“That was absolutely amazing.”
I turn around to see a young British woman waving at me with a white satin glove. “We absolutely loved it, didn’t we Dickie? He couldn’t stop raving about you. You marvel!’’ I hear her say. But as touching as the young woman’s words are to me, all I can see in front of me are black dots. My skin is becoming hotter and her voice drowns into a general noise vacuum which disorientates me.
I wake up in an unfamiliar room. It smells different, like rose-scented candles. My head moulds into the pillow, made from the softest goose feathers, and the fluffy duvet envelops my body in sublime warmth. I’m not sure whether I’m still dreaming but I stare absent-mindedly up towards the cream ceiling, covered in sculpted angels; a glimpse of heaven. I try to pull myself up from the heavy duvet when I see something sparkle. Crawling to the end of the king-sized bed I study the sparkling object more closely and recognise almost immediately a gold satin slipper. I start frowning. I search around for the other one but it’s nowhere to be seen.
The floorboards creak and I stop in my tracks. “Who’s there?” I whisper, grabbing the slipper as my sole weapon. “Brilliant, you’re awake…” comes a voice, but it’s too late. I’ve already thrown the slipper at him, but I watch it miss and fall straight through the window, beneath the venetian blinds. I hear a woman scream “merde” from down below and I put my hand to my mouth. “I’m, I’m sorry” I cringe, “I thought you were trying to attack me”. “Attack you?” he repeats, bewildered, “now if I really wanted to hurt you I don’t know how far I’d get with a croissant”. I snigger. I watch him take a hearty bite out of the buttery croissant and I immediately pace towards him to try snatch it off him. “Not so fast” he remarks, lifting it higher in the air. “What about girls first?” I moan. “That must be a British thing” he laughs, “in France, it is always men first”. “You big joker!” I retaliate, jumping back onto the bed and doing my best puppy dog impression. “Don’t do that, it might give you early wrinkles” he says, winking. “That’s not how the story goes though!” I say, pretending to whine. “What story?” he asks. “The story where I look like a cute, lost little puppy and you become so mesmerised that you simply can’t take your eyes off me and proceed to give me everything and anything I want” I retort like a baby. “Ah, that story. You’re living in a fairy tale you know, ma Cherie!” he whispers in my ear. I sit on the bed with my arms folded, looking like a grumpy school-child. “You have multiple personality disorder, you know” I say, comically. “Multiple…?” he says, confused. “Well what about last night? The dress, the corsage, the diamonds, the…anyway, it seemed last night that you would have given me anything I wanted” I confess. “Well of course, but if I treat you too much you might get bored of me. I need to keep you on your toes. Especially now that you have no shoes” he jokes, glancing towards the open window.