Chapter 13
DELANEY
I didn’t fall asleep right away last night – Nick didn’t either, as far as I could tell. All that stuff I said about me and Nicholas – spilling the tea the way I did – it felt icky. Like betrayal.
But definitely not as bad as almost kissing Nick – a moment that played in my mind on a loop until I finally drifted off to sleep.
I really can’t believe I did that, but I can guess why it happened. And it’s not just because Nick’s hot or that we’re living out the plot of a romcom.
It’s about me and Nicholas – now I get how one-sided our relationship is. There’s also the dawning realisation that when you’re total opposites, eventually you’ll run out of things to compare. In hindsight, Nicholas and I crossed the line into superficial conversation some time ago.
But that doesn’t give me a free pass with Nick.
And we’ve set some ground rules now – no more flying too close to the sun. He even fortified our pillow fort when I was getting ready for bed – there are now six pillows lined up between us. It’s probably overkill, but it’s also symbolic.
Steer clear of each other!
I inhale deeply and slowly sigh out the breath, trying to be quiet because I’m not sure if Nick’s—
‘Good morning, Delaney,’ he says from the other side of the Great Wall of Capri.
I sit up, grabbing one of the pillows from the wall and stuffing it behind my head.
‘Hi,’ I say.
He’s on his side, looking at me through the gap.
‘Sleep well?’ he asks.
I look down at the covers, which I must have kicked off sometime during the night.
‘I slept okay – I was a little hot,’ I say, instantly regretting my choice of words.
‘Yeah, I don’t normally wear this much to bed.’
I tear my eyes away – he may be wearing a T-shirt, but I’ve seen what’s underneath it.
‘So, what’s on the agenda for today then?’ he asks, putting us on firmer ground.
‘Well, we’ve got our chef’s table dinner tonight, but I thought I’d spend the morning reading a certain stunt guy’s screenplay.’
He winces and rolls onto his back.
‘What, you don’t want me to read it any more?’ I ask, scrutinising his face. ‘You’ve got that please-kill-me-now look about you.’
He groans loudly and rubs both hands over his face – I’ve learned that this is his go-to when everything feels too much.
‘I don’t have to read it, but it’s not like I have anything else going on today – the whole being-stranded-on-an-island thing.’
He sniggers, not making any noise, his body shaking the bed. His hands fall by his side, and he looks over.
‘I do want you to read it, but I also don’t.’
‘Because?’
‘Because, what if it’s shit?’
‘Is it?’ I ask, challenging him with a potent look.
‘No,’ he says, his face softening. ‘It’s good – really good.’
I sit all the way up. ‘Then what are you afraid of?’
He gives a half-hearted shrug.
‘Nick James, are you one of those people who’s more afraid of success than they are of failure?’
He cranes his neck to meet my eye. ‘I didn’t think I was, but there might be an element of that. What if you hate it?’
‘What if I love it?’
He sucks in air through his teeth. ‘Gah!’ he growls, making me chuckle – I win!
He flings back the covers and gets out of bed.
I avert my eyes, because he’s only wearing boxers and his butt is tight AF – like the rest of him.
Only I’m not quick enough and he catches me.
He grabs a pair of trackpants off the floor – showing off his butt even more, which I’m guessing wasn’t the plan – and shimmies into them.
‘Sorry – I had these on when I went to bed, but I got hot as well.’
‘All good,’ I say, dragging my eyes away and training them on the ceiling.
‘Mind if I…?’ he asks, forcing me to look at him again.
He’s pointing at the bathroom door.
‘Be my guest.’
While he pees, then showers – seriously, the entire bathroom is made of porcelain and marble – sound reverberates – I check my phone for contact from the ash-cloud-free world.
From Megan:
What’s happening with Superman?
I huff out a grunty sigh, then reply:
NOTHING! We’re just friends. *eye-roll emoji*
There’s also a message from Nicholas:
Had a nice day. Chatted with your mate’s brother. Decent bloke. The bride to be is out of sorts. How’s Capri?
Hmm, should I say something to Nick about Pippa? But that would be letting on that I know about the wedding – maybe I should wait for Nick to tell me. If he ever does.
But there’s something else. I read the message again, trying to pinpoint exactly what doesn’t sit right about it. Oh, I know – it’s the complete lack of romance or intimacy or any indication that WE ARE A COUPLE! Nicholas could have sent it to his mom.
‘Argh!’ I mutter through gritted teeth.
Has it always been like this? I scroll up, reading through our message thread, eyes wide open – literally but more importantly, metaphorically. This from two days ago is particularly annoying:
Nicholas
When do you fly out?
Me
1.20pm – can’t wait to see you xxxx
Nicholas
Safe flight
Safe flight – something you’d say to a colleague, not your girlfriend. I return to last night’s message and reply:
Had a nice day too. Capri’s sunny.
I hit send without adding anything cutesy or girlfriendy. Petty? Sure. But will he even notice? Doubtful.
‘All yours,’ Nick says, startling me.
He emerges from the bathroom with damp hair and smelling fresh, notes of his citrusy cologne wafting the air. He’s also wearing a towel – only a towel – and carrying his clothes. The clothes that should be on his body.
‘Thanks,’ I say, looking anywhere but at his naked torso. ‘And new ground rule – no walking around like that.’
‘Oh, right – sorry.’
I scurry over to the closet and take out the first dress I can find, grab a clean pair of underwear and a bra from the dresser, and rush past him into the bathroom, closing the door a little too forcefully.
‘Sorry!’ I shout through the door. I don’t want him thinking I’m mad – just trying to maintain our platonic pact.
‘No worries,’ comes his muffled reply.
I undress and slip into the shower, doing my best not to imagine Nick in here or – worse – Nick in here with me.
‘Not helpful, Delaney.’
I shower quickly, except for the shaving part – like any woman who shaves, I too have had the trauma of peeling the skin off my shin with one swipe. And the Red Wedding has nothing on a gushing shin.
Out of the shower, I scoop my unwashed hair into a high ponytail, zhuzhing the ends with leave-in conditioner, apply tinted moisturiser, dot on cream blush, brush on mascara, and swipe lip gloss across my lips. I get dressed and give myself an appraising look in the mirror.
Even in a hurry, I’ve managed to look cute.
‘It’s for you, Delaney,’ I tell myself unconvincingly.
Nothing to do with the hulking hottie in the next room.
I give myself a stern stare. ‘Nicholas could definitely do more in the romance department, but he’s your boyfriend and you are not a cheater.
So, keep your lips and every other part of you to yourself, woman. ’
And with that, I collect my PJs and leave the bathroom.
It’s silent in the suite – maybe Nick’s outside. I peek through the window as I put my PJs away, but the balcony’s empty. Hmm. Would he leave for the day without telling me? He doesn’t need to tell me where he’s going. I’m not his mom – or his girlfriend – but I was hoping to read his screenplay.
I go into the living room and look around. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who travels around with a printed manuscript, and I can’t see his laptop – not that I’d ever open it without asking. So, if he has gone out, I’m shit outta luck.
I don’t even have his number, I realise – what a moron. We’ve slept in the same bed for two nights and I have no idea how to get in touch with him. Oh well, he knows to be back for dinner – I guess I can find something else to do. On my own.
Something catches my eye on the table by the balcony door – a gift box with two bottles of limoncello. I go over and read the card.
We hope this limoncello brings you a little Capri sunshine.
~ Vittorio and everyone at La Sirena di Capri
Oh, what a sweetheart! With the near-kiss and the aftermath of the near-kiss, I’d totally forgotten Vittorio mentioned leaving us a gift. I take out one of the bottles and read the label – it’s from the place we’re going to tomorrow.
We’ll have to try it later, before our da—
Delaney Rae, don’t you dare finish that thought. It’s a chef’s table dinner with a friend. Not a date.
The door to the suite opens and Nick walks in carrying two coffees.
‘Hey,’ he says with an easy smile.
A hot man bearing hot coffee – two for two.
‘Hey,’ I say with a flick of my ponytail. I’m aiming for casual breeziness, channelling Monica from Friends, but from the amused look on Nick’s face, I’ve failed.
‘I brought you a cappuccino,’ he says, holding it out as he walks towards me.
I take it. ‘Thanks. I thought maybe you’d gone out for the day.’
He angles his head to the right. ‘Um, no. I would have told you.’
‘Cool.’
‘And I haven’t sent you my screenplay yet.’
‘Right.’
‘Look, you really don’t have to re—’
‘Gonna stop you right there, dude.’
His lips twitch.
‘Yes, I say “dude” – unironically. So sue me. But back to your screenplay,’ I say, taking a sip of coffee. ‘God, that’s good. Even better than yesterday’s.’
‘Right? It’s probably ruined me for Costa forever. Oh, Costa’s—’
‘Yeah, I know – a sub-par coffee chain in England.’
His eyes double in size. ‘Wow, shots fired. Sub-par? At least it’s better than Starbucks.’
‘Everything’s better than Starbucks,’ I counter.
‘Agreed – so what do you drink when you’re at home?’ He settles onto the arm of the sofa and looks at me expectantly.
‘If you think I’m going to out myself as hipster douchebag… then you’d be absolutely correct!’
He gives in to a chuckle.
‘Truth?’ I ask.
‘Always.’
It’s an off-hand remark, but I file it away to revisit later – Nick still hasn’t told me he was supposed to be getting married this week, so how attached to the truth can he really be?
Maybe he didn’t know about it. I’m not sure why this didn’t occur to me before. It would certainly explain a lot.
‘Delaney?’ he prods, dragging me from my thoughts. ‘It’s only coffee,’ he teases, and I play along, pausing for dramatic effect.
‘Okay, it’s an almond-milk cortado, extra hot, three-quarter foam.’
Nick throws his head back and bellows with laughter, and I snigger along.
‘Yeah, yeah. Like I said – it’s a hipster-douchebag coffee order, but I love it. It’s from this little hole-in-the-wall place two blocks from my apartment, and I’m so rarely in LA, even drinking my favourite coffee feels like a homecoming.’
‘Right.’
‘You have something like that – something you always crave when you get home? Hey, where is home? I never asked.’
There’s a flicker of discomfort across his face.
‘I promise not to stop by uninvited or stalk you,’ I say with a laugh. ‘I’m curious, that’s all.’
‘Course – sorry. I’ve got a flat in Paddington. Nothing fancy ’cause I’m hardly ever there.’
‘Another thing we have in common,’ I say, and we share an understanding smile. Only now we’ve wandered into dangerous territory – Nick and I do not need more things in common – so I look for a diversion.
‘Hey,’ I say, spying the limoncello. ‘Vittorio left this for us.’ I hand him the gift pack.
‘How kind – I’d forgotten about that.’
‘Me too,’ I say lightly, sidestepping why we both forgot. ‘We’re going there tomorrow – to learn how they make it.’
‘Nice,’ he says, putting it on the coffee table.
We sip our coffees, silence stretching between us, my mind returning to the scene of last night’s crime.
‘Okay, I’ll send it to you,’ he blurts.
For a second, I’m lost, but then I get it. It’s only me who’s reliving last night. Am I relieved or disappointed?
‘Great!’ I say, pasting on a grin.
He goes to his duffel bag and takes out a laptop, then sits on the sofa and boots it up. ‘Email address?’ he asks.
‘I’ll give you my personal one,’ I say, and his eyes narrow. ‘Work email’s a can of worms when I’m on vacation. I log into that, and I’ll be MIA for days.’
‘Fair.’
I rattle off my email address and a few seconds later, my phone chimes with a notification.
Nick slams the laptop shut and gets up. ‘I suppose I should leave you to it.’
‘What are you going to do today?’ I ask.
‘I’ll find something. Catch up on my people-watching,’ he says, shooting me a nervous smile. ‘Call Pippa and Dan – see how life is at the top of the world. Iceland – even now I can’t believe it.’
He’s rambling – nerves, is my guess. It’s a big deal, him entrusting me with this.
‘I’m sure I’ll love it, Nick,’ I say reassuringly.
His smile falls away. ‘That’s good of you to say but if you don’t, please be honest with me.’
‘Always,’ I say, echoing him from earlier.
We lock eyes, that word lingering between us, and I instantly regret it. I’m barely being honest with myself right now, let alone with Nick. But there’s also the other promise that word carries – a promise of a shared future.
‘I’ll see you later then.’
Nick shoots me another quick smile, then leaves, and I stand there staring at a closed door for a very long time.
Because something tells me I’m going to love his screenplay and if I do, things between me and Nick will only get more complicated. Hard to avoid someone you’re attracted to when you’re turning their screenplay into a movie.