This Careless Life. Rachel McIntyre

featured in Grazia . . .’

      Louis’ advice echoed: Don’t forget to pause when you name-drop the mag.

      Right on cue, Cass looked up. ‘Grazia ? Impressive.’

      Liv grinned. ‘Yeah, it went mad after that. I got nominated for the National Beauty Blogger Awards; went to the ceremony in London nearly a year ago. It was surreal, you know? Actresses, models . . . all famous people. And I got to meet loads of other bloggers and the goodie bag was to die for. Chanel. Dior. Tom Ford . . .’

      ‘It certainly sounds like a night to remember.’

      ‘It was.’

      But thinking about it now, the standout memory wasn’t rubbing shoulders with celebrities, or the food, or the pulse-racing thrill of being part of a major industry event. No, it was the moment when she’d looked up to see HIM leaning against the bar, watching her with those blue, blue eyes.

      Instant heat had rushed up in a wave from her feet. She’d forced herself to count the foil stars sprinkled on the table. Don’t look.

      When he strolled over and placed a bottle of champagne in front of her, her heart almost tore through her dress. She watched beads of condensation slide down the sides of the glass.

      Up on the podium, the award for most life-enhancing lip product was accepted by a company representative whose lively speech contained enough witty one-liners to ramp the atmosphere from cheerful to hysterical.

      But Liv barely noticed. Pulling up a spare chair to the table, he’d wedged himself closely between Liv and her neighbour, his thigh deliberately pressed against hers. He still didn’t speak. She could hardly breathe.

      To loud cheers and applause, the speaker descended the steps. Some sombre music started and behind the equally sombre presenter, a slideshow lit the screen. The audience hushed and Liv stared straight ahead, barely registering the miserable grey girls who, frankly, had no business being the focus of a beauty industry award.

      He was running his fingertip up and down her arm, and even though she continued staring at the montage of misery, her subconscious had hopped in a cab and raced through the busy streets back to the hotel. Only unlike when she’d checked in two hours earlier, she wasn’t alone.

      She imagined her staccato heels ringing through the marble lobby. She imagined the door to her sumptuous room soundlessly closing behind them. Onstage, the presenter droned on about someone fleeing from somewhere; a single suitcase; fitting into a new country, a new school; struggling to pay for the essentials. Absent parents.

      Blah-blah-blah.

      Well, tonight there would be no parents getting in Liv’s way either.

      Tonight there would be no clingy girlfriend expecting him.

      Tonight there would be just the two of them. Alone.

      She shivered.

      Would this gloom-fest never end? Droning on in that uber-worthy tone about the Cinderella Project, the presenter tapped the screen and the same girls appeared, smiling in a selection of tacky prom dresses. The audience cheered. Liv didn’t.

      Her mind was busily compiling a dramatic montage of its own, complete with bridesmaids’ dresses abandoned, cakes left unbaked, cancelled venues, guests apologised to, honeymoon plans forever shelved . . .

      And right at the heart of it, him breaking the news to his fiancée: I’m sorry. It’s over. I’ve fallen in love with a girl named Liv.

      He poured another glass of champagne and leaned so close his breath tickled her neck. ‘I shouldn’t be here, you know. I really shouldn’t be here.’

      By the time Sonya Sunshine climbed the steps to a standing ovation, Liv had forgotten about the award.

      ‘And are you single at the moment?’

      Lost in the memory of that night, it took a second for Liv to take in Cass’s question.

      The woman smiled, adding, ‘Only you haven’t mentioned a boyfriend or a girlfriend or anyone special.’

      Liv clasped her hands between her knees. ‘No, I’m not with anyone right now.’ Pause. ‘I mean, there was someone, but we broke up.’

      ‘Someone?’ Cass prompted.

      On the rug, Duff kicked his legs out straight and flung himself on to his back with a theatrical groan.

      ‘Seriously, Cass, please do not bring up the whole Olivia’s mystery man thing. We’ve had a whole year of it and I can’t take any more.’

      Hetty prodded him. ‘Not now, Duff.’

      Sparks of panic darted through Liv. Bring it back to the blog. She opened her mouth, but the words stalled in her throat.

      Duff had shot upright and fixed his attention on Cass.

      ‘Actually, you know what? This would be the perfect time for her to finally tell us who he is. Get her skeletons out.’ He mimed air quotes. ‘Do the “Big Reveal”.’

      ‘Except there isn’t anything to “Reveal”,’ Liv mimed back and pressed her lips in a tight line.

      Anyone, any normal person, would quit it. Not Duff though.

      Instead, he turned down the corners of his mouth. ‘I am trying to help. He put you through hell for months, Olivia. Whoever he is – was – I’d love to know. I’d like to, you know.’ He punched his open palm. ‘Have a chat with him.’

      ‘No!’

      ‘He’s right,’ Cass said. ‘It’s far better to get your secrets out in the open now.’

      Liv’s mind snagged on the s-word. No. No no no no no.

      ‘Liv?’ Cass’s deep brown eyes were boring holes into Liv’s head. Her throat, suddenly as dry as sawdust, made a clicking sound and she swallowed.

      ‘Did I mention my blog has a quite a number of male followers?’ she said, turning desperately to Cass. ‘I’ve been totally blown away.’

      The woman gestured for Liv to look straight ahead. ‘A secret boyfriend. Now that’s interesting. Tell me more.’

      ‘We should never have got together.’ The words took her by surprise, blurting out before she even realised she’d opened her mouth. What was going on? She never talked about this now, not even with Hetty. Full stop, period, on pain of death never.

      ‘Let me guess,’ Duff said, jumping to his feet. He ticked a list off on his fingers. ‘Your golf coach? Tennis coach? Personal trainer? The guy who cleans your swimming pool? Or maybe it’s not a man at all . . .’ He waggled his eyebrows. Liv stayed silent and he made a noise like a talent-show buzzer. ‘Nuh-uuuh. No? OK then, it’s –’

      ‘No one,’ insisted Liv, too high and panicky even to her own ears. Cass was still staring at her. Oh God. She felt the words bubbling up. She felt the blood drain from her cheeks and battled the overwhelming compulsion to blurt it out.

      ‘It was –’

       Ping.

      All eyes immediately swivelled in the direction of the sound.

      ‘Hetty Barraclough,’ Duff said, putting his hands on his hips. ‘Was that your mobile telephone?’

      Like the flick of a switch, the urge to confess was gone. Liv felt herself go limp.

      ‘Sorry,’ Hetty said, her finger swiping across the screen. ‘I only got it yesterday. I haven’t worked out how to use it properly yet.’

      ‘Hetty! ’ Liv said, fake-scandalised. ‘Cass said no devices.’

      ‘It’s Duncan,’ Hetty said as though that explained everything.

      ‘So what?’