Seeing that, I began to laugh, pretending his jibes had no effect on me. “Boleyn, don’t get upset, I’m sure your brother is just annoyed that your meal has been interrupted. No harm done,” I said soothingly.

She seemed somewhat appeased, but her eyes were wide and embarrassed.

Okay, okay, I can hear what you’re asking. Who the hell is Tudor North? Well, Tudor North is a thirty-one-year-old bonafide superstar actor, as in Hollywood actor, the real McCoy. No, I’m not shitting you.

He is six foot three, ridiculously muscular in build – and by ridiculously, I mean like a four-storey brick shithouse. He has stunningly beautiful green eyes; sometimes shaven, sometimes fair, cropped hair and sports a full body of tattoos, all of which are tribal and cover most of the left side of his body. And he is fitter in person than he is in real life, I can now testify to that fact.

He has been on the scene for about four years, but he had recently been catapulted to the A-list with his lead role in The Blade Reaper, a story about a ruthless criminal-hunting vigilante, which made a record-breaking amount of money on its first weekend.

After meeting the brooding actor, I could see why he was cast as the dark superhero. And, as pissed as I was with him at that moment, I couldn't deny that he was all muscle and pure gorgeousness. Bad attitude though. What a bloody shame.

Tudor pushed his hand over the table and grabbed Boleyn’s in his. He began apologising and rubbing his thumb over her knuckles to calm her down, a surprisingly gentle gesture considering the verbal rinsing I'd just received.

Slanting his eyes up towards me, he sighed. “Ms. Munro, I apologise. It’s no excuse for my behaviour, but it’s difficult to go unnoticed these days, and I can get slightly uncomfortable with it.”

I simply nodded my head, not knowing the proper etiquette for this situation. Turning to the rest of the group, their faces all embarrassed and awkward at my expense, I decided I had made a reasonable enough idiot of myself for one night, and made my excuses to go.

“Well, I’ll leave you to enjoy the rest of the night. I’ll move on your adoring fans too, so you don’t have to feel them ‘gawking’ at you for the remainder of your meal,” I told Tudor, using my fingers to accentuate the air quotes.

“Thanks,” he whispered quietly, still clutching his sister’s hand. I would have thought he was kind of sweet really, if I hadn’t just been the target of his anger.

I swiftly walked back to the gaggle of waiters and laughed at their ludicrously shocked faces. Tink ran to the front and grabbed my arm, pulling me into the kitchen, out of view and out of ear shot. The Roman army followed.

“Fucking hell, Wil, you just met Tudor North! What was he like? I almost shit a disco ball tonight when he came in and asked if we could arrange a private table for him and his family. Arghhhh! Tudor ‘sex on legs’ North! What I wouldn’t give to sink my ball in his hole,” he shrieked.

“Calm down, Tink. And you lot,” I pointed to the rest of the staff, “are creeping him the hell out, so back off.”

They all scurried away at the insistence of Nonna Girasoli and her trusted pasta roller, leaving me and the Tinkster alone.

“Wil, who was that girl?” he quizzed when we were no longer subject to eavesdroppers.

“That was my student, Boleyn, one of ‘Destiny’s Delinquents’. Think I now know why she’s so secretive. Turns out her brother’s Tudor bloody North, who’d have guessed that?” I mused.

“What about him? I saw him talking to you. What’d he say?”

I crossed my arms defensively. “Just introduced himself and then ripped the piss at my star-struck reaction. Came off as a moody knob really, which is a shame as I think he is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” I admitted, expressing my disappointment.

“Apart from me of course?” asked Tink, in all seriousness.

“Yes, apart from you,” I sighed.

“Well, he couldn’t take his eyes off you, Wil. It was so strange. He kept staring at you before you had even realised who he was. He laughed when you came in dancing and continued watching everything you did until you went over, and then he just seemed pissed off,” Tink exclaimed.

“No wonder! Have you seen the clip of me? I’m dressed up like a tart. Rule one of teaching: students and their family should not see you dressed for clubbing. Oh my God! I pulled out the slut drop too! Do you think I’ll get fired over this?” I asked, suddenly panicked. “Plus, I think he hates me. Was that not obvious?”

Tink snorted in indignation. “The slut drop is your signature move, ham slice, and he doesn’t hate you. He was drawn to you without a doubt. Then again it could have been your titties. They look unreal tonight,” he remarked as he pushed my br**sts up with his hands.

“Forget it. I want to,” I gestured with a wave of my hand. “I definitely need a night out now after this. Jägerbombs ahoy! I’m up for getting completely sloshed,” I hooted.

“Right well, I need to finish my shift. Sit by the counter in the back and I’ll get you a daiquiri while you wait.”

He stopped suddenly, as he was walking away. “Do you want me to spit in his garlic bread in revenge?”

He wasn’t joking.

I laughed and shook my head. “No, but thanks for the support, chuck.”

Tink just winked in response.

I took myself to the staff bar and jumped up on a stool. I felt eyes on me and when I looked back, Tudor North was glaring menacingly my way. Our eyes met and he gave a brisk nod, his mouth clenched into a rigid tight line.