Chapter 15
NICK
Delaney and I spend the rest of the afternoon brainstorming, and I’m blown away by how in sync we are, how easily we bounce off each other. I’ve been writing as we go, and when it’s time to get ready for dinner, I’ve got a first draft of the epilogue.
Delaney goes to shower, and I keep working, making tweaks to the montage we’re envisioning. I may have been sceptical at first, but she was bang on about the ending.
And it still hasn’t sunk in that she wants to make my film.
It’s not a done deal yet – they say in filmmaking that until you attend the premiere, it could still fall apart – but this is the closest I’ve ever been to my dream coming to fruition.
No wonder I’m buzzing – I usually have to jump out of a plane or roll a car ten times to achieve this sort of high.
Only it all comes to a screeching halt when my phone rings and it’s Pippa.
Pippa, who knows I’ve written a screenplay and that my ambition is to get out of stunt work while my body’s reasonably intact, but who never wants to discuss it. Resentment floods my veins, which I hate. I don’t want to feel this way about her, but it’s difficult not to.
I take a deep breath and hit the green button. ‘Hiya, Pip.’
‘I was worried you weren’t going to answer,’ she says accusingly.
‘Sorry, I— My phone was in the other room.’
I instantly catch my mistake and scrunch my face, waiting for the penny to drop.
‘What do you mean other room? Are you still in the suite? I thought you said you were moving to a different hotel?’
Bugger, bugger, bugger. I did tell her that, but I forgot to update her after we got back from the Blue Grotto. It completely slipped my prosecco-sozzled mind.
‘Uh, there was an issue with the other hotel. I’ve had to stay here,’ I say with a grimace, hoping she doesn’t hear it in my voice.
But her silence speaks volumes.
‘I’m sleeping on a folding bed out in the lounge,’ I add hurriedly, hating myself even more for the lie. But even though the sleeping arrangements with Delaney are as chaste as they can be, I’ll never tell Pippa the truth. She’d be beside herself.
And there’s no way I’m making our would-be wedding day even worse.
‘So, how are you, Pip?’ I ask gently. I don’t want to give anything away – Dan will have kept my secret, which is that I know Pip’s secret – but she must be wracked with disappointment, even with her family there.
She sighs heavily. ‘Fine, all things considered.’
‘Have you got out much, seen the sights?’
‘Mmm, yeah – we saw the Aurora Borealis last night.’
I catch the slip – we, when ostensibly she’s there alone – but I don’t let on.
‘A group of us from the hotel, I mean,’ she says, obviously realising the slip-up. ‘Erm, we did a drive out to Grótta Lighthouse – an excursion.’
I have no doubt she did go to a lighthouse last night and see the Aurora Borealis, but it would have been with Ashley and their parents. God, I thought lying to Pippa felt terrible, but her lying to me to save face is worse. Far worse.
Do I tell her?
No, I quickly decide. If we’re opening Pandora’s Box, it needs to be in person.
‘Sounds lovely,’ I say benignly.
‘And I went to Hallgrímskirkja today – I think that’s how you say it. Anyway, it’s the tallest structure in Iceland – a church. Nice views – you ride the lift up.’
The irony of Pippa visiting a church on our would-be wedding day is a bitter pill to swallow, even if we’ve never discussed a church wedding. We’ve never discussed any wedding.
‘So, any plans for tonight?’ I ask thoughtlessly. She did have plans – big plans – huge! – but circumstances intervened.
‘Mmm, probably dinner out. By myself,’ she adds, and inwardly I groan.
We’ll need a backhoe to dig us out from this pile of lies.
‘I should go, Nick,’ she says with a tinge of sadness.
‘Speak soon, Pip.’
‘Okay.’
We end the call without the usual exchange of I love yous – a tell of its own – and I expel a long, slow breath.
Our trip was booked for six nights, so she’s not even halfway through her stay. Hopefully, with her family there, she’ll find a way to enjoy it. There doesn’t seem to be any indication that she’ll go home early – like Nicholas.
Nicholas – what a wanker. Even if he isn’t a wanker – but really, all evidence points in that direction – he seems wildly unsuited to Delaney.
So, who’d be better suited then?
I look back at my laptop screen, reading over the last couple of pages of the epilogue.
LEXI
When did you know?
FINN
That I was in love with you?
She nods.
FINN
When I took you to Considerit.
LEXI
The doughnut shop? That’s when you knew you were in love with me?
FINN
Yeah. You couldn’t decide between blueberry and chocolate, so you got both, remember? And then you ate them.
She laughs.
LEXI
Yeah, always an attractive trait – scarfing down two whole doughnuts.
FINN
You were being yourself.
She smiles.
LEXI
Want to know when I knew I was in love with you?
He nods.
LEXI
When you stopped me from walking into the street. I was looking the wrong way and was about to step off the sidewalk and you put your arm across my chest.
FINN
I didn’t want you to get run over.
LEXI
Exactly.
FINN
But I would have done that for anyone.
LEXI
Exactly.
She kisses him and he embraces her, kissing her back.
ZOOM OUT. PAN TO MARINA GRANDE, CAPRI. FADE OUT.
THE END.
Warmth floods my chest – pride, joy – a bit of both. It’s perfect.
‘Bathroom’s free,’ Delaney calls out, slicing into my thoughts. ‘I’ll do my makeup out here.’
She comes into the lounge, carrying her makeup bag, and my breath catches. She’s wearing the dress – the one she bought yesterday. And I’m hardly up on fashion, but I know she looks stunning in it.
‘You look nice,’ I say, downplaying my reaction.
‘Yeah?’ She looks at the dress. ‘I’m not sure this is me.’
‘No, it’s… nice.’
Again with the ‘nice’. You’d never think I had a knack for writing dialogue.
‘Thanks,’ she replies, seeming uncertain. ‘Not sure this is me either.’ She reaches up to smooth the loose tendrils at the nape of her neck and turns to eye herself in the mirror. ‘I’m not really an up-do kinda gal, but…’ She tilts her head to each side.
‘It suits you,’ I say, our eyes meeting in the mirror.
She holds my gaze for a few seconds, gives me a shy smile, then looks away, rifling through her makeup bag.
‘Mama would freak seeing me like this,’ she says with a laugh. ‘She’s always giving me a hard time, saying I should dress more like a girl – her words, not mine.’
I have no idea what to say to that. I’ve seen Delaney wear all sorts – too-big pyjamas, that yellow bikini, shorts and T-shirt – and she looks great in all of it.
Not that I’d say so – it’s not my place to tell her she’s gorgeous.
Her eyes flick to meet mine again, yanking me from my stupor. Wonderful, I’ve been caught staring at her while she does her makeup – not creepy at all.
‘I’ll uh…’ I jerk my thumb over my shoulder and leave her to it.
* * *
Delaney
Not gonna lie – Nick looking at me like that – hot. Almost as hot as him writing a kick-ass screenplay.
I know you’re not supposed to judge a book by its cover, but I would never in a million years have guessed that the rough and rugged stunt guy had it in him to write with that much heart.
And not just heart but skill. A lot of screenwriters can tell a decent story, but not all of them can write with such honesty and clarity of voice.
Nick understands those characters inside and out, and everything about them is truthful – every contradiction, every lie they tell themselves – it all rings true.
But it’s one thing to lust after an objectively handsome man – it’s another to be turned on by his brain. Because that can lead to feelings. And when trapped by happenstance in a foreign country with a stranger, you absolutely should not catch feelings.
‘Megan would rip you a new one,’ I mutter to myself as I dust on peach-coloured blush.
My phone starts ringing in the next room – Megan’s ringtone.
‘No way,’ I say to myself with a laugh. I rush to answer it before the call goes to voicemail, but when I get to my side of the bed where it’s charging, Nick opens the bathroom door wearing only a towel. A low-slung towel sitting right below his V.
I look up and we gawk at each other, open-mouthed.
‘Sorry,’ he says, snapping out of it. He steps back and slams the door. ‘I forgot to bring my clothes into the bathroom,’ he yells, his voice muffled by the door.
I shake my head. No good – that image will be burnt on my brain forever.
‘I’m going outside,’ I yell back, snatching my phone off the nightstand and running out to the balcony. By the time I get there, Megan’s call has gone to voicemail. I call her right back, but then I get voicemail – probably because she’s leaving me a message. Argh – I hate playing phone tag.
I plonk onto a sun lounger and count to ten – more to calm myself down than fill time, but it does both.
Ten seconds later, I tap the call button.
‘Hey, did you get my message?’ she asks, not bothering with hello.
‘No,’ I reply, ‘I called you straight back. What’s up?’
‘You left me hanging!’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, you’ve been incommunicado for the past day and a half – what the hell’s going on?’
I take the phone from my ear and navigate to my messages. She’s sent five since we talked yesterday morning, all versions of the same question: what’s happening with the two Nicholases?
Oops.
‘Sorry, Megs. I’m a shitty friend.’
‘No, you’re not. But I am worried about you.’
‘You don’t need to worry about m— Actually, scratch that. Worry away.’
‘Oh god, that sounds ominous.’
‘Yeah, well…’ I begin, then I fill her in on the conversation with Nicholas.
‘You seriously hung up on him?’ she asks.
‘Yep.’
‘Wow. And have you heard from him since?’
‘Nope.’
‘Geez, Laney – sorry to hear that.’
‘Are you?’ I ask with unmasked scepticism.
‘I only want you to be happy,’ she says gently.
‘Yeah, I know.’
‘And maybe this will be a wake-up call. He’s never seen this side of you before – maybe he’ll realise you aren’t such a pushover after all, and he’ll come crawling on his hands and knees, begging you to take him back.’
‘First off, if the pushover remark was supposed to be a compliment, it wasn’t.
’ She sniggers and I snort softly – almost a laugh.
‘Second, we didn’t break up – we had a fight.
Or I think we did. I yelled at him and he said he’d call when he got back to London.
And third, do you even want him to come crawling back? ’
‘In order: I’m sorry, got it, and no, not really.’
I heave out a noisy sigh.
‘So, what about Superman? What did you two get up to today?’
I tell her about the screenplay.
‘Oh, hon, you’ve got it bad,’ she says when I finish.
‘I know, right? I’ve got to get this movie made, Megs. I’ll take it to Raina – she loves character-driven pieces – and she loves me…’ I drawl. ‘Off the back of Baby Love, this could get me my first senior producer credit. Wouldn’t that be awesome?’
‘For sure, but that’s not what I meant.’
‘Oh? What did you mean?’
‘Laney, you’re catching feelings for the stuntman.’
‘It’s not that bad,’ I say, even though it is that bad – I literally just told myself the same frigging thing.
‘Okay, so what are you two doing tonight?’
It’s a trap! my mind yells.
‘Uh… we’ve got this dinner… True North organised it – it’s casual, no biggie.’
‘Uh-huh, sure. So what, like a food truck or something? They give you a panini to go and you wander the streets of Capri in your flip-flops?’
It’s irritating how well she knows me.
‘Fine, it’s at a fancy frigging restaurant and we’re dining at the chef’s table.’
‘So, you’re going on a date with Superman?’
‘He’s more of a Thor than a Superman – and it’s not a date,’ I say, lowering my voice and turning away from the door. If the past few days have taught me anything, this suite isn’t as big as it seems, and Nick could be hearing every word.
‘Okay, then what are you wearing – the black or the floral?’
This is a frigging trap because Megan helped me pack, so she knows I only brought two nice dresses: a sexy LDB that I bust out for every industry event shy of the Oscars, and a floaty floral that she strong-armed me into buying because (and I quote), ‘You look cute in it – sexy cute.’
It doesn’t matter which one I say – they’re both date dresses. And if I tell her it’s neither – that I bought a new one – that’ll be even more damning in her eyes.
‘Laney?’
Ah, fuck it. ‘I bought a new dress. It’s blue,’ I add for some reason.
‘Ah-hah!’
I roll my eyes – exactly as I’d anticipated.
‘Anyway, I’ve gotta go. We’re leaving soon and I haven’t finished my makeup.’
‘Ooh, going with a smoky eye or a bold lip?’ she teases – we both know I don’t do either.
‘Goodbye, Megan.’
I hang up before she can give me more shit, then go back inside.
Nick’s by the bar cart – as in right near the open balcony doors – with his back to me. God, I hope he didn’t hear any of that. He smiles over his shoulder.
‘I thought I’d make us a pre-dinner drink.’ He turns and presents me with a limoncello. ‘It’s from the gift pack but no ice, sorry.’
‘That’s okay – thanks,’ I say, accepting it.
Beyond that, I have no words, because he looks incredible.
He’s in dark-wash slim-fit jeans – but not the super-tight kind that look lame – a pale-blue linen shirt tucked in, with the sleeves rolled twice, and dark-brown dress shoes and a matching belt.
And he’s shaved. And tamed his thick hair, which is still damp from the shower.
‘You look nice,’ I say, not trusting myself to say more.
‘So do you,’ he says. ‘Sorry – I told you that earlier.’
‘All good,’ I reply with a smile.
He raises his glass, and I clink mine against it. We both take a sip, our eyes meeting over the rims. My stomach could win an Olympic diving competition right now – pike to a double back somersault, triple twist, and a clean entry before I plummet into the depths.
Feelings. Those are feelings. And I am running around with a frigging butterfly net.
‘Uh, I just need to finish my makeup,’ I say, tearing my eyes from Nick’s.
‘Oh, I thought you were ready.’
My eyes fly to meet his.
‘You look really pretty.’
I swallow – hard. I’m wearing the bare minimum – all I had time to apply before Megan called.
I go to speak, but Mark Darcy pops into my head, telling Bridget Jones that he likes her just as she is.
‘Uh,’ I say, doing my best to regain my composure, ‘I’ll go grab my purse.’
He smiles and my heart follows my stomach off the diving platform.