Chapter Twelve
Luckily there’s a huddle of taxis in front the port.
We dive into the backseat of the next available car and Gus tells the driver where we’re headed.
“We need to get there fast, if at all possible, please. We’re very late.
” He’s so polite. I don’t know why that surprises me about him.
I guess I thought a famous popstar might be brattier than this.
The driver twists in his seat, his slick, silver hair combed back.
Huh. Why do taxi drivers always smell so good? It’s a heady mix of mint and tobacco. Or maybe it’s because I smell terrible. “I can only get you to entrance of Old Town. You go rest of way on foot.”
“Perfect. Thanks, mate,” Gus says.
We’re barely strapped in before he drives keenly through the city streets towards our destination. His radio is playing loud Europop I haven’t heard before. Gus whips his sunglasses and hat off, rearranging his curls and running a hand down his dust-covered face.
It doesn’t matter that that’s exactly what a furious alpha cowboy would do because I’m not thinking about that.
The taxi driver keeps checking his rearview mirror. Initially, I suspect it’s due to the busy city traffic, but as it continues, I notice his gaze intensifying on Gus with wider and wider eyes.
Oops. Should have kept that disguise on, Popstar.
He presses some buttons on his phone, set up with hands free in the centre consol, and Gus stiffens at the opening beats of a new song playing over the speakers.
It’s a more defined sound than the Europop we were just listening to.
“This is your song, no?” the taxi man asks, absolutely buzzing with glee.
Good. This is fine. No need to panic.
Why didn’t we have a briefing session on what to do in this situation? I stare at Gus, wide-eyed. But he laughs, sitting back.
“Oh, I see. You think I’m that guy from the band.”
“You are!”
He shakes his head, amused. “Nah. Sorry mate, I just look like him. I get this all the bloody time. It’s so funny. I’m actually here with my wife. We’re exploring Croatia.”
Not the wife thing again. Nobody is going to buy this. And besides, I’m the worst actress on Earth.
I let my face do the talking. Gus holds his hand out to me, a questioning grin on his face. I want to shake my head, but then again, I also don’t want him to get noticed. If he gets swarmed by fans, then there’s not a chance we’ll make it to the boat in time.
I drop my hand into his gently. His fingers wind with mine, twisting so that I’m nudged even closer towards him.
“My daughter is in love with this man,” the taxi driver says, pointing at his phone where the album cover is displayed.
There’s a glint in Gus’s eye. “Ah really? I think the guy singing now is the one who looks like me actually.”
I take too much interest in the song. There’s a scratchy sort of depth to it that’s kind of sexy.
Ok, fine. So, I can understand why girls go crazy for it.
Once we arrive outside Old Town, the driver pulls into the taxi drop-off and I open my phone to access my wallet app so I can pay. Except I can’t. Because once again my phone is dead.
Bollocks.
“Shit,” I say. “Did we have any of that cash left?”
Gus blinks at me. “No, we used it on the coffee this morning. Why?”
“My phone is dead. Do you have any way of paying?”
“No, I…”
“You can’t pay?” the driver asks, twisting in his seat.
“I’m so sorry. My phone’s died. It’s been the worst day.” I regret to admit I consider using one of my old university tricks for a free ride and flash a tit, but luckily, he comes up with a solution before the words find my tongue.
“You are, Gus. You are,” he says, pointing at the subject. “You sign this t-shirt, and I let you go.”
“I’m really not…” Gus starts but one glance at me and whatever my face is portraying (horrified exasperation), has him nodding. “Alright. Yeah. You got me.” He laughs. “I am Gus from Just4Summer.”
“My daughter has poster of you all over house. You are him. I am not dumb.”
“I’m sorry. I’m trying to stay undercover. Alright, you’ve got a deal. You have a pen?”
The man fishes around in his glove box and produces a red biro. He then proceeds to pull his t-shirt off, leaving us with the view of his hairy bare chest. So at least one of us got our tits out.
“Write it to Adriana. Say you love her,” he says, pointing at Gus – almost intimidatingly. Although he gives me a smile, gesturing with his hands. “Obviously his love is only for you. But you’ll spare him this one time. Yes?”
I shrug. “Oh, sure. Love to share.”
The corners of Gus’s lips fidget again as he gets to work signing the shit out of that sweaty white polo top.
Once he’s done, the man shakes his hand and we’re flying back out the doors and through the main streets of Old Town.
Gus puts his hat and sunglasses back on as we push through tour groups and busy queues that clog the pathways.
It’s busy, hot and extraordinarily beautiful.
A slice of me, as I pant desperately towards our destination, weeps at missing the chance to see it properly. Maybe I can come back one day.
Neatly-kept limestone buildings with pretty, shuttered windows surround us as we charge down the main street towards the bell tower.
The paved road is uneven and so spotless it’s almost slippery in these sandals.
When I glance to the sides, distracted by its beauty, I see fascinating side streets practically brimming with history and quaint little businesses.
My heart snaps – I want to explore this city almost more than getting back on the cruise.
We come to a dead end outside a cathedral.
There’s a wedding going on, people cheering outside, throwing confetti at the bride.
I find myself staring as Gus witters on about where to go next.
It’s not that I’m jealous… Well, ok, maybe I am.
They look happy and deliriously in love as the groom dips his bride and the guests cheer and clap.
I don’t think that scene would’ve happened at my wedding.
And the fact that I’m admitting that to myself now, at this inconvenient time for reflection, makes me both envious and horrified. How close was I to securing a future that I didn’t even really want? What happened to me?
“Sara!” Gus barks, waving a hand in front of my face. “Where did you go? Are you listening?”
I blink several times, then nod. “Yeah.”
He laughs. “No, you weren’t.”
“I am now.” I shake myself out of it. “What next?”
He proceeds to show me the leaflet we were handed at the port office. According to the map, the port is meant to be through an arch, under a bell tower, at this end of Old Town. We glance around, trying to find said arch.
Once we’ve worked out where to go, we bolt in the right direction.
As we’re navigating twists and turns, the bell chimes from the tower.
A tourist walking in the other direction shouts, “RING THE BELL!” This is followed by a round of laughs from passers-by. I don’t have time to work out what it means.
“What time is it?” I ask Gus, panting as we push through the crowds. It’s so damn busy here. I think late afternoon is peak tourist hours, despite it being sweltering. Surely, this place is so much nicer in the evenings or early hours when it’s cooler.
“I don’t want to tell you,” Gus says – a far too ominous a response for the situation at hand.
But it’s for good reason.
At the port there’s no sign of our ship.
No staff in the familiar uniform.
Only fancy smaller yachts with expensive looking owners.
There’s no way our cruise, despite looking like a yacht, could squeeze into this harbour. I walk a little further along towards the end of the dock. The cruise is there, but it’s a speck in the distance, as big as the end of my thumb and appears to be moving away.
I exhale slowly, and as I do, a devastating feeling washes through me from head to toe. I feel a warm tear run down my cheek. Pressure starts to build in my chest again, so I take a seat on a stone bench and press my face into my hands.
Someone takes the spot next to me, and I can tell by his soft breathing that its Gus.
“This is karma,” I whimper. “I deserve this.”
He makes a tutting sound. “I find that very hard to believe,” he says.
I sit tall again, giving him a miserable glance. “I ran away.”
I knew coming on my honeymoon was a bad idea. I knew it was too soon. I don’t believe in fate and myths and luck like my friends do. I’m too much of a realist for that. But I do believe this is the universe’s way of telling me that I’ve royally fucked up.
“I was meant to be getting married two months ago,” I say, sniffing. “And now I’m here on my own.”
“Shit. Ok, what happened?”
“I couldn’t go through with it. I left before the ceremony.”
His eyes widen. “So, you’re like a runaway bride?”
I make a half-laughing, half-sobbing sound that ricochets off the huge stone wall behind us before dropping my head again and whispering, “Yes.”
Gus blows out a breath. “That’s… I mean, are you ok? What happened?”
“Ugh. It’s so complicated.”
“Try me.”
“I think he was cheating on me.”
He makes a face. “You only think?”
“That’s the thing,” I say, splaying my hands.
“That’s exactly it. A few days before the wedding, I stumbled across some overly emotional, flirty messages to one of his female colleagues.
He told her he loved her and said some less than flattering things about me but then brushed it all off as a joke.
He made her out to be the one who was acting weirdly.
I still don’t know what was going on beyond that.
I had a feeling but no evidence and he swore it was nothing.
And… Well, we were meant to be so excited for our wedding… I didn’t know what to do. I went numb.”
“Oh Sara,” Gus says, sighing. “He sounds like a prick!”
“The thing is, I feel like I should be more distraught.”
Gus turns his whole body towards me so that his knees graze mine. “You mean like the other night? That seemed pretty distraught to me.”