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is ginger, for crying out loud. He looks more like Prince Harry than Don Corleone.
    â€˜Dump your stuff then come meet big Marco,’ he says to Ben, disappearing back into the kitchen.
    â€˜My brother likes you,’ I whisper proudly to Ben.
    â€˜He
likes
me?’ he whispers back, pretending to look panicked. ‘Should I change out of the sexy shirt?’
    â€˜God, no – Stefan has always had much better taste than me.’
    â€˜Hey, Becky,’ says Dad from the kitchen door, slinging a tea towel over his shoulder and opening his arms for a hug.
    â€˜And Ben, hello.’ He releases me and shakes Ben’s hand. ‘It’s good to finally meet you.’
    â€˜And you, Mr Giamboni.’
    Stefan is chopping herbs with his back to us but from the shake of his shoulders I can tell he’s suppressing a laugh at Ben’s formality.
    â€˜Just getting the dinner prep out the way,’ says Dad. ‘Spaghetti bolognese all right for you?’
    â€˜Smashing,’ Ben says, his grin faltering as he peers into the saucepan and sees all the raw ingredients my dad has chucked into it at the same time.
    Anyone watching us could be fooled into thinking mine’s a culinary family – all slicing, chopping and mixing in Dad’s huge open-plan kitchen, with its professional-looking eight-hob thingy and its central island with pots and pans dangling above it.
    Truth is, Dad and Stefan are just as bad as me.
    â€˜You’ve a lovely home, Mr Giamboni,’ Ben says, staring around the kitchen in awe, and I shoot Stefan a
Don’t even think about it
look, though I’m struggling not to laugh myself. But I’m touched how much effort Ben is putting in to make sure my dad likes him.
    â€˜Thanks,’ says Dad smoothly, not mentioning the fact he designed the renovation, extending my Granny’s house on the edge of the quaint seaside town of Deal in Kent after she died. I love this place too – it’s just the right mix of traditional and modern. Classy, but not flash.
    â€˜And, please, call me Marc.’
    I give Ben a tour of the house while Dad makes a pot of coffee.
    â€˜Is this Stefan’s?’ asks Ben as we reach the room at the end of the upstairs corridor.
    â€˜It’s mine,’ I tell him with a laugh. ‘Why?’
    â€˜The plain blue walls just don’t scream teenage girl.’
    â€˜That’s how you know it’s not Stefan’s,’ I say, sliding my hands under his shirt and up his back. ‘Anyway . . . blue is my very favourite colour.’
    â€˜Good to know,’ he mumbles, planting soft kisses down my face, closer and closer to my mouth until his lips are on mine.
    â€˜Mmmm,’ I mumble, smiling into his kiss. ‘That really is a sexy outfit.’
    â€˜
You’re
a sexy outfit,’ he mumbles back.
    I pull my face away from his and smirk.
    â€˜I don’t know what that means either,’ he says. ‘Just don’t stop kissing me.’
    My lips find his again, then we fall sideways on to my bed, running our hands over each other.
    â€˜We should go back downstairs,’ I tell him, making no attempt to move.
    â€˜Yeah, we should,’ he agrees, sliding a finger across my jaw, down my neck and into the V of my dress.
    â€˜You know,’ he tells me, ‘your dad isn’t nearly as scary as I thought he’d be.’
    â€˜You’re talking about my dad while your hand is under my bra?’
    â€˜Sorry,’ he says, laughing. ‘I was just wondering why he didn’t like that Nick guy.’
    I tilt my head and sigh. ‘I don’t know, really. He just didn’t trust him. He didn’t like how much time we spent up in my room.’
    â€˜Right.’ Ben springs up from the bed and smooths his shirt with his palms. ‘Let’s get back downstairs.’
    Dad’s living room is a cosy den; the only room that is pretty much unchanged since