Tales of food, sex and friendship

Posts Tagged ‘Champagne’

Season 4: Epsiode 8

October 25, 2011

Willow stomped her foot and crossed her arms over her chest, a frown creasing her ordinarily cheerful face. Here she was again, knee deep in clothes strewn across the floor, not a thing to wear, her stomach a bundle of nerves, and potentially running late for another date with Robert Fortescue. She had reluctantly put on her only matching set of expensive lingerie again, thinking that it deserved another innings after the last rather short lived one.

Why do I do this to myself, she thought, sifting through dress after dress, trying to find the perfect one. She wanted her outfit to say ‘I’m gorgeous and glamorous and always dress like this, so don’t think that this outfit is for you. But it might be. So impress me.’

It wasn’t a big ask, was it?

As seemed to be her permanent countenance where this man was involved, she was irrationally cranky with Robert Fortescue. This time, it was residual annoyance from their last date. Why couldn’t he have just told her, straight off the bat, that the amazonian goddess who owned the bar where they had gone was a relative? Willow had become progressively jealous as the night wore on, getting very drunk and finally accusing Robert of flirting with another woman. He had laughed, telling that ‘the other woman’ was his cousin. He had bundled Willow into a cab and sent her off, as though she were a silly child incapable of looking after herself. The more she thought about it, the angrier she got.

Furious, she pulled open her dresser drawers and fished out her most plain underwear. She took off the lace set and replaced it with something Bridget Jones would have been proud of. She looked in the mirror and put her hands on her hips.

“Take that Robert Fortescue,” she said triumphantly to her dowdy reflection.

Her pleasure was only short lived. Take what, she thought. Some blue cotton knickers and a bra in a totally different hue? Yeah, that’d show him. No, what she needed to do was wear the good stuff, but not let him see it. Or, let him see it, but not let him near it. She grinned. Yep, that was the best plan. Definitely. Picking up the lacy number, she slipped it on once more.

Eventually, she was ready to go. Willow gave herself one last glance in the hall mirror as she headed towards the front door. Her hair was perfect, her makeup subtle, her dress flattering, and she knew that if a certain someone somehow managed to get past the outer layers they would be in for a very pleasant surprise. Until I cover it up again, she thought, and leave him wanting and sick with desire.

She paused.

Deja vu.

Hadn’t she been down this road before? Given prior experiences, her evening would end, not with him trying to passionately embrace her but rather, in a heated argument with her leaving, furious with him.

“Oh fuck this,” she said turning around, slamming the front door and storming back to her room. She pulled the dress roughly over her head and ripped off the underwear.

“You’re nothing but a cantankerous, self-righteous man,” she said between clenched teeth. She pulled her stockings off, “and you don’t deserve the good stuff.”


Four minutes and thirty-three seconds later she was back at the front door dressed casually in jeans and a long sleeved top. Underneath, her underwear was practical and droll. And it didn’t match. She smirked as she closed the door and wandered into the street to find a cab.


“Welcome,” Robert Fortescue said, as he opened the door to his apartment.

Willow stepped inside cautiously. “Is…?”

He pre-empted her. “Samuel is staying at a friend’s place tonight.”

Willow breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t particularly want to see one of her old students just as she was about to go on a date with his father.

“Can I get you something to drink,” he said, slipping her coat off her shoulders. “Champagne?”

“Won’t we be late for our dinner reservation?”

“Oh that,” said Robert. “I cancelled it. I thought we could eat here.”

Willow looked at him skeptically. “What, get takeaway or something?”

“Er, not exactly. I thought I would cook.”

Willow almost burst out laughing. She knew first hand that Robert knew nothing about cooking.

“I still owe you a homemade meal,” he continued, leading her into the kitchen. On the bench, the MoVida cookbook was lying open and bowls of pre-prepared ingredients were lined up neatly.

“You’re going to make something from that?” said Willow, pointing to the cookbook.

“I’ve adapted a few of the recipes,” said Robert slyly.

“Adapted?” said Willow incredulously. The recipes, as they were, required a certain amount of base knowledge. But adapting them…? For someone with Robert’s skill in the kitchen – or lack thereof – that could be a very dangerous thing. Particularly for those people who had to eat said creations. Namely, in this case, Willow.

He handed her a glass of champagne (real, of course). “Make yourself at home. I’ll do some squid for starters so we’ve got something to nibble on while the rest cooks.”

Willow groaned inwardly. There was nothing – literally nothing – worse than badly cooked squid. She sipped the glass of champagne and perused his book collection on the other side of the room, too terrified to watch as he undoubtedly butchered something that should have been a delicacy.

But when he served the seafood to her and she reluctantly bit into the flesh, she was amazed to find that it wasn’t rubbery at all. In fact, it was… perfect. The soft, delicate pieces of squid were coated in a rich sauce that tasted of sherry and saffron and had small flecks of – were they macadamias? – clinging to them.

“This is amazing,” she said, with more surprise than she had intended. “How did you get it so… succulent.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Robert chuckled. “I might have had a couple of cooking lessons.”

“With who?” said Willow. They must have been good if they taught him to cook like this.

“A buddy of mine. Frank.”

Willow nodded and put another piece of squid in her mouth. “Hang on a second,” she said suddenly, looking at the MoVida cookbook. “Not that Frank?” Frank Camorra was regarded as one of the top chefs in Australia.

“Yeah,” said Robert casually. “He owed me a favour.”

Willow did her best to try and not look too impressed. She didn’t want it to go to Robert’s head.

The rest of the evening was a culinary awakening as Robert produced a number of small and exquisite dishes, each one more wonderful and surprising than the last. When they had sopped up the last drop of sauce with light and tangy sourdough bread (“not homemade,” he had apologised) Willow sat back in her chair, a contented smile on her face.

“That was wonderful.”

“I’m so glad you liked it,” said Robert, his relief palpable. “I was terrified of cooking for you.”

“You’ve got friends who are famous chefs and you’re terrified of cooking for me?” she said incredulously.

“Frank thought it was hilarious that I wanted to learn to cook,” Robert said with a laugh. “But I told him that I needed to impress someone who was not easily impressed.”

Willow felt all warm and gooey inside. “You… you took cooking lessons to impress me?”

Robert nodded and looked down at his plate, embarrassed.

The anger she felt – which had been slowly evaporating all evening anyway – was suddenly completely gone. She stood up and walked to the other side of the table where Robert was sitting and gently put her hands on either side of his face. She leant down and kissed him softly on the lips.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling into his face.

He put his hands on back and pulled her down, until she was sitting on top of him, her legs wrapped around either side of his body.

“My pleasure,” he said softly, pulling her closer and returning the kiss, slow at first but quickly intensifying until they were each clutching at the others body.  He slid his hands underneath her top and carefully ran them over her breasts. Willow groaned and lifted her arms so he could pull her shirt off.

“Dammit,” she murmured as his strong hands explored her torso.

“What?” he said, stopping and looking at her with a concerned expression.

“I should have put on nicer underwear,” said Willow apologetically.

Fortescue ran his gaze over her body. It was so intense she could almost feel its heat.

“No,” he said. “No, you don’t need any fancy wrapping. You’re perfect exactly as you are.” He kissed her again on the neck, murmuring into her ear, “but if it makes you more comfortable, we can just take it off?”

Willow uttered a throaty laugh and allowed him to unclasp her oldest and most sensible bra.

Season 2: Episode 13

May 24, 2011

Ana opened her eyes, excitement coursing through her veins. This is how she used to feel on Christmas morning, filled with anticipation for the day ahead. She could hear Tom’s even breathing next to her and nudged him with her knee to wake him up. He rolled over and sleepily wrapped his arms around her, snuggling them both further under the covers.

“You have to wake up,” Ana whispered in his ear, extracting herself from his muscular arms.

“Whatimeisit?” Tom mumbled, sleepily.

Ana checked the clock next to the bed. “Six thirty.”

Tom groaned and rolled over again, trying to pull his fiancé with him. “You don’t even get the keys until nine. Let’s snooze for a bit longer.”

But Ana couldn’t sleep any more. In precisely two and a half hours her very own events and public relations company would begin its first day of business. In reality, she was just moving into the office space, and wasn’t expecting to actually do any work so soon. But, it was very exciting nonetheless. She had enlisted the help of Tom, Mia and Willow (or rather, they had all insisted on helping) to move some furniture into the space and set up.

Ana had become aware of the office about a year ago when working with some clients who had rented it for a photo shoot. The beautiful loft room – with its wooden floorboards and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city – had resonated with her immediately and she had imagined that, one day, she would be able to run her own business from there. It had been a pipe dream at the time, of course, because Ana had been very happy in her job.

But that was then. Ana shuddered, remembering how horribly things had ended with Marc and how much she’d hurt Tom in the process.

She’d contacted the building’s agents soon after quitting her job and – by some small miracle – they’d told her the space would be up for rent in a couple of months. It couldn’t have worked out more perfectly. It gave Ana some time off to focus on her relationship with Tom and to fully plan how she wanted her business to run. When it came to PR and events management, Ana knew she was the best and she wanted this reflected in every aspect of her new company.

Ana looked at Tom, who had resumed snoring very gently, and smiled. More than just being a gorgeous office, the new space meant she could finally shut the door on a period of her life she wanted to forget. Today was both a physical and emotional new start and one that she intended to make the most of. Ana gave Tom a light kiss on the cheek, inhaling his scent before springing out of bed and padding downstairs.



Willow looked around the office in amazement. Large beams of solid timber cut through the high ceiling space creating geometric shapes in the air, which changed depending on where you were standing. The walls were white and the floor was a beautiful, glossy dark wood that had obviously been well cared for. The large window offered a panoramic view of the Melbourne city skyline; the yellows and reds of autumn accentuated by a clear blue sky. It was up just high enough to see above the closest roofs, but not so high as to feel disconnected from the neighbourhood. Overall, the effect was breathtaking.

Mia backed into the room carrying half of a large desk. Tom had the other end.

“Wow,” she said, nearly dropping her end.

Ana laughed. This was the effect she had hoped for. She could just imagine how impressed clients would be when they came to her office for meetings.


A few hours later, they were all exhausted, but delighted with the outcome. The office looked incredible. As a thank you, Ana offered to take them all out for a well-deserved lunch.

“No need,” said Willow, slyly, producing a picnic basket. She opened it and presented Champagne, smoked salmon pinwheels, bread, cheese and dips. She popped the bottle ceremoniously – the cork travelling in an alarming arc towards the window but thankfully changing trajectory at the last minute – and poured it into plastic tea cups.

“To Ana,” she said, raising her glass.


They sat quietly, sleepy and full from the Champagne and delicious lunch, admiring their interior decoration skills. The unexpected ringing of the phone on Ana’s desk shattered the silence. Ana leapt up, nearly tripping over her cup.

She cleared her throat and answered. “Good afternoon…”

A young woman’s voice interrupted her. “Oh thank goodness you’re there. I have an emergency. My boss is throwing his anniversary party, but the event person we’ve been using has been admitted to hospital with pneumonia and now I don’t know what to do because…”

Ana cut her off. “That’s fine. I can help you.”

The woman on the other end of the phone took a deep breath. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. You have just saved my job.”

Ana grabbed a pen and a notebook from her desk. “When is the event? How many people? Do you need food, wine, entertainment?”

“It’s tomorrow, only twenty people, we need food and drink. The entertainment is arranged separately.”

“Tomorrow?” Ana nearly dropped the phone.

“Yes,” the woman said, sheepishly. “I told you it was an emergency.”

Ana composed herself. She could do this. “Absolutely no problem at all.”

She gave her email address and told the caller to send through a list of exactly what she needed while Ana prepared the contract. She could almost hear tears of gratitude in her first client’s voice.

“How did you hear about me… I mean, us?” asked Ana, curious. She’d put out a couple of press releases last week, but hadn’t expected anything so soon.

The woman paused. “I think my boss mentioned your company. Maybe you’ve worked with him before?”

“Perhaps.” Although unlikely, thought Ana, seeing as this was her first client! It must have been the press releases.

She hung up the phone and looked at her friends.

“I’m going to need your help. Again,” she said to them, a grin spreading across her face.


The function was going incredibly well. People had complimented Ana on the food (Willow saved the day by doing all the catering), the choice of wine (a call to Johnny had solved that problem), and the professional nature of the bar tenders (thank goodness Tom and Mia had both worked bar to put themselves through university). It was a surprise anniversary party for the client’s wife, and a call from his PA let Ana know that they were en route, ETA ten minutes. Ana made sure that each guest had a full glass of Champagne and made herself scarce. The last thing the client wanted was to see the event manager instead of all their friends. In the whirlwind preparations, and because she’d been dealing exclusively with his PA, Ana realised she hadn’t even discovered the name of the client.

Not to matter, she thought, retreating to the kitchen. I’ll meet him soon enough.

She smiled to herself as she heard the front door open and the guests yell “Surprise!”, imagining her and Tom in 20 years’ time doing the very same thing.

A sudden pang of hunger made her realise she’d barely eaten anything all day, so she wandered over to the spare platters of food. Willow had made some smoked salmon pinwheels that looked even more delightful than the ones she had made yesterday for the carpet picnic. Ana popped one in her mouth and was amazed that they tasted even better than they looked.

Savouring the salmon, lemon and dill, she was surprised to feel a rush of wind as the door behind her opened.

“Hello Ana.” A male voice softly caressed her name.

The familiar intonation sent shivers down her spine. Ana turned around slowly, willing it to be anyone other than who she knew it was.

Season 2: Episode 10

May 3, 2011

Ana checked her watch. She was running so far behind time. She understood the concept of being fashionably late, but this was beyond a joke. The traffic was barely moving. She drummed her fingers impatiently on the seat next to her.

“Is there another route we can take?” she asked the driver, conscious that she was over an hour late. Her mobile phone battery had died while she was at the hairdresser’s and she didn’t want anyone to think she was leaving them stranded at the altar, so to speak. The driver shrugged apologetically and Ana was left staring out the window, cursing Stefan for taking forever to finish her hair. She had tried to hurry him along. He knew how important it was for her to be on time, tonight of all nights!

“But darling,” he had cooed. “You cannot celebrate such an occasion of love and commitment without perfect hair!”

Finally, the car arrived at its destination and she leapt out. Ana pushed open the heavy door and ran down the long corridor, noticing the beautiful fresh flowers that had been set out for the occasion. She took a sharp left into the room where she could hear the murmur of hushed voices.

“…we can see Catherine just emerging from the hotel as we speak…”

“Have I missed it?” Ana asked breathlessly, bursting through the door. “The hairdresser took forever!”

She was met by a chorus of “Ssshhhhhh!” from housemates Willow and Mia.

“She’s just getting into the car to go to the Abbey,” explained Mia, her eyes glued to the television.

Ana breathed a sigh of relief. Not that she normally got into these sorts of things, but all three of them seemed to have caught wedding fever – it had been going around, apparently – and Ana didn’t want to miss the moment when Wills and Kate tied the knot.

“I’m not sure about that lace,” said Willow, sceptically. “But maybe it’ll work when we get to see the whole outfit.”

There were murmurs of agreement from the other two. A break in the commentary enabled Mia to rush into the kitchen and grab some Champagne flutes.

“Ana, I thought you were never going to get here. We are dying for some bubbles. We thought you were going to leave us high and dry,” she said, adding, “hair looks great, by the way.”

Because she was going out to the hairdresser anyway, Ana had been charged with the very important job of buying the booze on her way home. Had she known that Stefan was such a fan of the British Royal Family she wouldn’t have mentioned her plans tonight to watch the wedding with her girlfriends, because as soon as she had, he had insisted on spending extra time making sure every strand sat perfectly. She handed over the bag of sparkling, laughing when she saw the girls had brought an Esky into the living room.

“It’s going to be a long night,” explained Willow.

In the spirit of the occasion, Willow produced a platter of cucumber sandwiches that she had prepared earlier. Mia bit into the delicate canapé and smiled, hardly surprised that Willow had gone to this much trouble. She’d rolled paper-thin bread and even cut the crusts off. They half-watched the wedding ceremony; more interested in the crowd and what everyone was wearing than the actual nuptials.

“Looks as though she’s planning on broadcasting to greater London,” said Ana, pointing to one of the Royals, who had a particularly ridiculous satellite dish of a hat on her head.

Willow took another swig of Champagne and picked up a sandwich. “Is your wedding going to be like this, Ana?”

Ana snorted, nearly spraying a mouthful of her drink across the room. “Yeah, I’ve got Sarah Burton on speed dial already. I’ve told her to spare no expense!”

“Maybe you could just borrow Kate’s dress. It’s not like she’s going to be needing it again.”

“We hope!” chorused Ana and Mia.

“Don’t do anything like this,” pleaded Mia. “I don’t think I can sit through another five-hour wedding extravaganza.” She shifted uncomfortably. “My bottom has gone numb.”

“Any plans for nuptials on the horizon for you then, Mia?” Willow teased.

Mia looked decidedly uncomfortable but tried to make light of the comment. “I’d need to find someone I wanted to marry first.”

“Not Nick, then?”

Willow and Ana made kissy-kissy faces and Mia laughed half-heartedly, barrelling them with cushions from the couch. She decided it was time to change to subject.

“How about you, Willow?”

Willow sighed. “Well Prince Harry did call the other day…” She broke off, grinning. “Nope. I’ve sworn off men altogether. They’re all lying, cheating, conniving bastards.” She said it with jest, but the others could tell she was still hurting after the Carlo debacle.

“Not all of them,” said Ana softly, patting her friend’s hand.

“I suppose Tom’s all right. And Nick too,” Willow added. “But the rest of them are bloody awful!”

Ana and Mia had been surprised at the relative calmness with which Willow had told them about Carlo. Given the strength of her feelings for him, they had been expecting weeks of ice cream, tissues and baked goods. But she had surprised them all by shedding only a few tears, rejecting ice cream all together and only baking one thing: a large sour cherry cake (they tried not to read too much into that). She had taken a sudden and severe disliking to Italian food, though. Willow was adamant that she had given up on men completely, and was perfectly satisfied in the knowledge that she would probably be alone for the rest of her life. Maybe with a cat. She reached into the Esky to grab another bottle of the delicious French bubbly, topping up everyone’s glasses.

“I am so glad that you are getting married, though, Ana,” she said. ‘I haven’t been to a wedding in ages. And certainly not of someone I love.”

“I don’t even really know what’s going on with it,” said Ana. “Tom’s been doing most of the planning. It’s like he doesn’t trust me to organise it or something.”

Mia and Willow suppressed smiles. Ana was fantastic at organising other people. She could manage an event at a day’s notice and it would be perfect, but when it came to planning anything for herself she was useless. Willow and Mia fondly remembered the time she tried to organise her own 30th birthday, realising four days beforehand that she’d ordered cases of Champagne, ample catering and decorations for the house, but forgotten to send out a single invite.

“I can’t think of anyone else who is even close to getting married at the moment,” mused Willow, thoughtful. They sat in silence for a while, each mentally ticking off the people they knew in their heads.

“Oh my God. Can you imagine Johnny getting married?” exclaimed Ana.

She and Willow broke into peals of laughter.

“He’ll get married when he’s 60,” chuckled Willow, “to a 21- year-old model named Bambi.”

“Who’ll fall in love with him because he is so mysterious and knows so much about wine,” continued Ana, between giggles.

They rolled around on the floor, the joke all the more hilarious because of the Champagne they had consumed. Mia tried to join in, but their conversation had made her heart sink. Although she knew that this was probably true, she still secretly hoped Johnny would miraculously turn up on the front door step and sweep her off her feet. Besides, what kind of stupid name was Bambi, anyway?

“I’ve got to go to bed,” she said, too brightly. “Early client tomorrow.”

The other two looked at each other. Why was Mia being weird all of a sudden?

“But you’ll miss the balcony kiss,” said Willow, indicating the television set. Kate and Wills had emerged from the Abbey and William was doing everything he could to avoid stepping on the hem of his new wife’s dress.

Mia shrugged. “It’ll be all over the papers tomorrow. ’Night.”

They heard her footsteps disappear upstairs.

“What was that all about?” asked Willow, baffled.

Ana shrugged, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Maybe she fancies Johnny.”

“As if!” snorted Willow.

Ana and Willow rolled around on the floor again, laughing uncontrollably at the ridiculousness of the prospect. Mia and Johnny. Now there was an unlikely couple!

Season 2: Episode 6

April 5, 2011

Willow’s heart was battering against the inside of her ribs as she stood in front of the mirror surveying her reflection. She couldn’t remember being this nervous before a date… ever! She had selected a simple black silk dress that fell just below her knees. A scoop neck emphasised her elegant collarbones and the cinched waist fell into a full skirt, which swirled around her legs as she walked. From behind, the fabric dipped daringly, exposing the length of her alabaster back in a dramatic ‘V’. She sprayed her favourite perfume into the air and walked though it so that the scent fell lightly over her body.

Not bad, she thought, giving herself one last glance in the mirror.

Mia had left an hour before on her date with Nick. Mia didn’t speak about guys all too often – she was an intensely private person when it came to her love life. She had mentioned Nick a few times in passing, which to Willow and Ana indicated true love. Willow hoped the date would cheer her friend up. She had seemed so down since Ana and Tom’s impromptu engagement party the week before.

As she wandered outside to flag down a taxi, Willow’s thoughts turned to her own night ahead. She couldn’t believe that she was finally going on a date with Carlo, the most gorgeous man she had ever set eyes on. And from the twinkle she’d noticed in his eye, he didn’t seem to think she was too bad, either.

Something about him just made her feel so feminine. Not generally a shrinking violet, Willow suddenly found herself quite happy to let this man take total control and lead her wherever he wanted to go.


The taxi came to a halt and Willow peered up at the apartment complex.

“Here?” The taxi driver sounded bored. He probably saw places like this everyday.

She checked the address on the piece of paper. It matched. Taking a deep breath she paid the driver and got out, glad that she had decided on a dressier outfit than she normally would for a first date.

At the crest of a hill overlooking the city, stood an immaculately preserved Art Deco building. In its grounds sat a large swimming pool and, next to that, a tennis court. A floodlit couple dressed in what looked like designer tennis whites were hitting a ball back and forth with skill that suggested professional coaching.

Christ, she thought. How does he afford this place?

She pressed the buzzer.


Even his voice over the intercom sent her mad with desire.

“Top floor.”


He kissed her gently on both cheeks before leading her into the apartment.

“Wow.” Willow had never seen a view quite like it.

Floor-to-ceiling glass panels gave a panoramic view of Melbourne across the Yarra River. City lights twinkled in the distance and the moon shone brightly in the clear sky. She felt as though she had stumbled into a fairy tale.

Willow was snapped out of her reverie by the loud pop of a cork from a bottle of Champagne. She looked towards the open plan kitchen to see Carlo filling two glasses. She had been so taken with the view, Willow had barely noticed how handsome he looked tonight. His hair, still wet from the shower, was pushed back off his face. A light sweater was casually rolled at the sleeves, revealing muscular forearms, and Willow had never seen jeans look so good on anyone. He strode over and handed her a glass of crisp, sparkling wine.

“You look beautiful,” he said, tilting his glass in her direction before taking a sip, his eyes glinting in appreciation.

Willow sipped her Champagne, unable to take her eyes off his. She was sure her heart was beating audibly. He put his glass down, and placed one hand against her smooth cheek. He smelled of soap and spices.

He gently tilted her head and traced her jawline with feather light kisses.

She moaned softly, arching her body towards his. His lips found hers and his tongue expertly probed between her soft lips. She ran her hand down his back, underneath his jumper. His whole body responded and he kissed her with an intensity she had never known. His hands slid over the silk clinging to her curves, under the skirt of the dress then up the entire length of her body before pulling the dress over her head.

“Oh Willow,” he whispered into her ear. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Clad only in her black lace underwear, Willow gave him a coy smile before taking his hand and showing him exactly what he had been craving.


Willow opened her eyes slowly. She stretched, the Egyptian cotton sheets smooth against her naked body. The clock next the bed said 10 am. Heady aromas of garlic and olive oil emanated from the kitchen and she realised she was starving. They hadn’t actually managed to eat dinner last night, instead enjoying the delights of each other’s bodies for hours and hours. She found a cotton robe draped over the end of the bed, put it on, and padded into the kitchen.

Carlo had his back to her. He wore nothing but light cotton trousers, the muscles in his back rippling as he moved. When he turned and saw Willow, his face broke into a wide smile. He moved to kiss her deeply before leading her towards the counter where an espresso was waiting. She sat, sipping the coffee and watching him work.

After he had placed the tomatoes in the oven to bake he came around and kissed her again, sliding his hand inside her robe and stroking her soft skin.

“The tomatoes are going to take twenty minutes,” he said softly into her ear.

“Twenty minutes?” she exclaimed with mock-disappointment.

“I think I have a way to pass the time.”


Hours later Willow sat in a taxi on her way home. She couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. He had fed her breakfast in bed – well, lunch by the time they had managed to eat it – and then they had made love again, falling asleep in each other’s arms. Eventually she’d managed to tear herself away – she still had classes to prepare for tomorrow! But that didn’t matter. Carlo was going to call her and she would see him again very soon.