Rummaging through her black Christian Dior Jazzclub leather patent bag with obvious finesse, Isabella pulled out her MAC lip gloss. She broke out into an inane grin every time she used it as the shade was entitled “oversexed”. If only people knew how true that was, she thought as she slicked it on.
“My darling” Emilio’s Italian accent called her through the balcony doors of their hotel room, “you called the black sheep yet?”
Isabella shook her head as she strutted towards him, black silk robe gaping open to reveal her striking red lace underwear. They referred to Sam as the black sheep due to his dark curly hair. Isabella could not risk the press finding out about her affair with Emilio, therefore in the public eye, he was known as her very gay best friend. This was also the impression Sam was under.
“I think it is time for me to go. My taxi is ordered and it should not be long now. Will you miss me Bella? As I will miss you.”
Isabella felt a surge of power flow through her. She knew she had this man under her control and got immense pleasure from this little snippet of information and his funny foreign way of speaking made her smile. Stepping on to the balcony to join her lover, Isabella could not take her eyes of this gorgeous specimen of manhood. Hair as dark as coal, his eyes like a cats, green and speckled with flecks of brown. His skin was dark and covered in tanning oil so he shone healthily and somewhat seductively. The slight blonde ran her finger from his cheek down over his chest and stomach, stopping when she felt the material of his boxers underneath her acrylic nails.
A car horn blasted out beneath them. Emilio waved his arm in recognition that the taxi was for him and stepped inside to pull on his white linen trousers and white vest top. Isabella had never seen him wearing anything other than white, but with his permanent tan, he could more than suitably pull it off. He kissed her firmly and protectively on the forehead, slipped his feet into his overpriced flip flops and swaggered through the door hurriedly as the blare of the taxi drivers horn sounded again.
Flopping down on to the bed in disgust, Isabella pulled out her own mobile phone from the pocket of her robe. She turned it on, and waited to see if any messages came through.
Izzy, you coming to the gig tonight? Will pick you up from the hotel at 6.30 x love u x
She cleared the message off the screen without writing a reply and carried on applying her lip gloss. It was half past five and Isabella only had an hour to get ready. How would she cope?
***
Petra jumped out of the shower as she heard a knock at her university room door, patted herself down with her favourite soft pink towel, and slipped on a pink bathrobe made of the same material as the towel.
“Come in!” she called, making sure she was covered up properly.
Sam scooted in with two t-shirts, one in each hand. He looked a tad embarrassed, but only for a second, that he had caught in such a state of undress. Petra smiled and tried to look confident but her insecurities were eating away at her as he very obviously studied every inch of her.
“Feeling better mate?” he questioned in his deep, resonating voice. “I was a bit worried about you earlier.”
“I’m fine after my sleep. Cheers for looking after me, you didn’t have to you know.” Petra mumbled gratefully after recovering from the shock sting caused by the word “mate”.
“It’s ok. That’s what friends are for.” He paused as his own words stung. “Anyway, will you be ready in twenty minutes? I’ve told Isabella we’ll pick her up at half past six and its six now.”
“Yeah no worries. I’m ready now, can’t you tell?” She joked, laughed and noticed she’d revealed a little more chest than she wished for and subtlety pulled her robe closer.
Sam coughed to cover his embarrassment and enjoyment of the flesh display he had just witnessed. The atmosphere was taut and highly sexual, as it always was when Petra and Samuel were together. He quickly got to the point of his visit and asked her which t-shirt he ought to wear for the nights gig. With Petra’s opinion duly noted, he was on his way.
Just before twenty minutes past six, the buzzer rang in the hallway between Petra and Sam’s respective rooms. They both knew that it would be Joe, Sam’s driver, signifying his arrival, therefore they both presumed the other one would answer it, therefore stopping the infernal racket. The fact the two best friends were so similar often backfired on them. The noise reverberated in the corridor until both bodies shot out of their respective doors at the same time to answer. Sam released an easy, hearty laugh as he picked up the phone and told Joe that they would be out. Petra, after exchanging a knowingly amused look with Sam, grabbed her trusty, battered handbag, linked her arm through his and let the door slam behind them.
“Shit! What the fuck is up with her?” Sam exploded as Joe’s land rover pulled up outside the balcony.
Isabella was sitting in her silk robe, hair obviously wet and wrapped in a towel, green face mask plastered on, lying on a sun lounger, reading a magazine.
“Keep driving.” Petra uttered quietly but in such a determined way that Joe took his foot from the break and sailed straight past.
“Petra! Who gave you the right to…” Sam raised his voice.
“Look, listen for a second before you go mental.” she soothed. “She knew what time you were coming, she’s never on that balcony when Don Juan’s not around….”
“His name is Emilio!” Sam interrupted with a small but distinct grin on his face.
“She has done this purely to piss you off Sam and you know it! Drive on, do your gig and wait for her to contact you. Do not let his affect your performance. All my mates are coming!” She grinned easily and squeezed his knee affectionately.
Placing his hand on top of Petra’s, he smirked and thanked her. The ten minute drive from the hotel to the pub hosting the gig, went smoothly with Joe, Sam and Petra chatting easily amongst themselves, but Sam’s hand stayed firmly on Petra’s and she did nothing to move away either. It seemed a subconscious decision for both of them as there was no flinching or awkwardness. As the car came to a halt, Sam squeezed Petra’s hand and mouthed the words “thank you” as Joe had already opened his car door to a around thirty screaming teenage fans.
