Chapter 22
22
KATE
You would think that between the three of us we could come up with something , but after several minutes of brainstorming, we’ve got nothing.
There was a ludicrous suggestion from Lucia that she and Willem stage a lovers’ spat outside the restaurant where Jon intends to propose. Jon would catch them, then she’d tearfully confess ‘the affair’ and ask Jon for time to sort out her feelings.
Channelling my inner project manager, I vetoed it immediately – far too many factors that could go awry. There was also the sickening sensation of imagining Willem with Lucia – even as a ruse – which I did my best to ignore. Willem is not mine to be jealous over.
‘You could stand him up,’ I suggest. ‘Just don’t show.’
There’s something satisfying about the thought of Jon sitting alone in a restaurant, diamond ring in his pocket, brimming with anticipation of adding yet another fiancée to his collection, then realising Lucia is a no-show.
‘But as soon as he realises I’m not coming, he’ll call me,’ she says, extinguishing my fantasy. ‘And if I ignore his calls, won’t he come looking for me? I can’t hide inside my flat with the lights off.’
She’s right, especially as she’s already told Jon she can’t wait to see him. Standing him up might worry him enough to alert the authorities.
‘Family emergency back in England?’ I ask when nothing else comes to mind.
She considers this. ‘That could work.’
‘But you have to time it right – when you tell him,’ says Willem. ‘Otherwise, he might change his plans and ask to meet you in England.’
‘Of course,’ she murmurs. ‘ And there’s the danger of running into him here in Verona.’
‘That could be a problem for us as well,’ Willem says, glancing at me.
Wonderful – something else to worry about. I hadn’t even considered that until now.
‘Maybe we all need to leave Verona in the morning, before Jon gets here,’ I say. ‘Just to be sure.’
Lucia sighs. ‘This is a lot to take in,’ she says, staring past us at the wall again.
‘I know – truly ,’ I reply, reaching out to briefly grasp her arm.
She meets my eyes and smiles sadly right as someone knocks on the office door. Through the window, a couple signals that they need to leave. Lucia holds up a finger, asking them to wait a moment.
‘We should let you get back to your guests,’ I say.
‘First, let me give you a way to contact us,’ says Willem sensibly. They tap phones and twin chimes confirm the exchange.
‘Kate,’ says Lucia, turning to me, ‘this might seem a bit bonkers, but I really want to hug you.’
It is bonkers, but like with Adriana, I feel a sense of solidarity with Lucia. I break into smile, then reach for her and we hug. She promises to keep us informed and Willem and I say our goodbyes.
Outside, we set off into the cool evening without a clear destination in mind. Soon after, we end up by the river and by an unspoken agreement, we stop to take in the view. I rest my elbows on the stone wall and gaze towards Ponte Pietra. It’s even more beautiful at night, its arches with their hodgepodge of stonework illuminated by the lights of Verona.
Across the way, Castel San Pietro sits proudly, silhouetted by the late-dusk sky, a dozen or so Cyprus trees standing sentry. Below, halfway down the hillside, the Roman theatre is bathed in purple light and strains of music float across the fast-flowing river.
‘It’s so beautiful here,’ I say with a sigh.
I sense Willem moving closer, the warmth radiating from his large frame cutting through the evening chill, and I couldn’t be more shocked when his hand rests on the small of my back and he leans in. ‘ You are beautiful, Kate.’
Lips parted in surprise, my head whips in his direction. Our eyes lock and he steps back slightly, his hand falling away. He suddenly seems unsure, as if he might have misread my feelings.
But he hasn’t.
I turn to face him and before he can second-guess himself further – and before I can talk myself out of it – I raise onto my tiptoes, close my eyes, and press my mouth to his.
His hands land lightly on my waist, then meet on my lower back, pulling me close. I slide my hands up his muscular chest, then around his neck, where they clasp. Our bodies melt into each other as his mouth moves hungrily against mine, our shallow breaths mingling as I sink into the kiss, tasting him, breathing him in.
One of his strong hands finds the nape of my neck, and his thumb gently caresses my jawline. The kiss intensifies, igniting every nerve ending and sending tingles down my spine to my toes. Warmth floods my body, igniting my insides.
How many times have I thought about kissing him, encircled in his arms, my body pressed to his? Countless times. And this kiss is everything I’ve imagined, only a thousand times more mind-blowing.
I couldn’t say how long we kiss for – it feels like seconds and years – but eventually, we ease apart and open our eyes. I drop back onto my heels, keeping my hands clasped behind his neck.
‘That was…’ I say, breathless.
‘Yes,’ he says with a nod, then he breaks into a grin, which I return.
We stare at each other for a long time, and I wonder if this is as much of a pinch-me moment for Willem as it is for me. I’ve never been kissed like that, not once in my entire life.
‘So…’ he says after some time.
‘So…’ I parrot with a tilt of my head.
He looks away as if he’s trying to work up the courage to say something, then it dawns on me what it might be.
‘Are you thinking about our hotel-room issue?’ I ask, and his eyes land back on mine.
His lips disappear between his teeth for a few seconds, then he releases them, his eyes narrowing. ‘Yes. How would you feel about shar?—’
‘I’d feel brilliant,’ I say, interrupting him.
Wowser, I like this Kate. Wanting a man as much as I want Willem must have unlocked something inside me that I never knew was there – a bold, sexy, confident goddess of a woman who is undoubtably about to have the best sex of her life.
Willem’s brows lift, then he breaks into another smile. ‘But we should have dinner first, don’t you think? There are lots of choices around here,’ he adds.
‘Willem, that’s what room service is for.’
I reach for his hand, lacing my fingers with his, then lead him in the direction of the hotel.
Forget about like – I love this Kate.
* * *
When I wake, I’m instantly aware of Willem in the bed next to me, even though it’s a super king. I carefully roll onto my side, not wanting to disturb him. His back is to me, broad and muscular, and I long to reach out and run my fingertips along its ridges, but that might wake him.
Instead, I roll onto my back and stare at the ornate ceiling – likely centuries old – and cast my mind back to last night.
I’ve never been kissed like I was by the river, so it shouldn’t surprise me that Willem is without question the best lover I’ve ever had.
We arrived at the hotel practically at a trot and Willem went straight to reception to get our cases and the room key. We rode the lift in silence, the air between us fizzing with desire. And inside the room, the second Willem latched the door, we came together, tearing impatiently at clothes, kissing passionately, clinging to each other…
And like I’d imagined many times before, our first time was up against the wall, my legs wrapped around Willem’s waist, and him holding me up – fast and hard and passionate. I felt like I’d been winded when he carefully lowered me onto the floor afterwards.
The next time, we moved to the bed and took our time.
It was only when I was lying in Willem’s arms and his stomach growled loudly that we realised how late it was and that we still hadn’t eaten. Fortunately, the Italians eat late, so we ordered room service and devoured enormous plates of pasta while enjoying a delicious bottle of Valpolicella.
It was the perfect night.
But back in the present, reality looms and I ask myself that intrusive, troubling question: now what?
Because until recently, I prided myself on being level-headed, on my ability to apply logic to any situation and come up with a feasible solution designed to meet as many objectives as possible.
Now I’m a woman who has hard, against-the-wall sex and has fallen – also hard – for someone she probably shouldn’t have.
I glance over at Willem, mesmerised by the rise and fall of his torso.
We only met a few weeks ago – and under the most extraordinary circumstances – but in many ways, it feels like I’ve known him much longer than that. I’m certainly closer to Willem than I ever was to Jon.
But is this really the right time to embark on something new? Both a matchmaker and Margot, who understands me better than anyone, have warned me to guard my heart – warnings that I’ve boldly ignored. Highly uncharacteristic of Kate the Rule Follower.
And is that what this is, the start of a new relationship? Maybe for Willem, this was strictly a one-night thing and when this absurd situation is resolved, I’ll never see him again.
Gah! There I go catastrophising again. Nothing about Willem indicates that he’s a fuckboy who likes to bed women, then mess them about.
Like Jon.
Suddenly, my phone starts chiming with notifications – it must be 7a.m., which is when my quiet hours end. I snatch it off the bedside cabinet, trying desperately to silence it before it wakes Willem.
I succeed, but my heart’s racing almost as much as it was last night. Now wide awake with no hope of falling back asleep, I check my emails – mostly spam plus a lovely, newsy email from Mum in which she gossips about people I’ve never met – and then navigate to my messages.
There’s a whole string from Margot spaced out over the evening, the last one arriving right before midnight Italian time:
Let me know how it goes with the Arseface’s girlfriend.
Stupid autocorrect. Had to type Arseface four times. *eye roll emoji*
How’s the hotel? Did you get adjoining rooms? *winking face emoji*
Did you find her? What’s she like?
Hello? Update please! And how’s Thor?
I consider how to reply for some time. If she’s awake – not likely, but possible if she was out all night – and my reply is too juicy, she’ll phone me immediately. Finally, I settle on this:
Sorry! Went well with Lucia. She was shocked at first (natch) but she’s agreed to the plan. She’s waiting until Jon’s plane lands in Verona then making an excuse not to see him. She reminds me of you a bit (feisty). You’d like her. Saw a bit of Verona afterwards, then back to the hotel.
She’ll hate that I haven’t mentioned Willem, but that’s not a conversation I want to have with him lying next to me.
I’ve also heard from Poppy, which means that even on a Friday night, she was looking out for me – that is, working :
I hope you’re able to find Lucia in time and that she’s receptive to what you have to say. Keep me posted on how it all goes and I’m here if you need to talk – about anything.
There are those words again – ‘about anything’ – which clearly mean ‘Willem’. I type out a reply, filling her in on the conversation with Lucia and how we’ve scuppered Jon’s plans. I blatantly omit mention of Willem, which I’m sure Poppy will read into, but that’s also a conversation for another time.
The last message – no surprise – is from Jon:
Missing you already. Have a lovely weekend, beautiful. Hoping to be back in London next week or the week after. Catch you then. *kissing face emoji*
I stare at the little yellow face after Jon’s message, its pursed lips blowing a heart-shaped kiss. There was a time when it would have filled me with warmth, a feeling of being loved. Now it’s repulsive.
‘Good morning,’ says a gruff voice, startling me.
‘Good morning,’ I reply, quickly inverting the phone on the bedside cabinet. I roll over to face Willem, plastering a smile on my face.
It’s like vertigo, swinging this wildly between disgust at Jon to lust for Willem. Lust with a generous measure of like.
Willem returns my smile, then leans across the gap between our pillows to land a chaste kiss on my mouth.
Well, that’s not very one-night-stand-ish , I think, a familiar flutter invading my chest.
‘How did you sleep?’ he asks.
I blink at him, then break into a wider smile. ‘Actually, I slept really well.’
He laughs. ‘You sound surprised.’
‘I am. You know, late night, strange bed…’
What’s left unsaid is that I was sharing that strange bed with someone new, something that until now has always meant a fitful night’s sleep.
‘And you?’ I ask, reciprocating.
‘I also slept well.’
‘Good.’
‘Yes.’
This is hardly a scintillating conversation, and I wonder if it’s because Willem feels uncomfortable. I’m starting to.
‘So…’ he says, his eyes piercing mine.
‘So…’ I say, delighted by the seismic shift in the mood.
Willem’s hand reaches for my face and he trails the backs of his fingers down my cheek and along my jawline. It’s gentle, his touch, belying that he’s a hulk of a man – or a Thor of a man, as Margot would say – and it makes me quiver.
This time when Willem closes the gap between us, his kiss is anything but chaste.
* * *
‘I was thinking…’
We’re at a café near the hotel having a light breakfast of coffee (which may be the best I’ve ever had) and croissants (also delicious), and Willem is watching me closely.
‘Are you planning on finishing that thought or should I try and guess?’
Get you, Kate Whitaker! That’s a Margot-worthy quip right there. Orgasms must have magical powers. Not only have all my early-morning doubts been banished, I’m also my most comfortable, confident self – the Kate from last night.
Or that could be how Willem affects me. He even reached for my hand as we left the hotel – very un-fuckboy-like.
He grins. ‘It’s about changing your flight…’ He’s referring to our decision to vacate Verona to avoid accidentally running into Jon. ‘What if you came to Amsterdam with me instead of going to London?’
My eyes widen in surprise. Definitely not one-night-stand-ish!
‘You don’t have to?—’
‘No, I want to,’ I reply enthusiastically.
We stare at each other for a few seconds, then he reaches across the table for my hand.
‘Kate, I?—’
My phone chimes loudly with a message notification – I must have overcorrected after I unsilenced it. ‘Sorry,’ I say, turning off the screen. I look back at him, expecting him to pick up where he left off, but he doesn’t.
‘Don’t you want to check that?’ he asks. ‘It could be Lucia.’
‘Oh, of course,’ I say, feeling a little foolish. I open the phone screen and navigate to my messages. Only it isn’t Lucia – it’s Jon.
I groan involuntarily.
‘What is it?’ asks Willem.
I look up from my phone, grimacing. ‘It’s Jon. I forgot to reply to his message this morning and sometimes he gets a bit… stroppy.’
‘Stroppy?’ he asks, a shadow of confusion crossing his face.
‘Annoyed, pissed off.’
‘ He gets pissed off with you ?’ he asks incredulously.
‘Uh, yes. Sometimes.’
Willem inhales through his nose, his nostrils flaring.
I turn my head away, giving him an amused side-eye. ‘You don’t like him – I get it. I’m not Jon’s biggest fan either, but soon this will all be over and we never have to mention him again.’
‘Any chance I can get five minutes alone with him?’
‘Based on how your knuckles have turned white, I’d say no.’
His mouth twitches and with a self-deprecating eye roll, his scowl gives way to a smile.
‘Now, after I reply to the lying prick,’ I say, holding up my phone, ‘we’re changing our flights. And I’m coming to Amsterdam with you.’
His smile stretches into a grin. ‘I like it when you take charge,’ he says, his voice dripping with inuendo.
Remembering exactly how I ‘took charge’ last night, my cheeks colour and Willem bursts out laughing.