THE BILLIONAIRE'S LOVER

25 | IN WHICH SHE GETS AN UNEXPECTED VISIT

Which was when dinner arrived.

It was super super weird to be served in your home like it was a restaurant, except it was hard to imagine One Hyde Park being anyone's home really, and they were tipsy, which helped with the embarrassment factor.

The food went by in a blur of faint weirdness. They'd brought them this complementary starter, which was an orange and some burned toast, except the orange was actually pate and Mika exploded it with a knife when she tried to slice into it like you would a piece of fruit. The Rice & Flesh turned out to be saffron risotto with cow bits on top—although it was delicious—and Malora's savory porridge was the worst thing in the world. Probably it tasted okay once you got over the fact that it was bright green and the frog legs croquettes had the bones sticking up like they were flipping you off.

Malora got her revenge with the mains, though, since the braised celery was still, y'know, braised celery, despite being covered in cheese. Whereas she was presented with most of a dead animal in this amazing sweet-sticky-smoky sauce and crispy, thick-cut chips like you get in gastro pubs. Although, if those were Malora's terms of reference, probably she didn't have much of a future as a food critic.

By the time they got to dessert, they were basically dead of indulgence. The caramelized apple tart turned out to be literally a caramelized apple on a pastry base, with ice cream on the side. So that was sort of hilarious. As was the fact that Mika cut into it super carefully, having obviously been scarred for life by the disguised orange experience. What was left of the evening found them in a pile on the sofa, under a duvet dragged from the guest room, watching Money Heist on the enormous wall-mounted TV. Mika idled her fingers in her hair and it was like being at Oxford—except university had been this closed system, made up of habits and proximity and inevitability. Now they were in the world. And the world was kind of. . .theirs. Full of possibility.

Or Malora was just full of vodka.

'What's he like?' Mika asked.

'Hmm?'

'Titan Pitts.'

'Oh.' Tricky one, that. 'Complex.'

'Wow, you've really developed this keen insight into him, haven't you?'

Malora gnanged her shoulder. 'I'm not sure what to say. He's rich, powerful, and insanely hot. He lives in a different world from me. Likes kinky sex, and basically likes tying people up.' She fingered her collar and sighed. 'He even gave me this collar stuff.'

Mika whistled at the sight of it. 'That mutherfucker is kinky as hell.'

'You bet.'

'Yeah, but do you like him?'

Malora  wondered how to explain.
'The fact that you're taking so long to say yes isn't a great sign, Mal.'

'Oh my God, of course I like him. I just. . .I'm not sure I know him.'

'Well, you only met him a few weeks ago.'

'I get that but'—Malora chewed her lip thoughtfully—'it feels. . .deeper somehow. Like maybe he doesn't want me to.'

Mika was quiet for a moment or two. 'This reminds me of the time you asked me to breakup with that girl because she didn't like Deepeche Mode.'

'Yes. Like who doesn't like those people?'

'Um. . .maybe this isn't about Deepeche Mode. Just saying.'

Malora peeped at her over the top of the duvet. 'You mean—dum dum duhhh—it's about me.'

'You do have a way of getting out of relationships. You didn't even date.'

'But,' Malora pointed out, all logical-like, 'I'm not in a relationship with Titan'