“I think…well, I don’t know. I think we’re fucking.” I use present, not past tense, because the suitcase sitting in the corner of the room suggests I’m going to be hanging around for a little while. Matt blinks. “You’re fucking Raphael Visconti.” “Can you stop saying his full name like that? Sounds like you want to fuck him too.” He ignores me. “You’re fucking Raphael Visconti on his mega yacht.” “Are you telling me or asking me?”
