Chapter 10
DELANEY
We race along the northwest coastline, and it’s hard to believe this is real.
The scenery is so intense, so gorgeous, it looks like CGI – the rocky cliffs, the outcrops of monolithic, jagged rocks, the colour of the water – aquamarine closer to the island, deep inky blue further out – and the cobalt sky overhead, dotted with white puffs of cloud.
I’ve been to some incredibly beautiful places in the world, but Capri is jostling for top position along with New Zealand’s south island and the Big Island in Hawaii.
It makes it easy to forget about the ash cloud – until I look north across the Bay of Naples at the hovering grey haze.
Mother Nature has kicked my ass a few times in the past. Gale-force winds in Panama that forced a major shooting schedule shuffle.
Unseasonal back-to-back-to-back sunny days on a moody drama, doubling our post-production costs.
An early spring that rained out our shoot in Alaska, melting all the snow – and artificial snowmakers are a huge expense, especially when they’re shipped from Colorado.
But this isn’t an ass-kicking – more like a gentle pat on the rear end. Sure, I’m separated from Nicholas, but being stranded in paradise doesn’t suck, so why complain?
‘It’s incredible, isn’t it?’ Nick shouts in my ear.
‘It’s amazing,’ I shout back. ‘You feeling okay?’ I ask, patting my stomach.
‘Yeah – the tablet seems to have done the trick. Thanks again.’
‘It’s my job.’ Only it isn’t – not this time – and he angles his head as if I’ve said something funny. ‘You know what I mean.’
We share a smile and a little while later, the boat begins to slow and we join a cluster of other boats – some bigger, some smaller – all idling. The skipper points towards the entrance of the Blue Grotto, a dark tunnel in the limestone cliff-face, and it’s minuscule.
How the hell are we supposed to fit through there?
Right as I’m envisioning having to swim in – and I am a terrible swimmer – a small rowboat emerges from the entrance.
Once it clears the opening, five people pop up, including a guy who starts rowing.
The other four people are talking animatedly and while I can’t make out what they’re saying, it’s obvious they’ve been blown away.
Still… that’s a very tight space and my breath hitches in my throat.
‘We wait our turn and then you go on the little boat,’ says our skipper.
I think I’d prefer swimming it.
‘You going to be okay?’ Nick asks and when I look over, he’s studying me closely.
‘Mm-hmm,’ I say, nodding vigorously.
‘Claustrophobia?’ he asks.
‘That, yes,’ I reply, turning to watch the exchange of people off and onto the rowboat, ‘and whatever it’s called when you don’t want to drown in a rowboat inside a tunnel inside a giant cliff because the tide came in.’
He chuckles softly.
‘Please don’t laugh at me,’ I say, ‘I’m shitting my pants here.’
‘We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.’
‘No, I know, but… look.’
I point at the people who just came out – they’re back on the boat that brought them – and now they seem even more excited, showing each other photos on their phones, exclaiming and laughing.
‘It does seem like an incredible experience,’ says Nick, ‘but that doesn’t mean we have to do it.’
‘You’re not scared even one little bit, are you?’
He leans in close, giving me a whiff of his citrusy cologne. ‘I’d be a pretty shitty stunt coordinator if I was scared.’
‘Yeah, yeah, okay.’
‘You really didn’t know about this part?’ he asks, nodding towards the entrance.
‘No. I mean, two days ago, I had no idea where I was even going – and I’m on vacation. I don’t want to be across all the ins and outs of every little thing.’
‘No pun intended,’ he says.
‘Huh?’
‘Ins and outs… No pun intended.’
‘Hilarious.’ I shoot him a taut smile. ‘Oh, you’re trying to take my mind off it.’
‘Is it working?’
‘Kinda. Hey, how did you become a stuntman, anyway?’
‘I sorta fell into it.’
The edge of his mouth quirks, giving him away.
‘That a stuntman joke?’
He nods, his quirking mouth stretching into a smirk.
‘Lame,’ I reply.
He chuckles, and I can’t help but smile. If he weren’t deliberately distracting me, I’d be whipping myself into a frenzy, obsessing about drowning inside a giant rock.
I look back at the entrance to the grotto – another rowboat’s approaching with a new batch of people. When it gets close, they bob for a bit, then the guy grabs hold of a chain and pulls them into the tunnel. On his signal, everyone lies flat and the boat disappears inside.
I’ve been holding my breath and I exhale loudly.
‘I’m doing it,’ I declare.
‘You sure?’ Nick asks.
‘Fuck no, but don’t let me back out, okay?’
‘Got it.’
‘It’s supposed to be one of the most incredible places in the world. I’m not getting this close, then wimping out.’
‘You trying to convince me or you?’ he asks.
‘Hello? I’m giving myself a pep talk here. Maybe don’t interrupt?’
He raises his hands, surrendering. Now all I have to do is stay hyped up till it’s our turn. Fortunately, there are several boats making the run and soon enough, our skipper motors us closer, stopping alongside one of the rowboats. Money changes hands, then the rowboat guy waves us over.
‘Now, try not to fall into the water,’ I say to Nick as we slowly stand.
‘Hilarious,’ he replies drily – just like I did earlier.
Transferring to the smaller boat is precarious, but we both make it, and the guy rows us towards the grotto.
‘I guess we’re on our own,’ says Nick.
‘Private tour, remember?’
‘Oh, right – makes sense.’
But I’m only partly listening, because the closer we get, the harder it becomes to breathe.
‘Hey.’ I look over and Nick’s watching me. ‘Still time to back out.’
‘Nuh-uh. I told you, I’m doing it,’ I reply, trying to sound way more confident than I’m feeling.
‘Here,’ says Nick, holding out a hand.
I hesitate for a second – should we be holding hands?
– but then I figure he’s just being supportive, and I take it.
It’s strong and warm, and it does help ease my nerves – my palm pressed against his and the pad of his thumb running along the back of mine – but there’s also that current surging between us again.
But way more worrying is the gaping mouth of the cave, black and foreboding like a monster’s.
‘Oh, fuck,’ I say, huffing out a breath.
Nick squeezes my hand and before I can back out, we’re inside the tunnel and the guy tells us to get down.
And boy do I get down. I squeeze my eyes shut, lying so flat against the bottom of the boat, you could slice me into strips, boil me in salted water, and serve me with burnt-butter-and-sage sauce.
Moments later, it gets super quiet and Nick nudges me.
‘Delaney, look,’ he whispers.
I slowly open my eyes, but everything’s dark. Duh – sunglasses! I take them off but now all I can see is rock with some wavy reflections.
‘Hmm,’ I mutter.
‘You might want to…’ Nick says, tugging on my hand.
Double duh. I prop myself and look around, drinking in the brilliant-blue water. ‘Holy shit,’ I say. It echoes throughout the grotto and Nick chuckles.
‘Yeah, not bad, eh?’
‘It’s so blue. I mean, that probably sounds dumb, but… wow.’
Our guide slowly rows us around the cavern, and I lean to the side and dip my hand in the water. It’s icy – but it’s awesome seeing the blueish silhouette of my distorted hand below the surface.
There are only a handful of boats, with an occasional burst of laughter and some hushed murmurs. Everyone seems to be as in awe as we are, sharing a reverence for the Blue Grotto’s intense beauty.
I find myself leaning against Nick, our shoulders touching and our hands clasped, but instead of questioning it, I let myself be, taking in long, slow breaths of the cool, mineral air, letting it fill me up with calm.
I could stay in here for hours.
And I so want to shoot something here – for now, a non-existent scene in an unwritten screenplay – but something. It’d take a world-class cinematographer to capture this kind of beauty – and a giant pair of scissors to cut through the red tape to get approval – but it would be worth it.
Way too soon, our guide dips a paddle into the water and steers us towards the entrance. My heart drops – not by far, maybe a half-inch – but a drop all the same.
I wish we could stay longer.
I don’t even stress about leaving the grotto the same way we came in, because once we clear its mouth and I’m blinking at the bright sunlight, all I want is to go back inside.
‘Pretty spectacular, huh?’ asks Nick with a grin, nudging my shoulder with his.
I slip my sunglasses on, then turn my head. ‘Yeah… I have no words.’
I look down out our clasped hands, clocking the little flip of my stomach.
‘Oh, sorry,’ says Nick, quickly letting go. And now I’m positive – he feels it too, the current.
‘No, no, uh… all good,’ I stammer. ‘That was really sweet of you – thanks.’
I turn away to hide that I’m catching my breath.
Nick’s a good guy and he’s made a shitty situation bearable – fun even – but two days ago, he was a stranger and after we both leave Capri, the chances I’ll run into him again are next to zero.
And there’s no way I’d risk a two-year relationship for whatever’s going on between us. Besides, the guy’s engaged.
So, no more holding hands – or even shaking hands. No more checking him out – especially when he’s not wearing a shirt. No more asking him for fashion advice or making flirty comments.
And no more frigging moments. Steer clear of the moments!
* * *
Well, that didn’t last long.
The thing about anchoring off the coast of Capri on a fancy motorboat for a picnic lunch, sunbathing, and swimming is that it’s extremely difficult not to notice that the person with you is shirtless and looks incredible in board shorts.
The lunch spread was delicious – panini caprese, frittata di pasta, cut melon, olives, and Caciotta, a local cheese – and I ate way more than I should have. Nick might have to roll me off the boat onto the pier.
But the best part about lunch?
Nick kept his shirt on the entire time. I’d call that a win, except we’ve moved onto the sunbathing and swimming portion of the afternoon, and the shirt’s been tossed.
And with it, so has my ability to hold up my end of the conversation without my gaze dipping to his chest. Or his arms. Or his ripped abs.
Or the mat of hair across his pecs that tapers as it trails enticingly towards his waistband where it disappears.
He also has the V – those two muscles that point to his groin.
Megan’s super into the V – the night we watched Man of Steel at my place, we had to replay the scene when Henry Cavill steals clothes from the clothesline four times.
She even freeze-framed it, jumping off the sofa and standing right next to the TV, crying, ‘Check out that V!’ I half-expected her to lick the screen.
At the time, I didn’t understand what all the fuss was about, but now…
Now I’ve turned into a V woman – way harder to resist when you experience one in the flesh.
And Megs would totally give me shit if I ever admitted it. She loves playing the I-told-you-so card, but I’ll never tell her I’ve been thirsting after Nick – especially after saying I’d never cheat. I mean, technically I’m not, but I’m still pissed at myself. Zero willpower.
Thank god I can hide behind my sunglasses.
‘Hey, Delaney,’ says Nick, ‘top-up?’
Out of the corner of my eye, he’s holding up a bottle of prosecco, but looking directly at him will only fuel the fire, so I hold out my empty glass like Goldie Hawn in Overboard, and he fills it nearly to the brim.
‘Thanks,’ I say before taking a sip.
The skipper went below deck after lunch, possibly to have a nap, but more likely to give us privacy – this is the sort of tour couples would book for a romantic afternoon. Only, I want him to come back. Be a kind of chaperone.
Not that I’m going to launch myself at Nick or anything, but conversation has dried up now that it’s just the two of us.
‘So, I’ve been thinking…’ Nick starts, and I can’t do it – I can’t not look at him. It’s rude.
‘Mmm?’ I ask, turning towards him.
I fix my eyes on his face, drawing an invisible line between it and his body with its power to turn my insides to mush. Oh, who am I kidding? It’s not just his body – he’s handsome as hell, and I’ve turned into a walking talking tub of mashed potatoes.
‘Wouldn’t the Blue Grotto be an incredible film location?’ he asks, and it might be the one thing he could say to snap me out of this lusty daze.
‘Yes!’ I reply, sitting up and sloshing prosecco down my front. ‘Shit.’ I rub my hand over my chest, then lick the prosecco off my fingers. Nick clears his throat. I glance over and he’s staring out to sea, an embarrassed smile on his face.
Okay, Delaney, so maybe don’t fondle your boobs, then slip your wet fingers into your mouth in front of the poor guy. He’s only human.
‘So, yeah,’ I say, forging ahead as if everything’s perfectly normal, ‘it’s kinda uncanny you said that – I thought the same thing.’
‘Really?’ he asks, angling his body towards me.
‘For sure. I mean, it’s so atmospheric, so evocative…’
‘Otherworldly,’ he adds.
‘Totally. You could shoot so many different scenes there and every single one would be next level. It’s where they stash the loot from a heist.’
‘Or a supervillain’s evil lair,’ he adds, yes-and-ing me.
‘Oh my god, for sure,’ I reply with a laugh – this is so fun. It’s rare that I get to hang out with someone who’s as much of a movie geek as I am.
‘What about the end of a psychological thriller?’ I suggest. ‘There’s a massive twist and these two people are getting into it and their faces are lit from beneath with that incredible blue. That would be frigging awesome.’
‘It would be,’ he agrees. ‘Or… it’s a romantic scene – maybe two people who met unexpectedly… It’d be the perfect location for a first kiss.’
I’m rendered completely speechless – a speechless tub of mashed potato.
First kiss?!
Oh man, I am in serious trouble.