Ten
On the day of the Single Mingle, I’m bouncing between sheer dread at the thought of my stealth mission and exhilaration at the thought of meeting Ryan and playing matchmaker extraordinaire. I can’t tell who is more excited about the reconnaissance mission – Adam or me. From the way he’s talking, you’d think we were the hosts from Love is Blind. He’s even offered to buy a ticket and “shadow” me, coming up with complex signalling suggestions for whether or not I’m doing a good job improving Ryan’s confidence. I shut this suggestion down before he’s even finished the sentence.
It’s Adam’s idea to go down the Russian royalty route. He’s actually dated a Russian model (of course he has), so he gives me some helpful tips on things I should know if I have Russian ancestry or, you know, had ever actually set foot in the country. He also helps me choose the name Anastasia Edwards. “Very regal,” he adds. I’m not 100% sure why I listen to him rather than becoming, say, Mary Addlestone from Peterborough, but all I can say is life has been pretty mundane recently. I am more open than usual to being influenced by Adam’s particular brand of mischievous nonsense. I draw the line, however, when he tries to make me practise an affectation similar to an amateur production of War and Peace.
“No,” I tell him firmly. “I will explain that I have been brought up in Knutsford and have my own accent.” He grudgingly agrees, acknowledging that his most successful deceptions have always had kernels of truth in them. I ignore this particularly worrying little nugget of insight into Adam’s inner workings and distract him by asking him about outfit choices.
“The less like you usually look, the better – glamorous and befitting a mysterious duchess,” he says immediately.
“Adam…I’m supposed to be motivating him, not distracting him.”
He looks perplexed and then concedes that perhaps the best approach is a flattering but classy royal blue midi dress with nude stilettos and a delicate clutch, along with my favourite sparkly Swarovski earrings – a 21st birthday present from Bea. I wonder aloud if I have now made myself look too glamorous. Still, Adam reminds me that Ryan is also more likely to have his confidence improved by having a flirtatious encounter with an elegant mystery woman than a tired old bag lady who looks like she slept in a hedge. There’s something about his tone that implies this is more akin to how I usually look. I don’t know where he gets this idea, but I’m not sure my self-esteem is up to probing.
He helps me with my hair and then, to my horror, insists that we do some power poses together while staring at our reflections in my bedroom mirror. He says he learned this from a Ted Talk. I’ve learned that it’s usually quicker to agree and get the horror over with than to argue when it comes to Adam’s eccentricities, so I quite literally grit my teeth and strike a pose. Maybe there’s something in this power posing though, because looking at myself taking up space while dressed so elegantly, I really do start to feel a little bit more Anastasia Edwards and a little bit less Alex Taylor. I wander over to my dressing table, dig out my sexiest red lipstick, and smirk as I catch Adam still flexing in the mirror.
“Are you sure you don’t want an escort?” he asks again.
“Quite sure, Adam, thank you. The last thing I need tonight is my cousin’s assistance in flirting with this poor man. Or worse, you make him feel even less confident by jumping in and seducing every woman who he starts to speak to. I’ll report back afterwards. It ends at midnight, so you’ll probably still be up.”
“Alright then, Cinderella. Go charm your Prince.”
And I’m off.