Chapter 20
NICK
I’m on the balcony in the egg chair, using my toes to rock it back and forth. I may be a giant ball of confusion, but I’m clear about one thing: I’m not in love with Pippa – I may never have been – and I can’t continue this engagement any longer.
She deserves the truth.
Only this isn’t the sort of conversation you have over the phone – unless… I unlock my phone and navigate to our text thread.
Our most recent exchange was last night. In a cruel twist of irony, Pippa’s message arrived right when Delaney and I were kissing under a full moon. I only saw it once I was out here, trying to get comfortable on the stupid sun lounger.
Went to the wonders of Iceland museum today. Very interesting. You would have liked it. What did you get up to? Px
On the surface, a cheery text, but I know Pippa, and she was putting on a brave face. I have no doubt she senses something’s off with us. Maybe she’s admitted to herself that it’s been broken for a while now.
Like I have.
Obviously, I couldn’t tell her the truth about my epiphany – not even about working on my screenplay with Delaney, because I didn’t trust myself to pass it off as ‘no big deal’. But I also didn’t want to lie. I agonised over my reply, finally settling on something vague and bland:
Explored the island. Very nice views. Dinner was good.
She must have been holding her phone when I replied because she messaged right back:
I miss you Nick *heart emoji*
I stared at those four words for minutes, knowing the whole time she was waiting for me to say something reassuring. Eventually, I typed a reply – one that sent a tidal wave of guilt crashing over me:
Miss you too x
Re-reading it now doesn’t feel any better than it did last night – in fact, it’s worse. Pippa deserves every happiness, and I hate that I’m going to hurt her more than I already have.
I also hate the niggling satisfaction that she didn’t mention Nicholas. If Pippa had connected with him in any way, or if she wanted to make me jealous, she would have brought him up.
Which makes you a raging hypocrite, James.
I am, but more concerning is what’s happening with Delaney.
We can’t have a repeat of last night – not while we’re committed to other people. And maybe she wants to work things out with Nicholas. I won’t know until I speak to her, but she practically ran out of here before I had the chance.
I spin my phone in my hands. It’s rubbish feeling like this – antsy. Maybe Dan’s up and if he isn’t, too bad – he will be soon.
I call him, half expecting to leave a message, but he answers straight away. And he’s panting.
‘Hello,’ he says breathily.
‘Please tell me you’re not— you know.’
‘Hah! As if – Becks is still asleep. I’m out for a run.’
‘Ah, torturing yourself.’
‘Hah!’ he scoffs again. ‘I’m keeping fit. Some of us have to work at it, you know.’
‘Mmm.’
‘What’s up?’ he asks.
‘Short answer or long?’
‘Take your time. I’ve got a couple of miles to go.’
‘I’m going to break things off with Pippa.’
‘What?’
‘I’m breaking things—’
‘No, I heard you, but what the hell are you talking about? If you were here, you’d be married by now.’ His voice sounds stronger now, so I’m guessing he’s stopped running.
‘Yeah, I understand that but…’
‘Don’t you love her any more?’
‘I do – I’ll probably always love Pip – but not romantically, no.’
‘Could you have figured that out before she roped me and Becks into attending a secret wedding in another country?’
‘Well, apparently not. Look, I called for a friendly ear, not a rap across the knuckles. And it’s hardly a sacrifice, you taking a holiday – and you said you’ve always wanted to go to Iceland.’
‘Sorry, mate – you’re right. So, now what? You going to bite the bullet? Do it right away?’
‘I— I don’t know. We’ve been together twelve years, Dan. Not sure it’s the right thing, ending it from here.’
‘Want me to run it past Becks? Get a woman’s perspective?’
‘Maybe. But I can message her if I need to. How is she, by the way?’
‘Becks? She’s—’
‘No, Pip.’
‘Oh. She seems okay. She’s been spending most of her time with Ashley.’
‘Right. I heard she invited the other Nicholas to dinner last night – with her family,’ I say.
‘Really? That’s odd.’
‘I know, and—’ The door to the room opens and closes – Delaney’s back. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. Talk soon, eh?’
‘Chin up, baby brother. You’ll figure it out.’
‘Yeah. Bye.’
I press the end call button right as Delaney steps onto the balcony carrying two coffees.
‘Hey,’ she says, holding out one of the cups, ‘I got this for you.’
‘Oh, thanks,’ I reply, taking it. I drink some – it’s not very hot, but it is good coffee. I really have been spoilt for Costa.
‘Do you know what I hate?’ she asks out of nowhere.
‘Uh, nope, can’t say I do,’ I reply with a curious smile.
‘It’s that thing in movies or TV shows where the actors are walking around with takeout coffee cups and they’re waving them about’ – she demonstrates – ‘like it’s not painfully obvious there’s nothing in them.’
I laugh. ‘Oh, yeah – hate that. So distracting,’ I tease.
‘Right? You’re supposed to be concentrating on the plot and all you can focus on is how everyone and everything in the scene would be covered in coffee.’
‘I take it that none of your films have this issue?’
‘Hell no. If there’s takeout coffee in the script, the actors get water in their cups. They splash, we cut, we do another take. The end.’
‘Revolutionising filmmaking one coffee at a time.’
‘You’re making fun of me, but yes.’
I smile, then take another sip, partly because I’m at a loss for words. I’d intended for us to have a serious conversation about what happened last night and possibly what we do next, but it’s way more fun bantering – even if it means shoving my head further into the sand.
‘So,’ she says, moving to the closest lounger and sitting on the edge. ‘Guess what we’re doing today?’
‘Is this a trick question?’
‘Why would it be?’
‘Because we’ve got to sort out the accommodation today.’
‘Oh sure, yeah,’ she says with a wave of her hand. ‘We can worry about that later.’
‘Delaney, what’s going on?’
‘We’re going on a double date.’ She catches herself almost immediately. ‘Well, not a date – but remember how we’re supposed to visit a limoncello distillery?’
‘Vaguely, but shouldn’t we—’
‘Well, Cherie and Marcus are coming too,’ she says in a rush.
It takes a moment for me to connect the names with the couple we met last night. ‘But how?’ I ask, when what I really want to know is why.
‘She DMed me and asked if we wanted to hang out and I said we already had plans and she kinda invited herself along – her and Marcus. But that’s cool, right?’
She looks at me with hopeful, slightly wild eyes, and god I want to kiss her right now. If only to stop her from rambling. Because it’s clear that under that bubbly surface, she’s as uneasy about our situation as I am.
‘Ah, yeah, that’s fine. But I thought they were single-serving friends?’
She lifts her shoulders, then lets them fall.
‘So, double-serving friends, then?’
‘Sure. Is it really okay that I said yes?’ she asks, her bravado slipping.
‘Of course, but shouldn’t we tal—’
‘Talk about what happened?’ she asks.
‘Yes.’
She inhales deeply and heaves out a loud breath.
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ she says, ‘but we’re not little kids and there’s every chance we’re going to be working together so…’
She tips up her coffee cup to take the last sip, grimacing as she swallows.
‘Cold?’ I ask.
‘Yeah.’
I cradle mine in my hands. We’ve done it again – taken a left turn to dodge the real conversation. But where do I even begin? I haven’t told Delaney about the would-be wedding, and if I tell her now, she might consider it deceitful that I’ve kept it to myself. Which I suppose it is.
‘There’s something I should tell you,’ I say.
‘That sounds ominous. Let me guess – you’re really an eastern-European prince in disguise, hiding out in Capri so you don’t have to take the throne?’
I snort out a laugh. ‘Where in god’s name do you come up with this stuff?’
She shrugs. ‘I read. And it’s a very popular romance trope.’
‘Okay, but we’re getting off track and I—’
She leaps up. ‘Can you hold that thought? I really need to pee.’
She goes inside, leaving a Delaney-shaped vacuum in her wake. She’s more guilty of avoidance than I am, but I can’t force her to talk about what’s going on, short of tying her to the bed and—
‘Nope, stop that immediately,’ I tell myself firmly.
We’ll go on this ‘double date’, as she called it, then we’re sitting down and talking things through like the grown-arse grown-ups we are.
* * *
‘Oh, you two are so cute together.’
Cherie beams at us while we wait in the tiled foyer of Liquorificio del Sole, a single-storey whitewashed building, with a handful of other tourists.
When I agreed to this outing, it didn’t occur to me that we’d have to maintain the ruse of being a couple. Delaney hooks her arm through mine, leaning in close and smiling up at me adoringly.
I remind my body – and my heart – that this is just an act. Only it isn’t, because there’s genuine attraction between us – and maybe something deeper – leaving me even more confused than ever.
Pretend to be a couple when you’re wondering if you could actually make it as a couple? What could possibly go wrong? I’d have been better off heading to the marina, renting one of those rusted-out rowboats, and paddling myself to the mainland. Far less risky.
At the designated time for the tour, a short, rotund man comes out of a door and around to our side of a long wooden counter.
‘Buongiorno!’ he says, giving us a welcoming grin. ‘Welcome to Liquorificio del Sole. I am Gennaro and my family has been making limoncello in this building for one hundred and two years.’
He pauses for effect as a soft chorus of ooh echoes around the room.
‘But before we came here, Nonna and Nonno – they made liqueur at home with lemons from the family grove on the mainland near Sorrento. They made it for themselves and their friends… Everybody loved it and one day, Nonno hears about a liquorificio opening here on Capri and he thinks, “We make the best lemon liqueur in the world – we should open a liquorificio too!” And the rest is history. Today, it is my brother and me who make the limoncello – but I am the good-looking one, so I do the tours,’ he adds with a cheeky wink, and titters of laughter ripple through the group.
‘And we still use the lemons from the family grove – and I know I am biased, but they are the best lemons, we have the best recipe, so we make the best limoncello. Come now, I show you how we make it, and then we test it out. Make sure it’s good, no? ’
He chuckles loudly at his own joke as he ushers us into the next room for the demonstration, and I lean down and whisper in Delaney’s ear, ‘How about that camera-ready performance? He so gets a cameo in Where the Road Ends.’
‘Right? He’s perfect,’ she replies, her face lit up. Delaney in producer mode is this intoxicating mix of infectious enthusiasm and cute-as-fuck sexiness. That last part is what will get me into trouble if I don’t rein it in.
The group assembles in a loose knot next to a still and, being the tallest, I hang back so the others can see. Delaney, who’s at least a foot shorter, edges her way to the front next to Cherie.
As Gennaro takes us through the ins and outs of limoncello making, my eyes keep landing on Delaney – it’s almost becoming a tic – and my mind begins to wander.
DELANEY COLE (32): down-to-earth, appreciates the little things, genuinely interested in others, creative thinker with a strong work ethic, avoids difficult conversations, witty as hell, sexy but doesn’t seem to realise it.
If I were casting the role of Delaney, I know exactly who I’d ask to read: Britt Robertson, Zoey Deutch, Kaitlyn Dever, maybe Hayley Lu Richardson. All talented – all with that girl-next-door appeal.
Only I’m not casting a role. Delaney’s real and she’s right here and if I don’t handle this situation perfectly, I’ll lose any chance of seeing if our budding friendship could become more.
Because I do want more – even if we don’t end up making my film together.
I missed something Gennaro said, but it must have been funny because Delaney looks over her shoulder, shooting me a smile that ignites my insides.
When I return it, she scrunches her nose, and I draw in a sharp breath. Her eyes stay on mine for a moment longer and it’s only after she turns around that I puff my cheeks and slowly exhale.
I am seriously, seriously smitten. Maybe Dan’s right – maybe I should bite the bullet and end things with Pippa as soon as possible. I suppose I could do it via video call – less cowardly than a phone call…
But no. It’s Pip and she deserves a face-to-face finale to our relationship.
The demonstration ends and I’ve barely heard a word. For all I know, Gennaro claimed that limoncello was a gift to humans from an alien lifeform. Or that Bacchus himself appeared before Nonna and Nonno to share the recipe.
As the group moves into the next room for tastings, Delaney hangs back, waiting for me.
‘Cool, huh?’ she asks.
‘Uh, yes, absolutely.’
She eyes me dubiously. ‘And what about how they soak the lemons in seawater before they add them to the still?’
‘Mmm, fascinating.’
‘You weren’t listening, were you?’
‘Got a little distracted,’ I reply, being more candid than I should be.
‘By?’
I stare into her eyes, dropping my gaze to her mouth for the briefest moment, then lifting it again. A flurry of emotions flashes in her eyes, and she seems to settle on the same one as me.
‘Oh.’ Her lips curl slightly at the corners – not quite a smile, but something even more enticing, more knowing.
‘Do we have plans after this?’ I ask, my voice low.
‘You mean with Cherie and Marcus?’ I nod. ‘Not yet.’
‘Don’t make any.’
She gasps, followed quickly by a gulp. ‘Okay,’ she whispers.
‘Come, come – we’re tasting now,’ Gennaro calls from the doorway, beckoning us with a vigorous wave.
‘Sorry!’ Delaney calls back.
She meets my eye again, flashes me a mischievous smile, then rushes to join the others in the next room. I take my time following, adjusting my trousers as surreptitiously as possible. It’s a good thing I wore my shirt untucked today.