Olivia

The room service arrived with a chocolate cake that was so rich it probably violated some kind of health code, along with two glasses of port. We settled onto the enormous sofa, Alexander's arm draped casually over my shoulders.

The movie was gloriously awful. The special effects looked like they'd been done on someone's laptop, and the acting was so wooden I suspected the performers might actually be trees in disguise.

"Oh my god," I gasped as the ...