She felt her breathing grow shallow, as though the air in the room had thinned. His arm retracted, the hotspot on her flushed skin cooling instantly.

‘Bell . . .’ The word held apology, regret. Conviction.

They were both wide awake now.

She tore her gaze away, humiliated, as she rose in her t-shirt and stepped away from the bed. Without a word, she walked towards the door and closed it behind her softly as the tears began to stream down her cheeks. Not a question had been asked. No need. They both had their answer.

She blinked, her eyes fixed and unseeing upon the moonlight puddling on her floor as her hand automatically switched off the alarm. The moon had moved round, long shadows slanting on the floorboards, the owl still hunting.

It was five o’clock already and sleep hadn’t come. Though her bed had still been warm, her own impression still visible on the sheets as she fell back in, she had lain stiff and wretched, trying to make sense of what had happened: her ready capitulation, his unequivocal rejection. Had she imagined what had pulsed between them in those few moments? It had felt as real and alive as her thumping heart. And yet, could she deny that almost every day he had treated her with scorn and resentment? That he had told her plainly it had meant nothing?

She felt the tears fall again, hot on her cheeks, the pillow and her hair damp. She would have sworn, in that room, by that bed, the raw emotion in those few moments of swollen silence had been more real than any cruel word or askance look. But she was mistaken, clearly. In just her t-shirt, sloughed of sleep, she had revealed her longing to him, only to be dangled like a mouse by its tail. He had toyed with her, that was the truth. It was a power play, designed to humiliate. He couldn’t kick her off his island, he couldn’t keep her out of his son’s life, so he had brought her to her knees instead. Literally, put her on her knees.

Five o’clock and already it was bright outside, the impatient sun rising even though the moon still floated through the sky. She needed to get away from here. Her friends would be here in a few hours; she could wait for them at the hotel. Treat herself to an early breakfast, lie by the pool, read a book, forget she’d ever met Emil Von Greyers.

She pushed herself up to sitting and planted her feet on the floor, head hanging low, hair falling forwards. She could do this. She could. All she had to do was tap him on the shoulder, ask him his name, leave again. Job done.

Heart pounding, she carefully opened her door and walked silently down the hall. The first pale dawn rays fell in through the tall windows that gave onto the lawn, casting the world in shades of peach and white.