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For some inexplicable reason, I trust Bain.

'I swear to you, I didn't kiss her, I wasn't with her like that,' he promises lowly. 'Just trust me a little bit longer and I will explain it all.'

I believe him, crazy as I may be for doing so.

'Okay,' I reply.

Bain is eager to change the subject, no surprise there. I allow myself to put it all to the back of my mind and just focus on my time with him. There is only three days left, and then things will be revealed and I don't know what I'm going to do if I'm faced with the decision of seeing him after this.

Luckily, it's not today's problem and I don't dwell on it.

Helene steals Bain off me for a while. I sit with Florie whilst Ahmed chats with Binah, the two of us can be bitter and jealous together.

Spencer and Saffron are inseparable. They sit at the other end of the room and no one dares interrupt them. They swap between kissing like teenagers and talking animatedly.

Managing to free himself from Helene's claws long enough, Bain comes to find me again. Florie steals Ahmed away whilst Bain and I sit inside for once.

I rest my head on his shoulder and listen to him tell me more about his parents. He casually mentions that he wants me to meet them. I don't think he understands how much that produces butterflies in my stomach.

Dinner is served and Bain sits between Helene and I. I watch their interactions. Despite Helene blatantly flirting and throwing herself at him, Bain remains cold and reserved towards her.

I can't be sure what they're like when they're alone, but from what I've seen, he shows no interest in her beyond the polite amount.

So why does he keep voting to save her?

Spencer reminds us that, tomorrow, we will be having a group date where we will be making traditional Swiss food. It sounds quite fun, and at least I only have Helene vying for Bain's attention.

We talk and drink some more after eating, and things return to normal between Bain and I. I'm giving him my trust, I just hope he doesn't break it.

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The group date takes place in the huge kitchen of a popular restaurant in town. Two of the chefs are going to show us how to make landjäger (a Swiss version of a salami sausage) and potato röstis.

'Everyone in pairs please!' The head chef orders.

Saffron and Spencer pair up, Binah collars Ahmed and Helene grabs Bain. Lula goes with Fidel. Florie takes my hand and squeezes it.

We are each given a space on the counters. We wash our hands and put on aprons. I tie my hair back and eagerly watch them place the ingredients in front of us.

'You are going to be making landjäger, a type of Swiss-German sausage. The meat has been frozen slightly for you. You are now going to add the flavourings; spices and a little wine.'

We listen to the chef's instructions. I glance over and catch Bain's eye, he winks at me and turns back to the chef.

'After you have mixed the ingredients with your hands in the bowls, you will use a meat grinder to fill the casings with your sausage meat.'

The chef stops and allows us to carry out the first part. Florie and I roll up our sleeves and dig in. The meat is cold to the touch as we rub it between our fingers.

We pour in our herbs and wine, producing lovely smells over the scent of raw meat. We mix the ingredients with our hands, kneading and moulding the meat in the bowls. The room fills with chatter.

I sneak a look at Saff and Spencer and smirk as I see them sharing one bowl. Their hands seem to be touching each other more than actually preparing the meat.

After the meat is sufficiently flavoured, we pour it into the grinder. I make sure it is entering the sausage casings correctly, whilst Florie works the grinder with the crank.

Our sausages come out looking beautiful, if I do say so myself.

'Hey, look how good our sausages are!' Florie calls over to Lula, who grins back at us.

'I'm hoping Fidel will show me his sausage later,' she says back.

Fidel rolls his eyes next to her, but presses a kiss to her temple.

I scrunch up my face. From all the rooms he's visited, I wouldn't be surprised if he's been showing everyone his sausage.

'Well done, everyone!' The chef draws our attention back to him. 'We will hang your sausages for the next two days and when they're ready, we will send them on to the castle for you to try.

After cleaning our workstation, a different chef takes over.

'Now, we will be making potato röstis. These are really nice and easy, to make. Get into a new pair, please!'

I look over at Bain and find he has already ditched Helene and is walking over to me. He leans against the counter and gives me a crooked smile.

'Be my partner?' He asks smoothly.

I smirk at him. 'Was Helene not very good at handling sausage?'

I can't help but make a dig at her. She's been glaring at me all morning.

Bain smirks back. 'Not very. I bet you can handle my sausage.'

My cheeks heat up as he returns my salacious flirting. The chef walks past and overhears our conversation.

'Please! No more sausage euphemisms, we are moving onto potatoes now,' she chides us, making Bain and I laugh.

Our first step is to grate the raw potatoes. This becomes a bit of a competition between Bain and I. We work our graters frantically, each trying to get through our designated potatoes before the other.

I let out a triumphant 'ha!' as I finish first. Bain curses and throws his grater into the bowl in a huff.

'Not my fault that your big fingers aren't as nimble as mine,' I remark arrogantly.

Bain grabs me by my apron and pulls me against his body, stopping my laughter in my throat.

'How about I show you just what I can do with these big fingers?' He says darkly, with a smile playing on his lips.

I swallow hard, meeting his intense gaze.

'Not so mouthy now, are we,' he murmurs, looking smug.

He steals a kiss during my silence, taking me by surprise.

I should have made a comment about just how mouthy I can be...

The chef gets our attention and gets us to squeeze the excess water out of our grated potato. She breaks the moment between Bain and I, but my cheeks are still warm and my heart is still beating faster than usual.

We mix butter, salt and pepper into the potato shavings and heat a pan on the hob.

Bain and I stand close to each other, our bodies touching, as we pour our grated potato onto the skillets.

We are told to cook them for 10-11 minutes on a low heat. The shavings turn from pale yellow to a deep, golden colour. The smell of cooked potato fills the kitchen, making my mouth water.

Bain places his hands on my hips from behind and rests his chin on my shoulder, watching the röstis cook in front of us.

With Bain's hands over mine, we flip the skillet together. The rösti flies up in the air, flips over and lands on the opposite side in the skillet. I let out a cheer of success and Bain buries his face into my neck, nuzzling it until I giggle.

When they're done, we serve them up on plates and the chefs lead us out into the main area of the restaurant. An enormous, circular table has been set up for us.

In the centre of it, are loads of buffet-style plates.

'Take a seat everyone,' one of the chefs tells us. 'We have a selection of traditional Swiss foods here, including Älplermagronen, macaroni cheese with apple, fondue and raclette.'

I sit down between Bain and Saffron. We all tuck into the delicious foods. We cover our röstis in the melted cheese from the raclette and break off pieces of bread to dip in the fondue.

I swear I have a food-gasm. It is so good.

We eat until we've cleared the entire table. I sit back in my chair and feel tempted to undo the button on my jeans, it's digging into my bloated stomach.

Bain reaches for my hand under the table and squeezes it.

'We make a good team,' he comments, leaning close to me. 'I want to cook with you again.'

I smile up at him. 'Hopefully, you'll get to.'

We thank the chefs and finish up at the restaurant. The minibus takes us back to the castle, whilst the bachelors get to ride in a sleek SUV.

The mockery in Bain's smirk as he gets into the car as I watch from the loser cruiser is unbelievable. I stick my middle finger up at him, which only makes him laugh.

When we're back in our lounge, Spencer gives us the pained look that automatically tells us, someone is going home.

'Ladies, tomorrow is the twelfth day,' he says cautiously. 'This time, three of you will be voted out. The bachelors will choose their winner to spend the last two days with.'

Shit.

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