight of a giant bed, covered in shimmery silk throws and perfectly arranged cushions, set within an inhumanely large bedroom, which of course, has incredible views. The flat has been structured so that every room gets as much exposure to the views as possible. Daniel’s bedroom is at one of The Shard’s corners, with two walls comprised solely of glass. It’s as sparse and minimalistic as the rest of the flat, with just a chaise longue in the corner, overlooking the city.
‘Wow…’ I gasp, before cursing myself. I just can’t seem to take Daniel’s wealth in my stride. This sort of thing just isn’t normal for me. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s okay.’
‘Can I borrow a dressing gown?’ I ask, feeling a little self-conscious in just my underwear.
‘Sure,’ Daniel replies, opening a mahogany door, flush against the wall, which I assume must be some kind of wardrobe. He disappears inside it. Walk-in wardrobe, ha, I should have known.
I sit down on Daniel’s bed, which is covered with a lavish throw densely embroidered with gold thread. Something he no doubt picked up on his travels. I can’t get over how spotless and tidy everything is in his flat. His bedroom is just as clutter-free as the kitchen, except for a framed picture on the bedside table and a tie and furry throw dangling over the back of the chaise longue. They look a little out of place, as if they might have been left there deliberately to give an impression of homeliness. I pick up the photo frame from the bedside table. It shows a couple, an older man with Daniel’s strong boned features holding a younger-looking woman close. She’s petite and dark-haired, dressed in a neat pencil suit, and toasts a champagne flute towards the camera, smiling shyly.
Daniel emerges, still naked, a crisp white dressing gown draped over his arm.
‘My parents,’ he explains, nodding towards the photograph.
‘I can see the resemblance. Was this taken in Dubai?’ I ask.
‘Yeah.’ Daniel nods. ‘It was at a summer party.’
‘Oh nice, at your place?’
‘No.’ He frowns, handing me the dressing gown. ‘It wouldn’t have been at our place.’
‘What do you mean?’
Daniel shrugs. ‘My parents don’t really throw parties. My dad’s always away with work and my mum doesn’t really know many people. Hardly anyone, actually.’
‘What?’ I balk, taken aback as I tie the robe. ‘But I thought your parents have lived in Dubai for years!’
‘Yeah, they have,’ Daniel replies nonchalantly, perching at the end of the bed. ‘But my mum doesn’t get out much.’
‘How come?’ I ask
‘Because she takes care of the house, Sophia. Can we please stop talking about my parents? It’s a mood killer!’ he jokes.
‘Okay,’ I murmur, taking one last look at the photo before placing it back down. Daniel’s parents look so happy, but I can’t help wondering what his mum’s life is really like if she’s stuck at home all day while her husband’s out of the country for work.
‘I can’t believe you wanted a dressing gown!’ Daniel says, changing the subject.
‘I’m cold, Daniel!’ I retort, turning to him.
‘The heating’s on,’ he points out. He’s right, it isn’t particularly cold. It’s actually quite warm and toasty.
‘Well, not all of us like to gallivant around, butt naked.’
Daniel grins, before sweeping half a dozen cushions off the bed and onto the floor.
‘I don’t usually have so many cushions but I told Elena to make my bed look nice for you. She went a bit overboard,’ he laughs.
I pluck a small heart-shaped cushion off the bed. ‘Yeah, I can see the feminine touch.’
‘Not exactly my taste.’
‘No, your taste is totally alpha male. Totally butch.’
‘Exactly,’ Daniel laughs, grabbing me and pulling me into bed with him.
Two seconds later, the dressing gown falls among the cushions onto the floor.