Evie hesitated for a moment. As much as she had tried to embrace their relationship for what it was—purely physical—she knew that even though he got her off and they enjoyed each other’s company, he was only holding her back.

Freddy opened his mouth as if to say something, but before he could speak Evie blurted out, ‘Just so you know, I meant it when I said this is the absolute last time.’

That was all Freddy needed to continue where he’d left off. He pulled down her silky shorts and started teasing her, using his tongue with considerable expertise. No longer able to hold herself back, Evie unzipped his fly and then they were a tangle of flying limbs, panting breaths and a harried mixture of ‘Oh yes,’ ‘faster’ and ‘Oh, I’m sorry, did that hurt?’

After nearly bringing her to a climax, Freddy changed up the pace, slowing down and speeding up, then slowing down again. Eventually they fell into a familiar rhythm and Evie surrendered any remaining guilt she’d felt about getting back into bed with Freddy. This was completely worth it.

As the tension built up, Evie squeezed her eyes shut, revisiting a well-worn fantasy of her and Hugo splayed across a large oak desk with pages of their screenplays sticking to their sweaty bodies and fluttering to the floor.

‘Yes,’ she whispered, picturing Hugo’s ink-stained torso.

The pressure grew and grew until all of a sudden, just as she was sure she was about to burst, she remembered Maximilian’s words and, without thinking, found herself shouting out ‘Somebody to Love’ just as she unravelled.

And then everything went black.

THREE

Three

Evie groaned as the piercing sound of her phone alarm jolted her awake. Even with her eyes screwed shut, she knew Freddy was no longer by her side. Typical Freddy, sneaking off in the middle of the night, she thought with a sigh.

She rolled over to switch off her phone alarm, crying out in surprise as she toppled to the floor.

‘What the hell?’ she yelped, mystified by the rug she’d landed on.

Looking back at her bed, Evie’s heart began to thud faster. Instead of her queen-size mattress with the beautiful yellow metal frame she’d paid a bomb for, she was staring at the single-bed ensemble she’d slept on as a teenager. Frowning, she looked around the room. Though she still had several of the framed collectors’ movie posters displayed on the walls around her—including her favourite one of Singing in the Rain—she had left her bedroom in her parents’ home in Edgware behind a long time ago. And yet, here she was.