I turn my back on them and find Gregory still looking over at the group, but for a whole different reason. ‘Stop gawking,’ I say, taking another sip of champagne.
‘Sorry.’ His eyes land on me. ‘Shall we go and explore?’
‘Yes, let’s.’
‘Come on, then.’ He straightens and places his palm in the small of my back to lead me.
On our way up a flight of glass stairs, I look down to the bottom floor and notice Ben has gone, and I wonder whether that’s why we’re on the move.
‘There’s a garden bar,’ Gregory tells me.
‘Then why are we going up?’
‘It’s on the roof.’ He directs me to the left and up some more stairs, where a wall of glass comes into view, and beyond, London by night in all of its glory.
‘Oh wow!’ I breathe. ‘Look at that!’
‘Impressive, eh?’
It’s more than impressive. ‘Would you de-friend me if I took pictures?’ I ask, ready to hand him my drink so I can riffle through my bag for my phone.
‘Yes, I would. Let’s just do what everyone else is doing – drink and enjoy the view.’
I feel cheated, wanting to snap away just in case my memory doesn’t store an accurate image of what I’m looking at. I’m used to London, its architecture and its grandeur, but I’ve never seen it looking quite like this. ‘So how did you meet Ben?’ I ask, tearing my eyes away from the stunning view. Gregory gestures around us with a how’d-ya-think look all over his handsome face, and for the first time, I take in the garden where we’ve landed. I gasp a little. ‘You did this?’
‘I did.’ His chest swells proudly. ‘Designed it, created it, and finished it. It’s my best project to date.’
‘It’s incredible,’ I muse, starting to absorb all of the little but significant details – the small touches that really bring it to life. The side walls are nothing more than compacted box plants, the tiny leaves lush and green, with ice-blue twinkle lights embedded in the shrubbery. And the topiary trees are all trimmed into neat circles with lights woven through the foliage. ‘Is the grass real?’ I ask, padding my feet and noticing my heels aren’t sinking in.
‘No, it’s imitation, but so authentic you’d never know.’
‘It is,’ I agree. ‘I love the furniture.’
‘Hmmm. The theme was ice, as you’ve probably gathered. I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to create a lush, functional outside space on that brief, but I’m pretty pleased.’
‘You should be.’ I reach up and kiss his cheek. ‘It’s fabulous, just like you.’
‘Stop it,’ he laughs. ‘You’re making me blush.’
I giggle with him, and then cast my eyes over to take another hit of the outlook, but my eyes don’t make it to the open air and view beyond because they find Ben first. And they find him stuck to a woman’s mouth. I wince and quickly try to work out my best move, but I can think of nothing except downing my fresh drink and shoving it in Gregory’s face.
‘Another?’ he asks incredulously. ‘Calm down, Livy.’
‘I’m fine,’ I assure him, taking his elbow, but he doesn’t shift, and as I glance up, I see that he’s found what I’m trying to get him away from. ‘Greg?’ His eyes slowly fall to mine, and I see too much misery to take the softly-softly approach, so I tug at him until he’s forced to move. ‘Let’s get a drink.’
‘Yes, let’s.’ He grinds the words out, shifting his arms from my grip and taking my hand.
I’m led with purpose back down the two flights of stairs and to the bar where Gregory orders two champagnes. In the short time that we’ve been away, the atmosphere has cranked up a few notches and people are starting to move to the round dance floor, drinks in hand. The music seems louder, too, and there’s definitely a shift in the reserved environment as the champagne flows freely – and for free – and Daft Punk, featuring Pharrell Williams, pumps through the speakers.
‘Drink up.’ Gregory doesn’t pass me just a flute this time. It’s a shot, and my eyes dart to his. ‘Come on,’ he pleads.
My reluctance is clear. I’ve had a few glasses of champagne and I feel okay, but that shouldn’t be a green light to start throwing shots down my neck. ‘Greg . . .’
‘Come on. I won’t let anything happen, Livy,’ he assures me, and stupidly or not, I take the glass and knock it with his before tipping the contents down my throat. The burn is instant and so is the reminder of all the times I’ve drunk before.
I gasp and slam my shot glass down before taking the flute and downing the more pleasant champagne. ‘That was nasty.’
‘That was tequila, but you forgot the salt and lemon.’ He holds up a salt shaker and a wedge of fresh lemon before carrying out the practice the right way, licking the back of his hand, sprinkling the salt, licking again, downing the liquid, and sinking his teeth into the wedge. ‘It’s much better this way.’
‘You should’ve stopped me,’ I complain, struggling to rid my mouth of the rancid taste.
‘You didn’t give me a chance,’ he laughs. ‘Let’s do another.’ He orders another and this time I see through the sequence correctly, following Greg’s lead.
I shudder at the lingering flavour, but then I’m shuddering for a whole other reason when a familiar beat takes over the current track. I instantly look to see Gregory’s wide, delighted eyes.