Chapter 8
DELANEY
What’s up first is me getting my shit together. That’s twice I’ve nearly cried in front of Nick. And I am not a crier. I am the opposite of a crier – I’m capable and unflappable and…
Ah, who the hell am I trying to kid?
Less than two days ago, I boarded a plane, brimming with hope, next-level excited to see Nicholas.
Now I’m riding out a natural disaster, dealing with a travel company’s colossal fuck-up, and entangled in a situation straight out of a romcom – all while stuck half a continent away from the man I love.
No wonder I’m on the verge of tears.
There’s also the other thing – the thing I’ve been pretending isn’t happening.
Nick’s hot – like core-of-the-earth hot.
And I’ve never thought that about a huge, muscular guy before.
Megan dragged me to five Avengers movies so she could drool over Thor.
And sure, Chris Hemsworth is objectively a handsome man, but sexy?
Uh, no. I like a slight build, vampirishly pale skin, chiselled cheekbones, and dark hair.
Like Nicholas. When The Sandman came out, I crushed so hard on Tom Sturridge, Megan bought me a Funko Pop figurine that sits on my nightstand at home.
But seeing Nick in bed shirtless (and possibly naked – hard to say) challenged the aesthetic ideal I’ve had since I saw Heathers in sixth grade and fell madly in lust with Christian Slater.
His broad shoulders – Nick’s, not Christian’s – bulging biceps, the veins in his forearms popping, those big, strong hands, and that barrel of a bare chest covered in thick, dark-blond hair… I want to climb onto that bed, straddle him, and lose my fingers in that thatch of hair.
He’d probably squash me flat if he rolled on top of me. And I wouldn’t mind one bit.
Nick’s question hangs in the air as he regards me with a mix of curiosity, pity, and the forced enthusiasm of a children’s party entertainer. The last two aren’t comforting. But he seems oblivious that I want to nest in his chest hair, so there’s that.
‘Well,’ I say loudly, clapping my hands together – I can be a party entertainer too – ‘this afternoon we’re going to the Blue Grotto.
They’re picking us up at the marina in a private boat at twelve-thirty, and after we’ve seen the grotto, we’ll stay out on the water for a bit – swim if we want – then have a late lunch on the boat. ’
‘That sounds great,’ he says, seeming genuinely delighted. Only, as soon as the words are out of his mouth, his expression sours.
‘What?’
‘Well, if the ferry ride over was anything to go by…’
‘Yeah, that’s why I bought these at the pharmacy,’ I say, fetching a packet of motion-sickness pills from my pocket.
I hand them over and he studies the Italian label, his eyes narrowed. Then realisation dawns and he looks up.
‘That’s… Thank you – that’s very thoughtful.’
‘Selfish motives,’ I say. ‘Can’t have you throwing up all over the place. Would ruin the vibe.’
‘Ah,’ he says with a snigger. ‘Well, you seem to have thought of everything.’
‘A producer’s lot in life,’ I retort. ‘Stay on top of the minutiae, have contingencies up your sleeve – Plans C, D, and E…’
‘Guilt travel companies into giving away expensive freebies.’
‘I didn’t guilt them into anything, but I may have laid the American accent on extra thick and hinted at suing.’
‘Suing?’ he asks, his eyes popping.
‘Leveraging our litigious reputation. I wouldn’t actually sue. It’s just a vacation – it’s not like they fucked up my wedding or anything. I mean, can you imagine?’
The blood drains from Nick’s face, turning him a weird shade of green.
‘Nick? Are you okay?’
He doesn’t answer, sitting on the nearest sun lounger and staring into space.
I hover nearby. ‘Do you want a glass of water or something?’
‘No, it’s fine. I, er…’ He sharply shakes his head and sucks in a deep breath.
‘Have I said the wrong thing? I keep doing that.’
‘Well, I’ve been guilty of that too, but it’s not you – I promise.’
He keeps staring at the ornate tile floor, the tension in the air growing legs. Maybe I should leave him alone. He’ll be moving to another hotel later – and from what Vittorio said, it’s pretty basic – so it’s only fair that Nick gets to enjoy the suite for as long as possible.
Besides, Nicholas will be awake soon, and I really want to talk to him. I figure I’ll find a cute café with a view, grab some breakfast, and find out how it’s going in Iceland. Iceland – shit, I didn’t ask Nick about his brother.
‘Hey, so I’m gonna head out for a bit, but did you find out why your brother and his wife are in Reykjavik?’
Nick looks up sharply. ‘What? Oh, no, you don’t have to— I don’t want to chase you out of the room.’
‘You’re not – and the suite’s yours too. Well, until you move to the other hotel. So, you hang out, enjoy the sunshine, and I’ll be back around twelve, okay?’
He seems… troubled – something’s seriously up – but I’m not sure what my move is here. Do I hang around for a bit in case he wants to talk, or give the guy some space?
His lips part like he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t.
‘Is it about your brother?’ I ask. ‘I don’t want to intrude, but you seem…’
He shakes his head again, his eyes locking onto mine. ‘Turns out Pippa arranged a couples’ holiday as a surprise, so Dan and Becks got caught up in this mess too.’
‘Oh man – that’s shit. You guys are close?’ I ask.
‘Me and Dan? Yeah, he’s my best mate. And Becks is great – like a sister.’
‘God, that makes it worse – you not being there.’
‘Mmm.’ His jaw tightens, the left corner of his mouth hitching into a cynical smile.
‘Maybe we should sue True North – they’ve fucked this up for three couples now,’ I joke, but it’s lame and his taut smile falls away. I wish there was something I could do, but not everything can be fixed with a phone call.
‘Look, Delaney, I mean it – you don’t have make yourself scarce on my account.’
‘It’s cool. I want to explore a bit on my own anyway, and I was going to call Nicholas…’
He nods. ‘Okay – so twelvish, then we’ll head down to the marina?’
‘Done,’ I say, and for some reason, I thrust out my hand like we’ve made a deal.
I give myself a mental slap, but I can’t take it back now or I’ll look even dumber.
An amused expression flickers over Nick’s face, then he reaches up to shake my hand.
It’s the second time we’ve shaken hands – something I rarely do in everyday life – and mine looks like a child’s swallowed up in his.
But that’s not what disturbs me – it’s the current running between us, searing my palm and sparking a shocking thought: imagine what he could do to me with those hands!
I blink, snapping back to the balcony.
Delaney Rae Cole, what the actual fuck?
‘Okay, see ya,’ I say, yanking my hand away. I grab my tote and get out before anything else weird happens. Because that was weird, and it was not okay – not okay!
Thank god we won’t be sharing a bed tonight, I tell myself as I jog down the stairs.
We may have had an entire pillow fort between us but when I woke up in the middle of the night to pee, it took forever to get back to sleep – I was so aware of him.
And every time he rolled over, it was like an earthquake shaking the bed. He’s a big guy.
Big all over?
I stop short, horrified. Not helpful, Delaney!
Looking in both directions, I search for somewhere to sit and regroup. Not far from the hotel is the coffee shop I’ve already been to twice this morning, and I speed-walk over and sit at a small table out front. They’ll probably think I’m some bizarro American coffee addict, but I don’t care.
The woman who served me earlier appears beside the table.
‘Un caffè, per favore,’ I say.
She gives me a tight-lipped smile and goes back inside.
I take out my phone and check the time – nearly 9 a.m., so almost 7 a.m. in Iceland. Nicholas should be awake by now, but if I call him right away, he’ll be a big grouch. He needs his coffee, then thirty minutes of scrolling on his phone before he’s ready for conversation.
I’m not sure I want to talk to him right now anyway – not when lusty thoughts are bouncing around my brain like popcorn in a popper.
Megan’s who I want to talk to but it’s close to midnight in LA. Although, sometimes she gets insomnia and rather than stay in bed and try and fall asleep, she’ll reorganise the pantry, or make the kids’ Halloween costumes, or bake a batch of brownies. Maybe this is one of those nights.
Only one way to find out, so I send her a message.
If you’re up call me. SOS
I stare at my phone – like that will help – and gnaw on my lower lip. Then I remember Nick told me not to do that, so I stop. The woman returns with an espresso, and I thank her, then drop my eyes to the phone.
‘Come on, Megs…’ I mutter to myself, and as if I’ve willed the call into existence, my phone rings. I snatch it up.
‘Hey, thank god you’re awake.’
She laughs. ‘Way to make it about you.’
‘Sorry you can’t sleep. What are you up to?’ I ask, picturing her rearranging furniture in the dark.
‘The twins’ science projects. I’m bucking for first and second place,’ she replies and I laugh, even though she’s probably serious. ‘So, what’s the SOS? Is Nicholas on his way or what?’
All she knows is what I told her in my latest text – that we were sent to different countries and we’re trying to figure it out. She obviously hasn’t heard about Mount Etna or she would have said, but then Megan rarely bothers with the news. Her little patch of the world is big enough for her.
‘Not even close,’ I reply, quickly filling her in.
‘Geez, Laney, a fucking volcano? That’s shitty luck.’
‘I love how your potty mouth turns on after bedtime.’
‘I’ve been holding it in all day! If wasn’t talking to you, I’d be sitting here surrounded by pipe cleaners muttering profanities to myself, just to maintain my sanity.’
‘Hah!’
‘Besides, Gabe says it’s hot – it’s his kink.’
‘I did not need to hear that.’
She giggles, delighted that she’s weirded me out.