‘Let’s have you sing the soprano part like normal first time around and I’ll just fit in around you,’ he explains, as though there’s anything normal about this situation. ‘Second time, feel free to ad lib. This one is just the best for playing around with—especially those second and third verses where you can really sock it to ‘em.’

He’s so casually, easily charming. The star quality positively shines out of him. I’m sure he’s used to people doing everything he tells them to do.

‘Okay,’ I manage, shooting Brendan a last save me glance, but he just grins at me and squeezes my arm.

‘Break a leg.’

I roll my eyes at him and stand behind Santi, looking over the sheet music.

He begins to play, and the part of me not currently shitting herself thrills at being in a room with the Santiago Vale as he plays the piano.

‘We’ve got a nice little jazz sextet tonight,’ he tells me, his fingers flying over the keys, ‘but I’ll lead us in for now.’

I’ve already made the split-second decision to give this one a very languid, jazzy arrangement. I’ve seen it sung in operatic style, but that’s not right for a jazz club with as devastating a performer as Santi. I’d rather give it a sexy, sultry delivery that speaks of that lazy drift of a summer’s day.

When I open my mouth, to my surprise, that’s exactly what pours out, the very first word setting the scene for what’s to come. Santi joins me, and we find our rhythm. It’s a short song, the third verse a repetition of the second verse (a fact that makes it far easier for me to remember the lyrics). What’s incredible is how evocative it is from that very first note.

I have an oh holy crap moment when I realise that I am singing with Santiago Vale. His voice is low and rich and decadent and just so fucking gorgeous, and it would be an absolute crime not to embrace this moment. I decide to ditch the idea of sticking to the notes on the first round, and I really go for it on verse two. When I do, Brendan lets out a positively orgasmic groan, and Santi shakes his head in a damn, girl way as his magical voice and fingers do their thing.

I let rip at the end. I may be out of practice. I may be a rusty amateur at best, but I can tell when two performers make magic together.

And we just did.

Santi laughs aloud. ‘Fucking brilliant! That was immense! You could hear that, right? We were good.’

I can’t stop smiling. ‘Yeah. We were.’

‘Your voice is fantastic. Rich and so fucking sexy. Where the hell have you been keeping this one hidden, Sullivan?’