I step into the dress and watch myself transform from weary and anonymous-looking to something close to glamorous. Definitely this dress. I choose a cashmere Louis Vuitton scarf to drape across my bare shoulders and a little violet clutch bag with a clasp set with turquoise stones that pick up the color of the dress. From the wall I unhook my trusty skyscraper nude Louboutins and wince at the thought of wearing them all night; my feet are more accustomed to Uggs and sneakers these days. I put the shoes on and go through to the bathroom to do my make-up.

‘Black is better,’ says a voice from the doorway. I jump, smearing mascara to the side of my right eye. My husband is standing there, smiling bemusedly at me, beads of rainwater studding his jacket, some dripping from his hair onto the tiles.

‘Don’t you like this?’ I ask, turning to face him. He looks me up and down.

‘You look beautiful. Ravishing in fact. But on this occasion, definitely black. It’s a very formal event.’

‘Okay,’ I say, and return to the mirror to remove the mascara blob. I feel a pang of disappointment. I wanted Eirik to be impressed with my choice, but my husband is even more of a perfectionist than I am, and this is his work event, so I am happy to choose another dress.

I take a sip of the wine while Eirik gets in the shower, and I watch the outline of his big body through bursts of rising steam, like a skyscraper behind fog. For a moment I consider joining him, slipping my arms around his wet torso from behind, holding him close. I decide against it; Eirik will be fully focused on the evening ahead and most likely needs a little time to himself to get in the right headspace and go over his speech again.

When he emerges from the shower, I’ve changed and am wearing a foolproof silk-and-taffeta gala dress I bought in Paris several years ago and have only worn once. I’ve coiled my hair into a high bun, securing a few stray strands to the side in place with discreet diamanté slides. Eirik takes me in, a slow smile spreading across his face.

‘Wow,’ he says. He wipes himself briskly down with the towel and then throws it into the corner of the bathroom. He sidles up against me where I’m standing at the sink and puts his arms around me from behind, our eyes meeting in the mirror. He pulls me very close and nuzzles my neck, and I can feel his erection nudging against my buttocks. With one hand, Eirik undoes my hair from its clip, sending it flowing around my shoulders, and with the other hand he hoists the dress up around my hips and then he’s inside me, moving hard but slow, our eyes still locked on each other’s in the mirror.

*