Page 79 of In the Same Boat

‘And then you can go,’ he says. He winces slightly. ‘I didn’t mean… I mean, you’re free to leave, they’ll go somewhere else, you can actually have a holiday without parent-sitting.’

‘Sounds good,’ I say with a sigh.

Soon enough, we’re heading back towards Monte Carlo. At least we have a plan. Nico and I will head to the supermarket, pick up supplies, and I’ll knock together… I don’t know, I’ll see what seems possible when I get there and take a look around.

I don’t know if it’s getting any easier to fake it with Nico – if anything, it might be getting harder.

Nico’s shoulder brushes mine as the boat shifts slightly, and neither of us moves away immediately.

‘Whatever we do, it needs to work,’ I tell him.

‘Agreed.’

‘Because we have made things so much more complicated,’ I continue.

‘It’ll be okay,’ he reassures me, taking my hand in his for a second, giving it a squeeze.

‘Aww, love’s young dream,’ Mum says as she and Hank join us outside.

‘We were thinking,’ I start, ignoring her comment. ‘How about Nico and me make dinner for you guys tonight?’

‘Just… for us?’ Mum checks.

‘For the four of us,’ Nico says. ‘A romantic dinner for four.’

‘If you’re cooking, I’m not sure how romantic it will be,’ Hank jokes.

‘Oh, don’t worry, I can handle this one,’ I say and, I don’t know what comes over me, but I place a hand on Nico’s bum and give it a squeeze.

Well, he did say he was game for anything…

18

SAMMIE

Cooking dinner for everyone seemed like a great idea – until we started actually trying to throw something together.

The plan was simple really: cook up a storm, keeping the love’s young dream illusion alive, lulling our parents into a comfortable security with each other while simultaneously trying to outdo their affection for each other. That way, they’d be sick of us, happy to stay together without us, and tell Nico and me that we’re free to leave – or, go somewhere alone together, leaving Nico here, and I’m free to leave. Either result would be a victory for me.

It is a terrible plan.

‘Right,’ I say, standing in the galley with my hair tied back, sleeves rolled up and the most determined look on my face that I can muster.

Nico leans against the counter opposite me, holding a packet of spaghetti in one hand and a courgette in the other.

‘Is pasta a bit… simple?’ Nico asks.

Luckily our parents are dressing for dinner, so we don’t have to give off an air of perfection just yet.

‘Unless you have soufflé skills, it will have to do,’ I say snippily.

‘Should we not have courses? Make it decadent…’

‘I bought profiteroles,’ I tell him. ‘And, if you think we need a starter, you could slice some mozzarella and some tomatoes, use some of the basil, make a caprese salad. I don’t think you can start any fires doing that.’

‘Don’t listen to my dad – I have a perfect fire safety record,’ he replies. ‘So salad, bread, pasta, dessert – covered, right?’

‘And the wine,’ I remind him.