For all the sun, sea, sand and good company, the thing I have loved most about Adora is what it's missing. It's missing that horrible sinking feeling I get in my chest and or stomach when I walk into a room and everybody's starting at me. It doesn't offer the ear burning sensation of knowing that people are whispering about you over their drinks - the one that makes my neck itchy, as my neck gets when I'm nervous - and it doesn't have even a hint of the smell of bullshit in the air when people are talking.

There's a bonfire going on, we're at the beach. There's a very loud stereo playing various salsas and tangos or whatever until one of the younger types manages to get something more current on there for a second, and some of these old folks clearly had the moves when younger. I may be able to beat box and kill a good few of my dancers in a battle but I've never been able to do this ballroom or Latin whatever it's called stuff. There's a ton of homemade food littered around, lots of alcohol, and I think half the town is here dancing under the stars.

This party looks to be all kinds of fun for everybody else but as far as I'm concerned it bites. It bites because for the first time, I feel like people are muttering about me behind my back. I'm not sure why that is, but suddenly Addy's friends aren't being as nice to me as they were before. Mike, who was still cool with me, unexpectedly disappeared with this ex girlfriend chick Addy's always rolling her eyes over. Nina who has always been nice to me when she sees me at the complex suddenly looks awkwardly away whenever I approach, and Dante's doing the same. Addy is in the mix with all those people who are hell bent on pretending I'm not there. It's only half ten and I'm seriously about to turn tail and go back to the apartment.

Also, I've knocked back a few more beers than I should have by this point because of lack of anything else to do. I might need to give it a rest for a second or there's a good chance of me stumbling head first into the damn fire.

"You won't dance, Justin?"

Whoever that was said 'Justin' more like 'Justine.' I turn around and it's a very dark lidded woman around my mother's age, but with freakishly younger looking skin. The accent's French, so I'm guessing this woman is something to do with that Christophe guy Addy introduced me to. I knew somebody was there the whole time since I could smell the cigarette smoke, but I've been kind of lost in my own world.

"I've never done this kind of dancing. Wouldn't want to injure anyone."

"Nonsense, the salsa is the easiest thing in the world to pick up if you have any co-ordination." She shrugs, inhaling the last of her cigarette before stubbing it out and leaving it on the table behind her. I'm still not even sure where those came from. "I am Monique, Christophe's maman."

See? I knew it. "Nice to meet you, Madame." That may be the only French word I ever retained from school. "Are you enjoying the party?"

"It is very Adoran," she smiles indulgently. "Where I am from our parties are much more… formal."

In my experience, 'formal' equates to either 'stylish' or 'pretentious,' depending on your point of view. I'm guessing a lot of people around here would choose the latter. I don't know - more formal shindigs can still be pretty great with the right mix of people. Looking at her, I'm guessing that she's not as Adoran as the Elliott family now is; she still seems extremely French in every mannerism. There's a lot of poise, a lot of grace, almost an aloof quality to her. She hasn't picked up any hint of the local accent.

"I've been to Paris and Cannes a few times but I'm afraid I don't know much about France except that you make some pretty good wine." It's weird how sometimes I find myself adapting to the way somebody else talks. Two minutes with her and I'm more proper and civilised than I've been in the last year.

"I spent many years in New York working for Vogue magazine before I met Paolo and moved to Adora for the quieter life," she says conversationally. "Where are you from?"

At the mention of national magazines, I feel the back of my neck start to sweat just a little. She must have lived here a good twenty years since I remember Christophe saying he was born and raised on the island, but I'm a little nervous about how much she still keeps up with the trends. "Tennessee originally, I live in Los Angeles these days."

"I thought you must be somewhere more metropolitan, I don't know of many fashion houses in the South. Your shirt is Valentino, yes?" She asks as she strokes the hem - not to touch me up, she's rubbing the material between her fingers critically.

My mouth gapes open a little bit. No-one else has noticed anything more or less expensive about my shirts than everybody else's; it's just a white shirt, one I'm abusing by rolling up the sleeves. "Good eye."

"Ah, his lines are classic, instantly recognisable if you know anything at all about designers."

She waves a slim hand dismissively as if it's normal to be able to spot a label at fifty paces. I'm sure she's probably wearing something flashy but hell if I know my Gabbana from my Gap without being told or seeing a tag. That's probably bad coming from a guy who owns his own fashion line. Well, co-owns, Trace always smacks me upside my head if I forget the 'co' part.

"Well, I'm still impressed," I respond politely for lack of anything else to say. I really want to leave this party now, as far as mingling goes I'm dying a protracted and excruciating death here. I am just chock full of epic amounts of fail tonight.

"You should not worry that they ignore you," she says mischievously from left field. "The only thing that stops them fighting between themselves over the girls is when an outsider comes in and they can fight with him over the girls instead."

"Excuse me?" Bewilderment is making me blink a whole lot.

"Mais oui, they see the young Addy is spending more time with you than whichever of them thinks she's the love of his fickle young life this week and they band together against a common enemy when usually they fight between themselves. There are few girls their age in this town, they all routinely fall in love with one or other of the girls, usually until the next tourist boat pulls in. I wouldn't worry, next week it will be Mariela and you will be forgotten."

Yep, still blinking.

***

"Hey, where you slinking off to?"

I turn to face the tugging on my sleeve and it's Addison, looking very nice but a little worse for wear. She's in a red polka dot dress that would remind me of Minnie Mouse if Minnie showed more cleavage.

"Umm… walk?" I respond weakly.

"You were so wandering off and leaving me in this hell-hole, shame on you." She pokes me lightly in the ribs.

"I left you?" I laugh. "I've been standing on the sidelines dying while you played Ms Social Butterfly, I think you left me pal."

It surprises me that she calls this a hell-hole; she was doing a pretty good impersonation of somebody having a ball. At a guess, she's thrown back as many drinks as I have at this point - not too drunk or out of it, still coherent enough to be large and in charge, but a little unsteady nonetheless.

"Details, schmetails," she waves a hand dismissively, bangles clinking together as she does so. "Are you hating this as much as me?"

"Well I hate it because like I said I've been standing there like a loser with nobody to talk to." Remembering how I said anonymity had to have as many of its own downfalls as fame does, I think I'm going to judge nobody talking to you as bad as a ton of strangers refusing to leave you alone. "Apart from a few moms who took pity on me. Why do you hate it?"

"Ugh." Addy rolls her brown eyes heavenward, shaking her head as she tucks her arm through mine and we continue walking off in the direction of my apartment. "It's like I've grown a bunch of shadows. Normally I mingle lots at these things and I wanted to grab you and introduce you round, but they just would not shut up and anywhere I went, they followed. I felt really bad; every time I went to go nab you they were asking me something else. Don't know what the hell's got into them but it's seriously fucking irritating."

"Christophe's mom told me it's supposedly because they're jealous of me and they think I'm after their chick."

"What, do I have their brand on me or something, am I bloody cattle?" Again with the eye rolling - Addy's got a serious glowering going, a deep scowl written onto her face and crinkling her eyes up a little. "I should have guessed this was about bloody Antonio. Stupid thing is they're pushing more than he is, he looks seriously embarrassed about it, yet I seem to be the only noticing that they're humiliating him more than helping. I should have poured a pint over their heads or something."

I will never get used to the way she keeps calling beers 'pints.' I'm not even sure all these measures actually are pints, so that may be kind of inaccurate. And what's wrong with the metric system, anyway?

"Sorry, I'm staying out of it." I throw my free hand up in the air in surrender, since she's still hanging on my other arm. "For all I know they're going to come beat me in my sleep. Dante has keys to my apartment you know."

"Dante likes you. He's just afraid because Juan is bigger than he is."

I laugh about it, mostly because I consider this shit dumb and kind of high school. Maybe it's understandable, given everything Addy's told me about the problems they have with tourists flittering in and out and only so many women their age who are permanent residents… but come the hell on. It's not exactly like me and Addy are sexing it up. We're only even hanging out solo so much because the rest of them are always in work, the rest of the time I'm more than happy to do the group thing. Hey, maybe they're just jealous of me and my sexy bod here. I do work out, you know.

"Saw you doing all that fancy salsa stuff though," I change the subject. "Didn't know you could do that."

"Growing up round here, that's pretty much all you learn. I have no idea how normal people my age dance in clubs."

If we weren't walking arm and arm, that would be my cue to do the robot or the running man or something stupid. It's amazing how quickly we're getting out of sight of the party - it was about halfway between Addy's house and the apartments, but it's still a good stretch of beach in between. It's a very balmy night, there's a breeze pushing in from the ocean that stops it being too sticky or humid.

"You might be better off," I say remembering some of the frankly dangerous arm flailing and jumping around I've seen in clubs. I've also surreptitiously watched a couple of guys attempting to dance like me to Sexyback or Rock Your Body or whatever and failing miserably. Sometimes, I like to send Marty out there to show 'em all up; I don't do it myself because that's just attention whoring. "Some people should just never be allowed to attempt dancing."

"What about you?" Addy nudges me while tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear. She started the evening with a nice neat bun and now it's all falling out messily. It suits her though - she's just not that kind of girl who should have every strand in place. She's a little more… well, something. Casual, maybe, I have no idea what word I'm looking for. "You got two left feet?"

"Yeah, I can dance."

"Yeah, I bet you do a great Macarena," she snorts. This woman likes ribbing me every five seconds, she wasn't wrong when she said that's how she shows affection. She's even worse with Mike and Nina and all her friends.

"Hey, just because you can do your stuffy old waltz or whatever doesn't mean that nobody else got some moves." I stick my tongue out at her - not my usual method, but it just seems rude to point my middle finger at a lady.

"And you're too hip for a waltz, huh?"

The mental image of a waltz in my stage show cracks me up - I can just see me waltzing while I tell a bitch she's bad as hell, should have thought of that rather than the lap dance - but obviously I can't tell her why. Instead I merely yank her into me by the waist, ignoring her little yelp as I then start us off in the most purposely clumsy and ridiculous waltz I can manage. Addy's screeching with laughter and keeps throwing us off even more as it makes her body crease up.

"Okay…. stop… need air…" She manages to throw out through her giggles but I take no notice, providing the music with an obnoxious 'la la la' until I accidentally steer us right into the water and manage to drench my own shoes.

"Oh fuck," I swear as I leap back from her. Of course, she's now even chuckling even harder and clutching at her side like she's in pain from it. She's in flip flops so a bit of wet won't kill her, but it may have killed my sneakers.

"Oww this hurts," she giggles out as she folds at the middle, trying to stop laughing. "Nice going, dumb arse."

"See? Waltzes aren't that great."

"Neither is the Macarena."

For that one she gets tackled off her feet and into the air, as I swing her round until she's dizzy. I do that with my little brother all the time but I'm guessing when you're already a little tipsy it's something else.

"Ahh! No! Put me down you son of a…. WHAA!"

Oops. I acquiesced with her request but didn't get it right; she just fell right on her ass in the sand. Whoops. I really didn't mean for her to do that, she was supposed to land on her feet. The way she's just sat up and glared at me is kind of hilarious though, she's huffing and her hair's pretty much all fallen out now and her facial expression is just kind of classic.

"Arsehole. That was just mean. Are you trying to kill me?"

"If I was trying to kill you, dropping you all of two feet onto some nice soft sand would be a pretty crappy plan. A gun might work better."

My attempt at humour still doesn't remove the scowl, though I can tell she's struggling to keep it up and she wants to laugh. I reach out a hand and hep pull her to her feet. My punishment is a sharp poke in the chest with her index finger.

"Meanie."

"Aww, I'm sorrrrrrrryyyyy…" I put on a mock pout and flutter my eyelashes at her, which adds some lip biting to the scowl as she tries to keep it on.

"Hmpf."

"I'm sorrrrrryyyyy…" I flutter them more and really stick out my lower lip, wrapping my arms around her and squeezing hard.

"Don't care. You're still mean."

"Forgive me, pweaseeeeeeeee…" She's cracking and she knows it, so I slap the sloppiest kiss I can manage on her cheek with a huge smack. "Plllllllease…."

"Are you this irritating at home?"

"Yep. Pllllllllllllllllllllllllease…"

"Fine, fine. Forgiven."

"See? You adore me really."

"No," she says as she returns the hug. "You're an irritating little shit but I just couldn't take any more of that ridiculous eye fluttering. You looked idiotic by the way."

"Aww, that hurts, I'm gonna cry…" I bury my head in her neck and let out the loudest and most eardrum gratingly obnoxious fake sobs that I can.

In a monotone, Addy says "there there poor baby" and pats my back. I didn't know that patting someone on the back could be done in a condescending way, so kudos to her. Done, I immediately throw my head back up and grin at her. I love her facial expressions; she clearly doesn't know whether she thinks I'm funny or just an idiot. Maybe a little of both would be appropriate.

"You are such a freak."

"It's been said," I respond brightly. "Can't tell me I'm not entertaining though."

"True." Addy gives me a quick peck on the cheek and then a more 'what am I going to do with you' pat on the back. Who knew one gesture could be so expressive?

Well, this is weird. Here we are, standing here in a congenial hug all friendly like, she gives me a kiss on the cheek all friendly like, and now the kiss is on the lips. You'd think I'd know whether she did that or I did that part, but I don't. I'm aware she tastes like strawberry lip gloss and whatever wine she's been drinking and I'm aware that when my hand grasps the back of her neck it strikes the final blow to her hair style, but on the matter of who kissed who I'm kind of stumped. I'm not that drunk, you'd think I should know. My lips have involuntarily parted and so have hers and suddenly I'm all with the making out.

Time passing is a little hazy, no idea how long it's been, but I can smell whatever lotion Addy uses on her skin - mango, maybe - and I'm very aware of how small she feels. If I was one to exaggerate I'd say I could nearly get my arms around her twice. Her fingers keep slipping between my elbows and my biceps and I'm not sure whether I can hear the beating of the waves in my ears or my pulse thudding through them.

I'm not sure how long it is before Addy then pushes back, putting space between us even though we still have a grasp on each other's elbows. I feel like I'm Darth Vader, I'm breathing so heavily, but the only effect on her is a slight quickening in the rise and fall of her chest. Also, a slight look of panic in her eyes.

"Okay… slight turn up for the books."

If my brain wasn't otherwise occupied, I'd be laughing at her choice of comment. "Uh huh."

"Umm… shit…"

"I'm sorry…" I begin to speak but she interrupts.

"No, no, don't be sorry, you didn't do anything wrong, I… I'm sorry, I don't do this."

"With tourists, I know, I'm sorry." I know she told me not to apologise, but I got nothing else.

"No, I'm sorry, you don't seem like the no strings type to me and this couldn't be anything else, I… I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that."

Does that mean she kissed me or is she talking about kissing me back? Perhaps I should be more worried about the weirdness of trying to communicate with somebody after something like that's just happened, but I really am preoccupied with my selective amnesia here. This is all kind of strange.

Also, I'm kind of wondering whether I'm the no strings type.