Chapter 14
He sweeps me on board and takes me straight into the VIP section.
The celebrity DJ for the night spots us immediately and greets Matteo like an old friend.
I listen to them chatting in French. French!
The party is already in full swing. The music is thumping, and there is a frisson in the air.
Overwhelmed and out of my depth, I hover at the edge of the circle before heading over to prepare for my set.
I am suffering from a permanent flutter of butterflies in my stomach since the kiss.
I can think of nothing else. I just want him to kiss me and put me back under his spell with those gorgeous dark eyes of his.
While Matteo is networking, he makes sure to glance over to the stage area where I am checking the equipment and scrolling through the songs that Nancy has chosen.
I hear a commotion and witness Nacho strutting in like a magnificent prize peacock, with some of the cliff divers who are dressed equally as glamorously.
He comes over to say hello and tells me his friends at the salon WhatsApped him the Cinderella photo I sent them.
‘Cenicienta,’ he says, ‘are you doing the same comedy routine from last night or different?’
Christ alive. I will be forever haunted.
I laugh it off and catch Matteo staring over at me.
He doesn’t seem too happy that I am chatting with Nacho.
Both men exchange a determined smile. First, it seems ridiculous that these two Greek gods are even giving me the time of day, let alone paying me this much attention, and second, it probably is high time I did some cyber-stalking of Matteo if we are to continue heavy petting like we have been.
‘How do you two know each—’ I’m cut off mid-sentence as the manager comes over to ask if I’m ready to start.
‘We need you on quickly. Amy Housewine has run out of songs to sing.’
I send a quick prayer up to my mother. Please let me be good.
An hour later, I’m still light-headed. I don’t know quite what came over me, but somehow, I did exactly what I was told.
As if on automatic pilot, keen to get the show over with and to stick rigidly to Matteo’s plan of nothing going wrong, I have breezed through every song in a technically perfect manner.
I went through each one without dropping a single note or upsetting the audience with my preference for reducing grown men to tears.
All my years of training have kicked in to lead to this very moment as I keep my nerves and feelings for Matteo at bay, to concentrate fully on the job at hand.
And while I do like to take my audience on a journey with me, I have to admit they look like they have enjoyed happy songs being sung to them.
I’m on the home straight and on to the last track. I glance down to see what it is.
Oh no.
I look across the dance floor with alarm.
Thankfully, Matteo seems to have disappeared.
I’ve noticed him talking to lots of people throughout my set, meeting and greeting.
He has a very firm handshake, it appears.
I’m relieved he’s not here to witness what I’m about to do.
After seven years of singing basically the same songs over and over, this one is only ever reserved for the last song at a wedding, not on a yacht full of promiscuous, fun-loving twenty-somethings.
They are going to hate it. It’s going to ruin the vibe completely.
Who should I tell? I cast about anxiously for the manager, but I can barely remember what he looks like.
‘This last song is for,’ I say, lowering my voice, ‘all you lovers out there.’
Trust bloody Nancy to sneak this in. It’s like she’s done it on purpose. I have no option but to start singing ‘The Power of Love’.
I’m singing about a body and holding on to it and doing all I can to bring it pleasure.
How embarrassing. Name a single lustful woman on the planet who could sing this song and not think about their Mr Window Seat.
Soon, thoughts of that delicious kiss flood my mind as I close my eyes and belt out the tune.
When I eventually open them, I see Matteo edge closer through the crowd, watching me.
The way he fixes me with his dark look ignites a feeling of something new.
It is spreading through me as I stare back, entranced.
I feel the thump of my heart drumming against my chest in time to the music.
Without breaking eye contact, I carry on singing.
Suddenly, the song takes on new significance, my voice sounds thick with emotion, and I feel my lungs ready to explode as I proclaim rather loudly that I am his LAY-DEEEE and he is my MA-AAAA-AAAAN.
I feel my face go beetroot red as I sing.
I wish I could rip my gaze from his, but like a driver with their eyes glued to a pile-up on the opposite side of the road, I just can’t.
Couples are smooching on the dance floor between us.
The tempo is suitably chilled, lots of people are lounging around, swaying in time.
Somehow, I’ve managed to create a sexy, romantic sort of vibe.
It’s like a penny dropping. This is how I used to be.
Before I became covered in cobwebs and dust.
I focus my attention back on the crowd and sing about heading for something, somewhere I’ve never been, until the music fades and I’m clapped off stage. The DJ has followed my lead, and the mood of the club has come down a notch to give people a rest before he builds it back up.
I make my way down the steps at the side of the stage and am walking shyly over to Matteo when Nacho swoops in out of nowhere, like a bird of prey, snatches me by the waist and swirls me onto the dance floor as though he’s a professional flamenco dancer about to administer an advanced masterclass.
‘Much better singing, Cenicienta,’ Nacho says, giving me a flirty wink. ‘Much, much better. Very hot.’ He stretches his hand out towards me and pulls me into him before thrusting me out again. ‘Now I give you dance lesson you never forget.’
He picks up my hand and places it on his shoulder, and we do a sort of awkward two-step back and two-step forth, as Nacho raises himself onto his tiptoes, thrusts out his elbows and bores holes into me with a stern but simmering gaze.
‘I am bull,’ he says, landing a heavy hand on my shoulder. ‘You are matador.’
Maybe the dance is sexier than it sounds, but I’ve never been one for animal cruelty.
The next few minutes drag by while there’s all manner of facial expressions going on and a lot of unexplained eye contact and touching.
I try to look over to Matteo, but each time, Nacho puts a finger to my cheek to bring me back to face him.
‘Feel the music,’ he insists, beating his breast. ‘Feel it.’
He twirls me dizzyingly about, not breaking eye contact while I stiffly try to follow his lead.
He very much reminds me of Cherry. Very intense and stressy.
The two seem cut from the same cloth. He’s all fluid movements while I jerkily sashay about, embarrassed to my core that Matteo is witnessing this clumsy display.
The whole thing feels wrong, like a long and intimate sexual encounter with a hot neighbour while your husband watches on disapprovingly.
Thankfully the song ends and just as Nacho leans in to whisper something in my ear, Matteo cuts in to sweep me away, laughingly saying something in Spanish to Nacho that I don’t catch. I give Nacho a shy wave as he shrugs, pretending to be heartbroken.
‘Thanks,’ I say, sagging against him, relieved. ‘Latino dancing can be very taxing, can’t it?’
Matteo is staring down at me with a serious expression as he pulls me gently into his arms. ‘Then let me show you how to do it properly,’ he says.
Oh my. My stomach flutters.
His dark eyes hold mine, and in time to the slow thumping beat of the music, he twirls me leisurely out, then in again before pressing me up against him.
We sway in perfect time, shifting our weight from foot to foot in harmony with the music.
Our hips connect and grind to the deliberate beat.
There’s no jerking or flinging, just a natural feeling that we fit together flawlessly.
He leans in close. I can barely breathe with lust as I feel his hands holding me firmly.
His body feels tight and muscular, and he is the perfect sort of tall with perfect shoulders to hang on to, and he behaves like the perfect gentleman.
I am lost with desire for him. For a long while, we are oblivious to anyone else on the dance floor until at last the DJ signals a change in tempo and lifts the beat. It seems to break the spell.
‘I suppose I should get back to work,’ he says, sounding ruffled. The attraction between us is hugely strong. It’s almost a bit out of control and unnerving, the way we seem to want each other.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I am gutted our magical moment has come to an end.
Matteo leads me off the dance floor and then surprises me by leading me through a narrow doorway into a storeroom full of kitchen supplies and a window out to sea.
He pulls me roughly to him, his eyes dark and intense.
His hands take my waist as he presses me against the wall.
I instinctively loop my arms round his neck and look up at him through my huge lashes.
We are both panting as he lowers his mouth to mine.
I hear him groan, a primeval sexual sound, the split second before our lips touch and an exquisite sensation floods my body.
We explore each other’s mouths, our tongues moving feverishly through our lips while a surge of white-hot heat explodes within me from the connection.
After an eternity of bliss, he pulls back a fraction and we stare goofily at each other.
This definitely feels like the start of something.