Your Fault: London review – British-set remake of Spanish step-sibling romance lacks passion or fizz

A second helping of the English-language adaptation of Mercedes Ron’s trilogy sustains little chemistry between its supposedly besotted lead characters

H ere is Amazon Prime’s sequel to its hit My Fault: London. If you’re new to the franchise back-story, it started with a bestselling trilogy of romance novels by Spanish author Mercedes Ron (who self-published the first one). It’s a tale of the forbidden love between step-siblings Noah and her smouldering bad boy step-brother Nick. The books have been adapted into a trilogy of Spanish-language films , the second of which is remade here with absolutely no sense of fun or humour. A couple of its good-looking actors give performances with frozen, startled expressions, like they’ve been kidnapped from the set of an advert for luxury five-star holidays.

It picks up from the previous movie, with Noah (Asha Banks) and Nick (Matthew Broome) now in a full-blown relationship. Nick insists on keeping it a secret from their parents, who were recently married; he’s worried what his overbearing billionaire dad (Ray Fearon) will say if he finds out. Noah reluctantly agrees, and leaves home to study at Oxford, where she meets nice, sensible second-year student Michael (Joel Nankervis). “We’re just friends,” Noah says. Nick has turned his back on illegal drag-racing and is working for his dad, alongside posh blond tech start-up founder Sophia (Louisa Binder). “Just colleagues,” insists Nick.

We’re here of course for the sex and money, but Your Fault: London fails to deliver on both fronts. The champagne lifestyle of its fabulously wealthy characters is scraped together on a Lidl’s cava budget. So, when billionaire’s son Nick parties in his hotel room after closing a multi-million-pound deal, it looks like he’s staying at a Best Western. The sex is a let-down too. Nick and Noah’s passion is supposed to be for the ages; they can’t keep their hands off each other. But the sex scenes are softcore-lite, avoiding the relevant body parts, as if written and choreographed by people who don’t know which bit goes where.