Daniel and Eva are still in the competition, hot on our heels. I glanced over at them earlier and noticed them having some kind of argument, so I’m not sure how much of a threat they’ll be today.

Today we are making pasta and the dishes we are making are to be judged by one of the hotel’s top chefs. Everything I’ve eaten on Valentine Island has been insanely delicious so naturally I’m feeling the pressure.

Freddie, on the other hand, is cool as a cucumber, because Freddie has the confidence of knowing what an awesome chef he is.

Back home, cooking was usually down to me, what with Daniel misinterpreting my ‘work from home’ status as ‘housewife’ status. I can cook, but I’m no expert. Freddie, though, he seems as if he knows his stuff.

‘I can’t believe how amazing you are,’ I marvel as I watch him washing basil leaves.

‘Cooking?’ he replies.

‘Well, right now it’s the cooking, but it’s everything,’ I admit. ‘You just never cease to amaze me.’

‘Try it first,’ he says. ‘Then we’ll discuss how amazing I am.’

I love his cheeky little smile when he cracks a joke.

‘Anyway, it’s just pasta,’ he says. ‘Most people can make pasta, right?’

‘I’d probably just buy it ready-made,’ I point out.

He smiles.

‘You know what this needs – some cream in the tomato sauce,’ he says. ‘Can you check the supply area for some? Maybe ask behind the bar if not.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ I reply, happy to be helpful. I take note of what kind and how much we need, which Freddie finds funny. I just want to show as much care and attention to this as he is showing.

I hurry over to the table where all the cooking supplies are. Earlier, Freddie, the resident chef in this faux relationship, gathered up everything we needed, so I haven’t even taken stock of what there is.

With no sign of any cream I pinch one of the scrumptious-looking mozzarella pearls. It’s the perfect size for popping into my mouth without anyone noticing. By the time I reach the bar, the evidence is gone.

Thankfully a very obliging barman agrees to fetch me a small amount of cream. I feel very pleased with myself for this. Our pasta is going to have something extra, that nobody else’s has. Not just the cream, but Freddie’s expertise.

‘Lila, we need to talk,’ Daniel says, taking a seat on the barstool next to me.

‘I’m sure we do,’ I reply. ‘About our house, our car, the bills we need to pay, how we’ll divide our Blu-ray collection… but not today, buddy.’

‘I’m not your buddy, I’m your fiancé,’ he replies.

I glare at him.

‘No, you’re not. Being engaged is a purely verbal thing. We were engaged because we said we were, because we were getting married. We’re not getting married now, so we’re not engaged, so you’re not my fiancé.’

Incredible, really, that I’m having to point this out to him.