I was at the Tennyson with the ladies, relating my horrific date with Chris, the Kung Fu fighter. The combat scenes I described horrified camellia and Bianca.

“For God’s sake, where do you find all these psychos? Madame, you don't make mistakes, but you date them!” Bianca commented, ironically.

“She needs to join Celest Connections, just like me, and start meeting the gentlemen she deserves," said Camellia, hastily. "I understand that you and Stephanie are friends now – why don't you ask for a discount and join? She loves you! I'm sure she'll do it!"

“Who’s Stephanie?” asked Bianca.

“Camellia’s matchmaker,” I said, “I don’t want to join your Knightsbridge dating agency. What is a 10% discount on £15,000? Plus, I like my experiences!”

I didn’t have time to end my sentence, as Bianca interrupted, “Well, I wouldn’t be proud to date a vagabond, or a woodpecker, or a clad!” she said, mockingly.

“You seriously need to write a book! Your stories are so funny! Sometimes I feel like you’re dating the wrong guys on purpose, just to make us laugh. And maybe not fall in love quite yet?” advised Camellia.

I smiled. Maybe Camellia was right. I hated boring dates, but I loved talking about the crazy ones.

“Who’s your date tonight?” Bianca asked.

“An Italian named Stefano. He will be here in 30 minutes.”

“God! Is it because you’re French that you attract Italians? I’ve never dated an Italian in my whole life!” said Bianca, enviously.

“You mean you’ve never fucked an Italian in your life!" I laughed.

My phone beeped. It was my date. "Stefano’s early!“ I exclaimed.

Stefano had texted to say that he was two minutes away, and a bit early, but that he would find a table for us.

Panicking, I kicked Bianca and Camellia out of the Tennyson. “Sorry, sorry, he’s here! He’s early! You need to go! Quick, Quick! Quick! He shouldn’t meet you yet! Don't stay here, please! You can go to Petrus or Ottolenghi for drinks next door! Goooooo! Pleaaaaaase!”

The ladies were trying to be as quick as possible; I could hear Bianca groaning, “Kicking us out for another loser!” I smiled at her sarcastic comment.

Half a minute later, Stefano arrived. We kissed on the cheek and started chatting.

Meet Stefano, who I had met on Tinder. He was Italian, 5’7”, 32-year-old, with dark rounded eyes, black hair, a cute goatee beard, and smart Italian dress-sense. He really looked like the king of ostentation, parading proudly in a Gucci suit and a big Rolex. Yet, I took an instant liking to him.

Stefano, as the perfect Italian stereotype, bragged about his life. He was selling his family’s Italian wines in the UK, with the ambition to sell them all over the world. He wasn’t quite my style, but he had this sort of sound, confident, and grounded attitude that made me want to stay around him. Or maybe it was the glasses of wine I had had beforehand that made me feel that.

Those drinks also removed all sense of inhibition. I do not know why, but I was mega-comfortable. I was myself, and in just a few hours, Stefano had seen all of my facets: silly Valérie, blond Valérie, awkward and clumsy Valérie, funny Valérie, and hopefully, cultured and smart Valérie. For the first time on a date, I felt really at ease with someone.

The date went so well that we decided to have dinner together. Stefano wanted to go to Petrus, but I wasn't sure if the ladies had chosen to go and decline the offer. I didn't want to bump into them there. Stefano called his lifestyle manager (I know… Sounds pompous, hein?) and his recommendation was the Bombay Brasserie.

I was not a fan of Indian cuisine but I was more than willing to give the food another go, hoping I would not be sick that night. Bombay Brasserie had a stunning interior; I was impressed. Chic and sophisticated with an exotic refined decoration, the food quality was also excellent. To my tongue, it was the most delicious Indian restaurant I had ever been in, and the reason was probably that it was a traditional yet fusion cooking experience. I just loved it.

After five glasses of Chardonnay, a bottle of champagne, and one bottle of Chateau Gazin, Stefano started to look very attractive to my eyes and I wanted to kiss him. The more he was talking about wine, the sexier he looked. Those feelings stopped dead when Stefano started criticising French wine; we had a fiery debate. He apologised and said it was an inappropriate discussion for a first date. I agreed.

We left Bombay Brasserie and decided to share an Uber. When it arrived, we requested a mini tour of London and jumped at each other. I believed it was the most passionate moment I had ever had in my life. Stefano was holding my neck firmly and sexily; he bit my ears, my cheeks, and my lips. His tongue was sensually all over my face. He pulled my hair delicately, held my face again and kissed me all over. The moment was hot and we had some fantastic views of London by night to make for the most romantic date.

We finally arrived at mine and Stefano asked if he could come in. Though I was aroused by all of the passion, I decided to decline the invite – I was simply too drunk to appreciate it. He insisted for a couple of minutes, and then, hearing my annoyance at his persistence, Stefano politely accepted my decision. I arrived at my flat and collapsed, fully dressed, on my sofa.

The next morning, I felt like I had the worse hangover of my life. And a hangover of a different kind – my face was burning. I checked my phone and it was 5am in the morning; I still had three hours to sleep before getting dressed for work. I looked again to see if Stefano had sent any texts. I read: < Most amazing date ever, thinking about you, in my bed naked right now! > I wondered if I had kissed him too quickly. Then I received: < You should come to mine now. You'll never forget this sex. You'll beg for more! > I found his text inappropriate and way too soon in our “relationship”.

I didn't reply. I needed tablets to get rid of that horrible headache.

Feeling spaced out, I managed to get into my bathroom and took a tablet.

Clothes removed, I went to my bedroom. God, my face was burning like I had put a hot iron on it! I couldn’t even put my face on my pillow without feeling the pain. I seriously considered sleeping with my head in my freezer.

I decided to go back to the bathroom to check if I had a rash from the Indian food. In front of my mirror, I shouted out loud – so loud I am sure all the building thought I was being killed! I couldn’t recognise my own self that morning! My neck was bruised like someone had tried to kill me. My lips were swollen, my nose had teeth prints, I had hickeys all over my neck and shoulders and my face was covered with scratches. In fact, I looked like I had been fighting with a tiger. It wasn’t the food, but Stefano’s conception of passion all over my face. Apparently, the alcohol had helped to minimise the pain that night, which was now unbearable.

I threw up, called sick, and then hid in my flat for a few days, as my foundation wasn't powerful enough to cover up this horridness. And I never saw Stefano again. Next!