If there’s one thing I know about the Edge of Eden books, it is that they have been responsible for the sexual awakening of many a woman. I low-key knew this when the first book blew up, and everyone and their aunt (literally, their aunt, which isn’t a pleasant thought for anyone) couldn’t stop talking about it, and what an incredible read it was, and how it has spiced up their sex lives. I’ve never really been into erotic fiction, so I’ve always given the series a wide berth, and then when the movie came out at the end of last year, I gave that a miss too.

I can forgive myself for not recognising Freddie. In real life, he doesn’t bear too much of a resemblance to the character he plays – Edward Eden, a big-shot attorney with a penchant for justice and BDSM. Freddie looks like a cross between an LA surfer dude and a Muscle Beach colossus. He has longish, messy brown hair, a bit like Kit Harington from Game of Thrones, and a very laid-back dress sense. Edward Eden, on the other hand, wears a suit throughout the entire movie – in fact, the only times when he isn’t wearing a suit, he’s completely naked (at least that’s what I read – I’m considering verifying this for myself). His hair is much darker – practically black – and always slicked back. He has this sort of moody, brooding look about him, whereas Freddie almost always has a loveable smile on his face.

I love that I’m talking about them as if they are two different people, when it’s actually just one person acting. He must be a good actor, because when he walked into my suite yesterday and kissed me on the cheek in front of Daniel, I genuinely thought he’d hit his head in the pool or something.

‘Well, it might suck that your ex turned up, but at least it scored us this dinner tonight,’ Freddie says, across our candlelit table.

Oh, I’d kind of forgotten about this. Of course, this is our free dinner, and not just something Freddie has organised because – all together now – this is not a real date.

‘Yeah,’ I reply. ‘The silver lining.’

‘You look absolutely stunning, by the way,’ he says.

I look down at my black Bardot cocktail dress, with the lace-up front. Another dress I bought just for my honeymoon, which I purchased with a particular fantasy in mind. One might argue that wearing it to dinner with a super-buff American movie star is way more of a fantasy than wearing it with your skinny northern husband, but it just reminds me of everything I’ve lost.

‘You don’t have to compliment me, no one is around,’ I remind him, although I suppose it is a good habit to get into, for when we do have an audience.

‘Maybe I meant it,’ he says.

Maybe he did, but it’s more likely he didn’t.

At night, the vibe in Sabatini is completely different. The mood shifts, from cool and casual Italian coffee bar to a romantic Italian restaurant. Everything is the same, from the white marble tables to the leafy green plants all around the room. The only things that are different are the music and the lights. Impossibly romantic-sounding Italian music is playing, loud enough for you to hear, but quiet enough to allow for a decent conversation, and the lights are low – most of the light is coming from the candles on the table and the little fairy lights that hide in the leaves of the plants. With the way the tables are spaced out, with more distance than usual between them, and the lighting positioned just right, to make each table exist in its own little spotlight, it is easy to forget that anyone else is here. Until the waiter drops by, of course.