‘Put your own suitcases away,’ I said. ‘I’m going for a walk.’

Michael’s damp head popped out of the shower room. His shoulders were hunched, eyes black. It was a side of him I’d never seen before.

‘Do not leave this hotel room, Lorna. Don’t you dare leave this room.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I said so, that’s why.’

‘Are you going to apologize?’

‘No, I’m not going to fucking apologize. Sit down.’

‘Do you still love your wife?’

‘You leave Diane out of it,’ said Michael, voice scarily low. ‘You’re staying here.’

I hesitated at the door. ‘You said you wanted to go back to her.’

‘I said Diane never gave me any backchat. You could learn a thing or two about that.’

I felt sick to my stomach. ‘Do you still love her?’

‘Diane was my childhood sweetheart. She’ll always have a place in my heart.’

‘And what am I?’

‘You’re my girl right now.’

I left then, slamming the door behind me.

Paris on a sunny afternoon was beautiful, but all I could think about was Michael and Diane. Did he still have feelings for her? Did he want her back? Was it because of me, how I’d acted? If I was sweeter, more compliant, would he love me better? He’d said Diane was his first love. How could I ever compete with that? Would I always be second best? Never as good?

After a few hours I headed back to the hotel.

I felt … nervous.

I only went for a walk, I told myself as I knocked on the penthouse suite door. Big deal.

‘Michael?’ I called. ‘Michael? It’s me.’

The door swung inwards with force and there stood Michael, face tight with rage, eyes bloodshot. He wasn’t much taller than me, but he seemed to fill the doorframe like a huge, raging demon.

Without saying a word, Michael grabbed my arm and pulled me inside, slamming the door behind us.

‘You stupid, dumb little idiot,’ he raged, gripping my shoulders, eyes burning. ‘Never, ever call at the door like that. The press are everywhere. You do that again and you’re gone. I’ll fly you back on the next plane.’

He was shaking me. Actually shaking me.

My skinny body went rigid in his arms and I heard myself shouting: ‘Stop. Stop.’

‘You need to do as you’re told, Lorna,’ said Michael, releasing his grip. ‘It’s for your own good. I can’t have you here if you don’t do as you’re told.’

‘I just went for a walk.’

‘You can’t ever do that again. Just walk off like that. Ever, ever, ever.’

‘I want you to tell me you love me more than your wife,’ I said, starting to cry.

Michael didn’t answer. Instead, he walked to the drinks cabinet and poured us both large whiskeys.