Wish You Weren't Here (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter Six

"So where were we when it happened? How did it happen? Was I good? I was, wasn't I?"

Honestly, every time I think this guy isn't that bad, he almost immediately ruins it for himself. "I don't want to talk about it," I say, tight-lipped. "I don't even remember what happened."

So . . . I had a sex dream last night. Featuring Lewis. And I cried his name out loud right as I was about to climax in my dream.

And he witnessed that last part.

I'd woke up to his laughter, his head peeking through the double doors to the bedroom. "I heard you moaning and wanted to check you were alright," he'd explained, face bright with triumph as I peered at him through bleary eyes. "But then you called out my name, and I knew you must be more than okay." He'd winked and walked away, leaving his soft chuckle echoing around me.

How very mortifying.

And now, as we walk to the welcome brunch the hotel is laying on for us, he's trying to press me for more details about the dream. Information I'm unwilling to provide.

You see, I was lying when I said I didn't remember it. My dreams aren't usually particularly vivid, and more often than not, they almost immediately fade from my memory as soon as I'm conscious. But this one didn't follow that same pattern. It was high definition, amazing colour resolution, surround sound. It seems I'd also recorded it, so it unwillingly replayed in my head.

It felt real.

It stayed with me when I showered, too. I scrubbed every inch of my skin viciously, as if trying to clean the memories away. But my body and my brain have betrayed me. Neither wants to forget. Both are acting like it actually did happen. And my brain is horrified, but my body . . . Well, it's very much continuing to react.

Because the dream intercourse was very, very good. So great that I can barely look the real world Lewis in the eye this morning.

And I think he definitely knows it.

He laughs again now, the sound engulfing me in another wave of humiliation. "Fine, keep it to yourself. I'm sure I'll catch another episode of it soon, anyway." He flashes me an evil grin, and I glower at him. "Oh, come on, Rub, do you want people to think that's how you look at your loving boyfriend?" He adds, tutting with mock-disapproval as we enter Reception.

Murder is a sin, I remind myself, not for the first time. More importantly, it will likely result in jail time, and I would not last two seconds in prison. I've watched enough episodes of Bad Girls to know I'm not cut out for the life of a con.

"Kalimera!" Maria, looking as fresh and beautiful as she did when she first greeted us, materialises seemingly from nowhere. "I hope you both slept well?"

"Ruby certainly did," Lewis replies, the humour in his eyes betraying his otherwise straight face. I paint a bright smile over my irritation.

"You were right about the bed. It was unbelievably comfortable," I tell Maria. "I could have slept for days."

It's almost indiscernable, but I definitely hear Lewis snigger at that.

Maria leads us through the reception to a large airy restaurant, weaving through the tables. "We have arranged for your welcome brunch to take place on our lovely secluded little patio," she tells us, pushing open a door and indicating for us to go outside. "Very private and romantic."

"Just what we wanted," I assure her, hoping my face doesn't reveal the lie.

The table in front of us is set next to a small, pretty pond, and it is covered in plates of food. Meat, cheese, pastries, fruit, yoghurt . . . As I sit down, reluctantly, opposite Lewis, I have no idea where to even begin! I don't even get a chance to consider this fully before a waitress appears with breakfast mimosas for us.