‘No,’ Evie says with a fake smile. ‘I think that’s about it. This is just for December, and then poof, we can erase it from our minds.’

‘Just for December indeed,’ Duke agrees. ‘What a gift.’

11

Evie

Their first fauxmance date is a disaster, just as she’d assumed it would be.

They decide, up there in Duke’s suite, to get it all over and done with as soon as possible by heading out to get coffee, taking a walk around the block, and then heading back to the hotel where Evie can then get on with her work, and Duke can … do whatever it is Duke needs to do – presumably go to set, or spend an hour in front of his mirror staring lovingly at his own reflection.

They head out, Evie holding open the door to the hotel for Duke to walk through, and Duke quipping: ‘Why am I ninety-nine per cent sure that if I tried to hold the door open for you, you’d shout at me for it?’

Evie pulls down her hat low on head. It’s super cold out.

‘You seem to think I’m, like, rudeness personified,’ Evie says. ‘Which is, in itself, really rude.’

If Duke replies, she doesn’t hear it. He strides ahead, and she has to jog slightly to catch up.

They round the corner to a little café they’ve both independently clocked on their explorations, and suddenly Evie realises there’s no takeout. Magda had said something about this, about no ‘takeout’ culture in Europe like they have in America, and it’s true – they can either stand at a little bar area for an espresso or take a small table outside under the heaters.

‘I’ll come in with you,’ Evie says, as they slow down outside. ‘I’m going to hold on to your arm at the counter for like, five seconds, okay? Do we even know if this is being photographed?’

Duke looks at her, pastes on a pretend smile and says through gritted teeth, ‘I. Have. No. Idea. Evie. I. Assume. So. Smile. Back. Please.’

Evie bursts out into fake laughter, throwing her head back and then reaching out to touch Duke’s arm.

‘You’re so funny, Dukey!’ she squeals, hamming it up, and a woman with a dog sat on her lap at the table closest to them frowns discontentedly.

Inside, they wait their turn as a waiter takes orders, makes coffees, serves pastries. Duke orders a black coffee, and Evie a latte. The waiter tells them how much it is in German first, then in English when she realises they don’t understand.

Duke leans forward with contactless pulled up on his phone at the exact same moment as Evie reaches out with a ten-euro note.

‘It’s fine,’ says Duke. ‘It’s on me.’

‘As a point of pride,’ Evie counters. ‘I insist.’