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“Yianni!” Melissa calls over to the bartender. “I’ve got you another couple for Couples’ Quiz.”

“What?” Ben turns to me with a frown.Advertisement

“We’re going in for a competition,” I inform him. “We agreed to do the first activity we saw, didn’t we? Well, this is it.”

Yianni passes two paper flyers to Ben and me, along with a bottle of wine and two glasses, which Ben must have ordered. Melissa has stood up from her bar stool. She’s on the phone again and sounds even more irate than before.

“The beach bar, not the lobby bar. The beach bar! … OK, stay there, I’m coming.… See you later,” she mouths, and totters off in a swirl of orange caftan.

When she’s gone, Ben and I are silent for a moment, studying the Couples’ Quiz flyers. Demonstrate your love! Prove you have what it takes as a couple!

Despite everything, I can feel my competitive spirit rising. Not that I need to prove anything at all. But I just know there isn’t any couple at this resort more intimate and connected than Ben and me. I mean, look at them. And look at us.

“We’re so going to lose this,” says Ben, with a snort of amusement.

Lose?

“No, we’re not!” I stare at him in dismay. “Why do you say that?”

“Because we need to know stuff about each other,” replies Ben, as though it’s obvious. “Which we don’t.”

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“We know heaps about each other!” I say defensively. “We’ve known each other since we were eighteen! If you ask me, we’re going to win.”

Ben raises an eyebrow. “Maybe. What kind of questions do they ask?”

“I don’t know. I never watched the show.” I have a sudden idea. “But Fliss has got the board game. I’ll call her.”

14

FLISS

We’re at the departure gate at Heathrow when my phone rings. Before I can move, Noah plucks it out of the side pocket of my bag and studies the display.

“It’s Aunt Lottie phoning!” His face lights up in excitement. “Shall I tell her we’re coming to surprise her on her special holiday?”

“No!” I grab the phone. “Just sit down a minute. Look at your sticker pack. Do the dinosaurs.” I press answer and take a couple of steps away from Noah, trying to compose myself. “Lottie, hi!” I greet her.

“There you are! I’ve been trying to reach you! Where are you?”

“Oh … you know. Just around.” I force myself to pause before I add, light as gossamer, “Any luck with your room yet? Or the bed? Or … anything?”

I know from Nico that she’s still roomless. But I also know Ben tried to hire a room off another guest on the beach. Sneaky little sod.

“Oh, the room.” Lottie sounds disconsolate. “It’s been such a bloody saga. We’ve given up for now. We’re just going to enjoy the day.”

“Right. Sensible plan.” I breathe a slight sigh of relief. “So, how is it out there? Sunny?”

“Boiling.” Lottie sounds preoccupied. “Listen, Fliss, d’you remember that game Couples’ Quiz?”

I wrinkle my brow. “You mean the TV show?”

“Exactly. You had the board game, didn’t you? What kind of questions do they ask?”

“Why?” I say, puzzled.

“We’re doing a Couples’ Quiz contest. Are the questions hard?”

“Hard? No! They’re just fun. Silly things. Basic stuff that couples know about each other.”

“Ask me some.” Lottie sounds a bit tense. “Give me some practice.”

“Well, OK.” I think for a moment. “What kind of toothpaste does Ben use?”

“Don’t know,” says Lottie after a pause.

“What’s his mother called?”

“Don’t know.”

“What is his favorite meal that you cook for him?”

There’s a longer pause. “Don’t know,” she says at last. “I’ve never cooked for him.”

“If he was going to the theater, would he choose Shakespeare, a modern play, or a musical?”

“I don’t know!” wails Lottie. “I’ve never been to the theater with him. Ben’s right! We’re going to lose!”

Is she insane? Of course they’re going to lose.

“Does Ben know any of those things about you, do you think?” I ask mildly.

“Of course not! Neither of us knows anything!”

“Right. Well …”

“I really don’t want to lose,” says Lottie, lowering her voice savagely. “There’s this bridezilla girl here and she’s been boasting about her wedding, and if I don’t know anything about my husband and he doesn’t know anything about me …” pqdm.com