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“Oh God, you startled me.” She picked up the glass and nervously knocked back another gulp. “Nothing in particular, it’s just…”
“It’s just what?”
“I keep thinking… he’s going to read them, isn’t he?”
“Baz? I’d assume so. I wouldn’t put anything too private.”
“No, I meant—” She broke off, looking almost scared. Her big eyes were wide as Bambi’s.
I frowned.
“Zana, who are you talking about? Wait— Do you mean… Conor?”
“He’s going to have to guess the answers,” she whispered. I suppressed my smile and tried to look sympathetic. I could remember exactly what it was like being twenty-two and in a relationship with someone you truly cared about. I couldn’t imagine the agony of having to fill out a questionnaire like this for my first serious boyfriend, listing my grossest habits and biggest secrets. But surely it wasn’t worth this look of absolute terror?
“You don’t have to put down the real answers,” I said comfortingly. “I’m definitely not prepared to have my biggest secrets read out on TV, so I just put some guff about stupid stuff I believed when I was a little girl.”
“I know,” she said. “But I’m just— I keep thinking, this isn’t just about me—it’s about Conor. What if I embarrass him, or let him down?”
“Zana, he loves you,” I said. I took one of her hands. It was ice-cold. “He’s not really going to care if you pick your nose or whatever. But if you’re worried, just don’t put that.”
“What if I put something wrong?” She was looking at me, her eyes wide and desperate, and I found my initial amusement turning to slight irritation. No doubt she and Conor were in the honeymoon phase, but honestly, this was a bit overdramatic.
“There’re no wrong answers,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. “Look…” I turned my head sideways to look at her answers. The worst habit line was missing. “Okay… so… I don’t know… forgetting to brush your teeth? Spending too much on lattes?”
“Oh.” Her face cleared and she looked relieved. “That’s such a good one. Thank you.”
“What did you put for biggest secret?” I asked, and then remembered we weren’t supposed to compare answers. “Sorry, no, scrap that. I forgot we’re not supposed to ask.”
“It’s okay,” Zana said with a tremulous smile. She nodded at the sea. “You already know it.”
“That you’re scared of water?” I’d lowered my voice, and now she nodded again, jerkily this time, as though her nerves were wired a little too tight.
“Heyyyyy ladies,” I heard over my shoulder and, turning, I saw one of the assistants—not Camille—stalking across the gangway. “How are you getting on? Ready to reveal all to the cameras?”
The only response was a gale of giggles from Santana and Romi, who had apparently been making hay with the champagne while I helped Zana with her form. Angel rolled her eyes.
“I must fix my makeup,” she said a little haughtily. “The humidity here is very bad for my skin.”
“Oh God, mine too!” Romi exclaimed. There was a short, good-natured fight as the others crowded into the little bathroom of the villa, Santana dabbing at dewy skin that frankly didn’t need any help, and Zana fussing anxiously over a stray eyelash that wouldn’t stick down—I hadn’t even realized they were false, unlike Romi’s huge sparrow wings. I hovered in the back, unsure what to do. I hadn’t brought any of my makeup with me—not even a lip gloss, a fact that now seemed monumentally naive.
“Are you okay?” Santana asked over her shoulder, seeing me standing there. “Do you want a corner of the mirror? I’m basically done.
I shrugged.
“I didn’t think to bring anything.”
“God, help yourself,” Santana said. She peered into her bag. “I’m not sure my foundation would do, we’re not quite the same coloring, but you’re welcome to my lip gloss. Masacara?”
In the end, I borrowed a swipe of transluscent powder to take the shine off my nose, and then stood back and watched Romi frantically retouching her eyebrows, and Zana fixing and refixing the errant lashes, looking more stressed by the minute.
“Okay!” came a voice from behind us as Zana finally breathed a sigh of relief and put her eyelash glue back in her handbag. “Everyone ready for your OTO?”
Like the producer earlier she pronounced it “otto,” but everyone seemed to know what she meant, and only nodded.
“Who wants to go first?”
CHAPTER 9
