He must feel my eyes burning into him. His turns his head and spots me lingering by the bottom of the stairs. He stops what he’s talking about and approaches me.

‘Ciao,’ he says, his American accent as strong as ever.

‘Hi,’ I reply.

‘Great, you speak English, that makes this easier,’ he says as he removes his wallet from his jacket. He removes a wad of dollars, which he hands me in two halves. ‘Okay, thank you for your time. This is for the night and this is for your discretion. You are free to go.’

I look down at the money in my hands and then I realise what’s happening. He thinks I’m a prostitute.

‘Marty, Marty, no,’ Freddie says as he hurries over, putting himself between us. ‘Come on, man, not again. This is Lila, we’re friends.’

I’m not going to worry about him referring to us as friends because it’s certainly a big step up from prostitute, but I am concerned about something.

‘Not again?’ I ask.

‘He’s done this before, marching into my apartment, trying to pay off the first woman he saw – it was my auntie who had come to visit.’

‘She found it funny,’ Marty says, holding his hands up, a big dumb grin on his face.

‘Right,’ I reply. ‘We just go nought to prostitute, then.’

‘He said he was taking a vacation. He wanted to figure out who he was or some shit – actors, you know? – so I figured, yeah, prostitutes.’

‘Well, that explains everything,’ I reply sarcastically, tightening my robe.

‘Sorry, Lila, this is my manager, Marty Caruso. Marty, this is Lila.’

‘Well, I know I can shake your hand now,’ he jokes, offering me his to shake. I do so reluctantly.

Freddie disappears for five seconds, ducking into the bathroom to put on a pair of shorts.

‘Can you come back later?’ Freddie asks Marty.

‘So you can give me the slip again? No chance.’

‘I went on vacation, I told you,’ Freddie stresses.

‘And now it’s time for the vacation to end and you to come back to LA and do your job. I got products I need you on Instagram with – got a couple of dates lined up for you to be spotted out with. Now is the time, Bianchi. Some other beefcake is going to come along and steal your money and your game and your girls.’

God, I hate this guy’s pep talks.

Thankfully, Freddie just laughs.

‘I can’t go home yet. We’re in the middle of a competition,’ Freddie tells him.

Marty looks back and forth between us.

‘Freddie, you know there’s that clause in your contract,’ Marty says cryptically. ‘You can’t be doing anything to… mess you up.’

Freddie’s eyes widen before he laughs uncomfortably.

‘I don’t know what you think we’re doing –in fact, I really, really don’t want to know – but it’s nothing like what you’re thinking. It’s a competition for couples staying on the island. It’s just fun stuff like answering questions and seeing who can hold their partner for the longest.’