‘Even better.’ He gives that growly laugh that I love and my insides clench. Why does he have to choose tonight to turn into the perfect husband?
Anyway. Whatever. I must get going.
‘I’ll see you soon!’ I say breathlessly. ‘Love you!’
Luke’s booked a suite, and as he opens the door he’s holding a glass of champagne. Low, jazzy music is playing and he’s in a robe. A robe.
‘Well, hello there.’ He smiles and bends to kiss me.
Oh God. This is all more extreme than I realized. He’s completely switched gear. His rhythm is slower, his voice is lazier, I haven’t seen him look so relaxed since we were on honeymoon. The suite is amazing, too, with panelled walls and plushy sofas and a massive bed. If this were any other time …
‘Hi!’ I pull away. ‘Well, this is a big surprise!’
‘Total impulse.’ Luke grins. ‘In fact, this is your doing,’ he adds over his shoulder as he heads to the cocktail bar.
‘Mine?’ Is he joking?
‘All the times you’ve told me we should relax more, enjoy ourselves, take it easy … you were right. I hope you’re impressed?’
‘Yes,’ I say shrilly. ‘This is fab.’
‘So let’s just kick back. We’ve got all night.’ He hands me a glass and kisses my neck lingeringly. ‘Shall I run a bath? It’s big enough for two.’
A bath? How long will that take? I have to nix that idea at once. I have to speed things up. I glance at my watch and feel a twinge of alarm. It’s already later than I thought. We have a party to get to. There is no time for a bath.
But then … look at his face. He’ll be crushed. And he’s gone to so much effort and I bet it’s a lovely bath …
We could have a really quick bath. In, out, done.
‘Good idea! I’ll do it!’ I hurry into the sumptuous marble bathroom and whack on the taps.
Oh wow. Asprey toiletries. I can’t help opening the bath oil and smelling it. Mmm.
‘Isn’t this great?’ Luke has come up behind me and wraps his arms around me, firm and strong. ‘Just us, all night long. There’s no rush, no hurry …’
OK, we have not got time for any of this ‘all night long’ business.
‘Luke … um … we have to have quick sex.’ I turn round, thinking desperately. ‘We have to have really, really fast, speedy sex because … I want to conceive a boy.’
‘What?’ Luke looks dumbfounded. As well he might, since I’m making this all up as I go along.
‘Yes.’ I nod seriously. ‘I read a book about it, and it said that you have to have sex really fast. No foreplay. Just … boom.’
‘Boom?’ echoes Luke dubiously.
Why is he looking so reluctant? He should be pleased. I mean, if you knew how many times …
Anyway. Not relevant, right now.
‘Boom,’ I say firmly. ‘So … come on!’
Why isn’t he moving? Why is he crumpling his brow and sitting on the edge of the bath and looking as though some deep problem has occurred to him?
‘Becky,’ he says at last. ‘I don’t feel comfortable aiming for one particular sex of baby or another. I love Minnie. I’d love another Minnie. And if you feel in any way that I’ve been hankering for a son—’
‘No! I don’t think that!’ I say hurriedly. ‘It’s just … why not? And later on we can try for a girl! Even it up!’
Even I can tell I’m making no sense, but luckily Luke is used to that.
‘Bath’s ready!’ I rip off my top. ‘Come on!’
OK, so I don’t feel it necessary to go into the details of what happens next. And anyway, there hardly are any details. Except we start off in the bath and end up in the shower and we still only take fourteen minutes, and Luke has no idea I’m subtly chivvying him along.
Well, to be honest, I kind of forgot about the chivvying, once we got down to it. Or to put it another way, we were both chivvying each other along. I don’t want to boast, but I reckon we could have got an Olympic medal in the ‘underwater pairs formation’, maybe. Or the ‘synchronized freestyle programme’. Or the …
Oh. OK then. Moving on.
The point is, what a fab way to start the evening. I feel so glowy I won’t even need blusher! And if we get dressed and leave right now …
‘Want something to eat?’
As I head into the living room, hastily drying myself, Luke is back in his robe, lolling on the sofa.
‘Have a look at these.’ He gestures at the platter on the table. ‘Fashion cakes.’
