As we are about to disembark, one of the cabin crew comes to talk to us. ‘You have had a message from Mrs. Knowles, Mr. Hunter’s secretary, to let you know that she has arranged for a driver who speaks English. He’ll take you wherever you want to go and will wait for you. Please don’t go anywhere without him.’

‘Cool,’ I say.

We thank the rest of the crew as we exit the plane and step into the glorious sunshine. Even though it is only eleven in the morning it’s already very hot. Our passports are checked then we walk to a black Mercedes idling on the tarmac.

‘Welcome to Milano,’ the driver says as we reach the car. ‘I am Fabio and I will look after you during your stay here.’

‘Ciao, Fabio,’ Britney greets cheerily and slips elegantly into the door he holds open for her. I get in on the other side. He walks over to the front, gets in, and turns around to pass us both cards with his cell number. ‘Telephone me when you wish to go anywhere or if you need me, Signorine,’ he says.

We murmur our thanks, and he puts the car into motion. It’s only then I hear my phone ping and eagerly retrieve it from my bag. My heart races as I read the text.

Hey Wildcat. Been thinking about u nonfuckingstop. My dick’s going wild & I’m feeling cocky. So consider yourself warned. Buy something dead sexy for tonight. C u later. x

Britney sees the wide smile on my face and turns to me with an inquiring look. ‘Someone’s made you happy,’ she says.

‘Yeah,’ I say.

Barely able to contain my happiness, I lie back and watch the sun-drenched countryside pass us by. An hour later we turn into the fabulous pillars that straddle the entrance of the Hotel Principe di Savoia.

‘Wow, it’s breathtaking,’ I gush.

‘I know and I can’t wait to see our rooms.’

The driver drops us off at the main entrance and we go inside the massive foyer with its fabulous centerpiece waterfall. At the reception desk we are welcomed by a sultry Italian brunette and told that we have a suite on the top floor. She also passes a white envelope with both Britney’s and my name on it.

‘OMG! It’ll be so much fun, we have our own suite together,’ Britney squeals as I open the envelope.

‘What’s in the envelope?’ she asks.

‘Our stage passes and … a letter,’ I reply.

‘What does it say?’ she asks peering over my shoulder and reading the letter.

‘For a few seconds there is silence as we read the letter, then Britney is doing a happy dance right there in the posh foyer that positively smells of big money.

‘Ha, ha, ha, I can’t believe it. Cash asked Mrs. Knowles to open accounts for us in Fendi, Prada, Moschino, Gucci and Versace. We can buy whatever we want to,’ she sings.

‘Mrs. Knowles is really efficient,’ I say in a hushed voice. I’ve never been so spoilt in all my life.

‘Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant we’re all organized,’ Britney says as a bellboy approaches us and takes us to the top floor. Our suite is a to-die-for mixture of classical elegance and modern contemporary. Britney claims the bedroom overlooking the street and I take the one overlooking the garden and pool. The bathrooms are stunning with pink marble and Jacuzzi whirlpool baths. I throw myself on the bed and think of Cash. I can’t wait to see him later.

‘What do you want to do now, Brit?’ I shout across the room. ‘We have six hours before we need to leave for the stadium.’

‘Shopping obviously,’ she says appearing at my doorway. ‘What else is there to do in Milan? We’ll hit the shops on Mrs. Knowles’ list.’

I call the driver and we find ourselves in the Quadrilatero d'Oro (Rectangle of Gold). We visit so many shops that I lose count. For the most part I stare in awe at the beauty, the design brilliance, and the incredible choice I see on display in Milan. Bright colors, classic lines.

Britney buys a striped trouser outfit at Fendi and a really cute dress at Moschino. She also finds a luscious snakeskin bag at Gucci and a pair of boots at Prada. I find the perfect buy in Versace. A leopard print, tight, velvet mini-dress with a high collar. The sales assistant, a gay man with very beautiful eyes, then suggests a pair of shoes that I would never have thought of wearing with my print dress. A black Medusa tri-strap platform. I put them on and stand.

‘Very sexy,’ he says in his thick Italian accent.

‘They’re perfect. Get them,’ Britney says very firmly.

I walk up and down the shop. He wants wild cat. He’s got wild cat.

‘Okay,’ I say.

It is nearly two o’clock and we are very hungry so we stop for lunch at Caffè Baglioni across the street. Between us we polish off plates of eggs and truffle, steak tartare, smoked salmon, and wash it all down with a bottle of champagne.

We arrive back at the hotel quite merry, a teeny bit tipsy, and with about two hours to go before we leave for the stadium. Already the adrenaline is flowing in my blood. I can’t wait to see Cash. It’s as if we haven’t been parted for just a few hours, but weeks.

Britney is in her room with the music at dance level decibels and is busy trying on various outfits for later, so I decide to avail myself of the Jacuzzi. I lie back and close my eyes. As the lovely sensation of jets of water gently blast my body, an image of Cash the first time he cheekily came into my bathroom with his mouthwatering wares on display comes into my head.

I remember his manly smell, his tanned muscular torso, his large hands as they spread my legs, and instantly my body starts aching for his brand of pleasure. My hands move of their own accord and start squeezing my breasts and caressing my nipples, anticipating how it will feel to be taken and fucked hard by Cash again.

It seems an impossible dream that I will stand in the audience watching the hero of so many of my teenage wet dreams, and I will not scream or cry his name, but will go home with the real thing, Cash Hunter.

I stand in front of the mirror, my hair loose and shining down my back, my eyes alive with excitement, my skin pink with all the blood rushing madly around my body, and with only one way to describe my dress: sexy, sexy, sexy.

I just hope to God that Cash doesn’t think it’s too slutty.

I go into Britney’s room. She is zipping herself up into a long sleeved shift dress with an A-line skirt, complete with black lace trim. I sit on the bed and tell her she looks amazing, but she takes it off and tries on two more outfits before I look at my watch pointedly, telling her if she carries on in this way much longer we will miss the concert.

‘Right. Be a devil and open the champagne bottle and I promise I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.’

I open the bottle that has been sitting on ice since we came in and grab two glasses, then return to her room. I pour the champagne and offer her a glass.

‘To a fabulous time tonight,’ Britney says.

‘To a fabulous time,’ I toast.

‘I’m so happy I am with you, Tori,’ Britney giggles.

‘And I’m so happy, Britney, to see you happy,’ I say. I almost can’t believe how the girl is changing. I barely recognize this good-hearted, warm girl.

Fifteen minutes later she is all dolled up to the nines in the black and pink Moschino dress we bought earlier and we’re ready to roll.

I call Fabio who says he’s already downstairs.

She jumps to her feet. ‘Will I do?’ she asks doing a quick and slightly unsteady twirl.

‘I’ll have a hard time keeping the guys away from you tonight,’ I tell her.

‘Don’t you bloody dare,’ she warns and bursts out laughing.

We leave the suite and go downstairs. In the foyer a group of young Italian guys blow kisses and call out, ‘Bella, bella.’

We smile and keep moving. Fabio is right outside the entrance, smoking a cigarette, looking cool and relaxed.

‘Mediolanum Forum, Assago?’ he asks.

‘Si,’ I confirm.

As we exit the hotel’s forecourt, I realize that I can barely wait to get there, but I dampen my enthusiasm next to Britney.

‘Vaffanculo,’ Fabio yells furiously as he slams on the brakes.

Both Britney and I jump and brace ourselves on the seats in front of us.

He meets our eyes in the rear view mirror. ‘Sorry. Every time big concert, very bad traffic,’ he says.

‘Will we make it in time?’ Britney asks in a panicked voice.

‘Don’t worry, Signorina. I know all the side roads. We beat the other cars.’