"I think—" Amaratunga pauses, and a crinkle forms between his eyebrows. She can tell that he's giving it some thought. Shocker! "I think," he starts again, "I would like to... talk to you about it. About him."

His lips part softly, but then he continues his silent contemplation.

"About Julian?"

He nods. "In the first book, he seems rather two-dimensional, but I assume it's because the protagonist doesn't know him well. Hence neither does the reader. We see what she sees, just the looks and the charm and the bad boy facade." He gives her a questioning look. "Correct?"

Emilia is too stunned to produce any sounds.

"That's why I picked up a later novel," Amaratunga says and gives her a significantly less confident smile.

That – is a Rupert Amaratunga that one could truly lose their head over.

"I wanted to see if he changes, if he grows. It's easy to fall for him in book one. He's dazzling. But, just like you said, to love him?" Amaratunga shakes his head ever so slightly. "We need to see what's the behind the—"

He waves his long-fingered hand in the air, next to his temple; and Emilia's breath catches.

"That's why I think that you and I need to really talk about him. After I read all of the books, of course," he adds hurriedly. "It won't take long. I'm a quick reader."

He once again props his jaw on the heel of his palm. His thick black lashes flutter, the famous chartreuse irises shine – and the effect is devastating!

"So what say you, my lady?" he asks.

"Mm... uh, yeah, sorry, what?"

The emotional ups and downs of the evening are catching up with her now: Daniel's declaration, worthy of Mr. Darcy, with added BDSM flavour; an unexpectedly successful session of said BDSM; the ordeal of a Hollywood-like makeover; the party; the champagne; and finally, the famed neon gaze of Roy Amaratunga. Emilia's head is starting to spin like the Waltzer at New Brighton.

"Could we schedule a meeting with your agent some time next week?"

"Do you mean Grace?" Emilia asks weakly.

"Sure," he answers softly. "I'll have John set it up, alright? You must have your own commissioning editor." He seems to guess her confusion. "I've done a lot of adaptations," he explains. "Apparently I can be styled to be vaguely vintage. I've been killed in two Christie 'filmisations'," he adds with a truly velvet chuckle.

Emilia is aware. One of said 'filmisations' was rather awful, if she's honest; Amaratunga's performance being its only redeeming quality. He really is a good actor, isn't he?

"That sounds lovely," she answers.

Her mind is slowly coming back to the standard position, like a Roly Poly Penguin from her childhood.

"I'm almost done with—" he starts and is interrupted by someone loudly calling his name.

Emilia whips her head around to the person striding up to the sofa.

They are tall, lean; skin a deep bronze; their hair in intricately twisted braids pulled up into a high knot; a few loose coils framing a face that looks like it belongs in one of Ravencroft's creations, with its sharp cheekbones, full mouth, and dark, liquid eyes. To think of it, Emilia might have seen them in one of the photographs – except, it wasn't their face featured there. They are dressed in a tailored boysenberry velvet suit, no shirt, the lapels framing a fine gold chain that glints against smooth skin.

"Roro, you bastard, leaving me alone with those miserable–" They choke on their insult when their eyes meet Emilia's. "Ohhh... hello there! I've been searching for you." They click their tongue. "I actually have. And then when I couldn't find you, I decided to locate this prick. And now, two birds with one stone!"

They take a slow deliberate step towards Emilia; and she fights the desire to pull her skirt and her knees up, away from the shiny toes of their golden snake-skin Oxfords.

"You're not in any of these photographs," they say, "but you should be."

"Seriously, Taz?" Amaratunga huffs. "This is such a bog-standard chat-up line."

"Shut it, Roro." They slide even closer to Emilia. "I work with people who belong in front of the lens. Dancers, models, performers. But you?" Their gaze sweeps her up and down in an appreciative unhurried way. "You've got that rare thing... Presence. You would stop the audience's breath."

"Taz here is a movement director in fashion," Amaratunga comments. "They know what they speak of. Given, most of the time they are just trying it on with you. Not that it makes their opinion any less valid."

The one called Taz nods approvingly. "I design movement for catwalk shows. My job's to make beauty unforgettable."

The banality of their last sentence does take away from the overall impression, though.

"What do you want, Tazzo?" Amaratunga asks, stretching, first, upright, flexing his muscles, arching his wide-shouldered, massive back; and then, towards Emilia. His large elegant hand lies on the partition next to Emilia's shoulder, without touching.

Just letting her know he's there. 

If she needs him. 

Right? Is she interpreting it right?

"I lost interest in you now, dear," Taz says, clearly honed in on Emilia. "You're boring now, Roro. What is your name? I saw you earlier and was dying to properly meet you."

What is happening right now?

"My name is Emilia. And how so?"

An idea comes. They must be another of Daniel's friends, putting her to a test.

"Well, first, I just wanted to chat with you a bit. But looking at you up close? I think you should meet Yara."

"Pardon?"

It's like she's speaking to the Eloi. Quite literally, actually. Complete lack of communication here.

"Yara is my partner. We're not subtle people, Emilia. We have a very happy arrangement." They give out a little saucy laugh. "And sometimes, when we encounter someone who makes us curious, we... invite them in."

Threesome.

She's just been offered to take part in a threesome.

That is, maybe, even more than-three-some. Three-plus-some.

Oh wow.

"Oh that is brilliant!" Amaratunga exclaims and grins at Emilia. "Will you tell them, or should I?"

"Pardon?"

No new response options available. Emilia's software is looping, apparently.

"Why are you still here?" Taz asks Amaratunga, their tone sharpening.

The actor faces Emilia. "Oh please let me answer them," he asks in an exaggerated pleading tone.

Since she has got no answer to give, Emilia decides to just take a punt.

"Go on, then."

What could possibly go wrong?

"Our darling Emilia is here with Daniel Oates."

The sentence – wrapped in Amaratunga's purry baritone – hangs above the three of them like the smell of burnt toast.

Taz's perfect eyebrows slowly crawl up.

"Oh yes, the Daniel Oates, whom you and your sharkish Yara have been drooling over for years."

Emilia jerks and grabs Amaratunga's wrist. Without breaking his eye contact with Taz, he opens his hand palm up, and his fingers gently close around Emilia's.

"And you see, dear," he mockingly draws out the moniker Taz has used, "unlike you, Emilia has our restaurateur well under her heel. And do you really think someone who's got Daniel Oates on a leash would be interested in a lukewarm arrangement with the two of you? Unless—" He turns to Emilia again. "Would you like to add these two slipshod 'players' to your next sesh?"

There is only one distinct thought in Emilia's head at the moment: how sweaty her palm must feel against Roy Amaratunga's skin. Although, it must be marginally less disgusting than she thinks, since he's just given it a tiny supportive squeeze.

Apparently, it's much easier to dismiss people if one's not looking at them and, instead, is focusing on the smiling eyes of Roy Amaratunga.

"Not particularly, no."

One corner of Amaratunga's lips curls up. She takes it back. He's going to make the most perfect Julian.

"Are you sure you aren't going to change your mind?" Taz makes the last attempt at seduction.

Amaratunga waits, giving Emilia a chance to answer – but she's fizzled out, it seems.

It has been a bloody long day.

"Oi, mate, the lady said 'no.' Literally." The actor shifts, pinning the other person with a stare. "It's just two letters. Sort of hard to misunderstand."

The one called Taz hisses something clearly insulting towards Amaratunga, and they march away, their heels clacking on the marble floor.

"Alright?"

Amaratunga opens his hand, and Emilia slowly pulls back.

"Thank you." She emits a shaky, awkward laugh. "That's the first. I've never been propositioned before."

"You handled it like a pro, though," Amaratunga jokes. "Talk about giving someone a cold shoulder. Taz will need some time to recover, it must have really stung. And I wasn't exaggerating. They've been after Daniel for quite a while. But they simply don't have it in them, neither of them. You know, to be his 'master and commander.'"

"Didn't you mean 'mistress and—'" Emilia stumbles. "Um... 'Commandress?'"

They gawk at each other for a few seconds – and then burst into loud laughter.