In Bed With Lord Byron

looked . . . ’
    Anthony looked confused; then he twigged.
    ‘I thought you were so gorgeous, it was terrifying. I was scared that if I complimented you it would show and you’d . . . ’ He trailed off too.
    We stared at each other, too nervous to confess any further. A slow exhilaration was tingling over me as my paranoia slipped away. Anthony liked me. He thought my dress was beautiful. He wanted
me.
    A smile of absolute joy suddenly burst out on my face. He grinned too, his eyes sparkling, and we both laughed breathlessly.
    Anthony stepped forward . . .
    . . . and then the lights went out and the music died.
    Blackness, laughter, cries. A blue lightning flash outside, illuminating a sea of confused faces. Then a voice, calm and confident, undoubtedly Anthony’s father.
    ‘It seems the storm has finally got the better of us! Don’t worry, we’ll sort it all out as soon as possible; now, if everyone could just stay still and calm . . . ’
    Someone brushed past me in a panic. I stumbled against Anthony’s body and felt him take hold of me. And catch his breath.
    He reached out, feeling me, murmuring, ‘Where are you?’ and I laughed lightly again. His fingertips tingled on my face and brushed the outline of my lips. Then his hands cupped my
cheeks. My whole body felt as though it was one beating heart of yearning. I leaned in; his breath came down warm on my cheek, and we kissed gently.
    ‘Leave the lights off – this is so romantic,’ someone cried in the distance, and Anthony laughed softly and pulled me in tight.
    Then we just held each other. Ribs crushed tight. Relieved to have found each other again.
    Memories flooded back. This was how I had held him just before he – and I felt tears begin to swirl about my eyes, brimming over no matter how hard I tried to force them back.
    At the front of hall there were glimmers of light as candles were lit.
    ‘Shall we escape?’ Anthony whispered.
    ‘Yes,’ I whispered. ‘Yes please.’
    How glad I was of the dark, for the tears kept coming. Anthony guided me to the front, his hand tight and urgent in mine. He took a candle – ‘Just going off to see if we can
help,’ he told his mother distractedly – and led me out of the hallway, up some stairs, guiding me carefully. A moth, attracted by the light, whirred across our faces. As Anthony
flicked it aside, he saw the glint of my tears.
    ‘Lucy?’ he asked in astonishment. ‘Are you OK? Are you – come on, let’s get you upstairs, my darling.’
    My darling
. The tenderness in his voice only provoked a fresh gush of tears. I sobbed harder and then laughed a little, just to let him know I was OK really.
    We stumbled into the bedroom. Anthony set the candle down in the sink, then came over and sat down beside me, passing me a tissue. I blew my nose noisily. We both laughed. I looked at him shyly,
biting my lip.
    ‘Lucy . . . what is it?’ His eyes were wide and worried. He took my hand firmly in his, caressing little circles in my palm; the circles seemed to expand into ripples that spread and
diffused through my body. More tears came. I felt him stroke my hair; I heard him shushing me. His voice reminded me of being a little girl and listening to the wind in the trees as I lay awake on
summer nights.
    ‘Look,’ said Anthony with fierce gentleness, ‘last time you cried, I let you get away with it. Not this time. You’re not leaving this room until you explain what on earth
the matter is, so if we’re to stay here all night, so be it.’
    I smiled, feeling a little silly.
    ‘I’m just afraid of dying,’ I said in a choked voice.
    At which point the lights came back on.
    We blinked, confused, the spell broken somehow. Anthony put out the main light and then switched on a little lamp; that was better.
    ‘Lucy,’ he said, coming back to my side, ‘I don’t understand. You’ve got me worried. Is something wrong with you? Are you ill?’
    ‘No – no,’ I laughed, increasing his confusion. I worried a tissue between my fingers and he stroked back my hair so I couldn’t hide my face. ‘But I’ve just
realised that life is unpredictable, and anything can happen at any time. We could walk out of this hotel and be hit by a car tomorrow, or shot by gangsters.’ I swallowed.
    ‘Lucy, you’re worrying too much. I don’t understand . . . ’ He trailed off. ‘You were crying yesterday, and now today . . . ’
    ‘I think I’m in love with you,’ I blurted out.
    ‘I love you