Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
F ive a.m. is an ugly time of day. Not outside. Outside it’s an ashy dawn, ready for the first summer streaks of sun, and looks rather beautiful. In the early morning light, I can just make out the stone- and terracotta-coloured rooftops dotted on the nearby hills. Being here makes my heart happy. It’s truly beautiful.
Inside is a different story. I’m exhausted. After the family dance, I went straight to my room. But I didn’t sleep well. I tried calling Adam, but it wouldn’t go through, and I fell asleep in my clothes with my phone in my hand.
When I wake up there are no texts. But then I calculate my five a.m. is his two p.m., and hurriedly dial his number.
He answers on the third ring.
‘Adam! Hello! How are you?’
‘I’m great, Gemma.’ Just hearing his voice, so familiar and calm, I feel a sense of relaxation spread across me.
‘How’s things at home?’ I lie back in the large lounge chair and stare out the window, watching Tuscany wake up and the sky become a grey, milky white. I put my hand on the window and it’s warmish already.
‘Good, really good. Prepping for the big role. I got a Hugo Boss suit, dark navy; it’s great, Gemma. And new aftershave. I’ve just popped some things in the washing machine and really, I’m all ready to go.’
‘Sounds great, babe. So, it’s crazy over here.’ I tell him quickly everything, from Weasel to the beautiful hotel we’re staying in, to the drinks and dancing last night. ‘He’s into supermodels and bridesmaids and threesomes, and he probably has a thousand STDs, so I feel like disinfecting myself.’
He gives a quick laugh. ‘I’m sure you’ve got this, Gemma. I have no doubt.’ He pauses. ‘I found some new apartments I think you’re going to love.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, I can send them to you.’
‘I don’t think my phone’s working over here. I didn’t get any texts from you, so maybe Messenger isn’t working properly.’
‘I didn’t send any texts.’
‘You didn’t?’ I ask, surprised.
‘No, you were sad, and it wasn’t great the way we left things, was it?’
I remember me asking him to come to Italy with me, and him saying no, and me feeling a bit upset, and Adam saying he couldn’t talk when things got too emotional because that never goes well.
‘I guess not.’
‘I wanted you to calm down a little before we spoke again, and so I left you to it. And you sound great now, Gemma, really good. And I’m so glad.’
‘Yeah… okay.’ Adam is the most rational man I’ve ever met, and whilst his calmness usually sooths me, sometimes – like now – I feel a deep twinge of dismay that he needed time away until things calmed down. Well, really, until I calmed down.
‘I’ll send you that townhouse information. There’s a block of them for sale. Tell me which one you like and we’ll book in an inspection when you get home. Love you.’
‘Love you too.’ I stare at my phone after he hangs up, feeling something I can’t place. Anyway, now isn’t the time to analyse; I have a photo shoot to attend.
I pull on my sweatpants, a singlet and the bathrobe over the top. Something white, I giggle, and make my way down to the foyer.
‘Well, don’t you look…’ Weasel’s eyes take me in as he sits on the couch wearing low-slung black sweatpants and a tight white T-shirt.
‘Lovely?’ I offer. ‘Fetching?’
‘Like a terry-towelling meringue.’
‘Perfect. All brides should look like a meringue, even stand-in ones.’
‘I got you a coffee.’ Weasel holds up a takeaway cup. Inside is a milky cappuccino.
‘Oh, I don’t drink normal milk,’ I say, handing the cup back. ‘I only drink…’
‘Soy.’ He hands the cup back to me. ‘With extra froth. By the way, the barista looked at me like ordering soy was a murderous act in Italy.’
I squint at the coffee, trying to figure it out. Has he put laxatives in there? ‘How did you know?’
‘Gemma, I’m your loving boyfriend, I know these things.’
I still can’t puzzle it out, but then realise Ruby must have given him a list of pointers.
I take a grateful sip of coffee, and the warmth slides down my throat. ‘Ahhh, the elixir of the gods.’
Weasel laughs. ‘I agree. Especially at this early hour.’ He lifts his drink and before I can pull away, he puts his coffee lid to mine, and cheers.
I pull mine away and take a long sip. I can’t trust this guy, not for a second. It’s all just an act. And I feel confident I’ve built a pretty accurate version of Weasel in my head as a charming, cut-throat liar.
‘You know, you’re actually quite interesting, Gemma.’
Ahhh, so this is how he does it. The charm offensive so many girls fall for. He must think I’m completely na?ve, or stupid. I roll my eyes.
‘Really? Does that actually work? Coffee and a one-line compliment?’
He holds a poker face for a few seconds before he breaks out in a grin. ‘Actually, yes, it kind of does.’
‘They must be very easy targets.’
‘Perhaps…’ His tone is slightly bashful but still confident. ‘Maybe I just need more of a challenge.’
‘Maybe you need a soul.’
He tilts his head, staring at me, his face going slightly red as if he’s fighting something, or struggling to breathe. Then he puts his head back and laughs loudly, his perfect teeth making him look like he’s in a toothpaste commercial. When he’s finished, he grins at me.
I realise I’ve never heard him laugh like that, and it almost makes me smile. Almost . But only because he’s practically heaved up a lung.
‘You sound like a walrus.’ I can’t help slipping the boot in, just in case he thought we were getting friendly. We aren’t.
‘You’re so different outside of work.’ Then he puts his hands up. ‘Not a line, I promise.’
‘Thank God. Save them for the bridesmaids.’
‘No, I’m spoken for.’
‘You are?’ Not that I care.
‘With you.’
‘ Right , of course.’
I can feel him looking at me, his head tilted to the side taking me in. God, he’s cocky.
‘You know, Miss Meringue, I think for this whole charade to be a bit easier, maybe you could start being civil, and stop calling me Weasel?’
I’m about to protest when he says, ‘Even in your head.’
I shrug. ‘Only if you can stop chatting up bridesmaids. I don’t want to find my perfect boyfriend is doing bits in a broom closet.’
‘Not my style.’
‘Really though? Isn’t it?’ I say. When I heard he was into supermodels, I googled him. Of course I did. And Ruby was kinda right: there are lots of photos of sunsets and sunrises, and him watching the sunsets and sunrises with a model blonde, and then a stunning brunette. Too many to count.
He’s about to say something when Emily the photographer bursts through the doors, profusely apologising for being late. She has a fearful look and seems to think I’m about to go bridezilla by proxy like Lulu would have, but I just say it’s okay, and she immediately relaxes.
It’s still a little pre-dawn chilly outside, despite it being summer. We walk through the damp grass, past the herb garden, the rose garden, the large stone-statue fountain. Geraniums spill over the hotel balconies, bright blood red and fuchsia pink, and a shy soft white.
My breath is hot and foggy in the fresh air as we walk between large cypress trees, and the cool air smells like earth. I notice Weasel’s chest seems to harden, not that I’m looking, but it’s difficult not to with his thin white T-shirt, especially when Emily positions us against the hills, facing the hotel, where behind us the sun is about to rise. We stand about two feet apart and I feel a bit awkward, so I undo and re-tighten my bathrobe for no reason.
‘Can you get a bit closer together?’ she’s yelling from thirty feet away, disturbing all the poor summer crickets who are just trying to have a sleep in. I’m pretty sure Emily is thinking we deserve all the WORST EVER awards as a couple.
‘Put an arm around each other.’
I hesitate. I don’t want to touch him. It’s only then that I really come face-to-face with this whole charade. Everyone here thinks we are in love. They would be expecting a lot more than touching arms. What the fuck am I doing?
Weasel steps closer, and I try not to inhale the pleasant woodsy smell of him. His muscles distract me momentarily but then he slides one arm around me, and it feels like a snake that initially you’re not worried about because it’s not venomous, but then you realise it’s giving you a really tight hug, and you’re like, Oh, it’s a bone crusher and I’m gonna die because I wasn’t on my game.
Weasel is looking at me. ‘What are you thinking about?’
‘Why?’
‘It’s the same expression you sometimes get at work too, in the pitch meetings.’
‘You stare at me in meetings? Stalker.’
‘Only when I think you’re about to have a seizure. So?’
‘I’m thinking about snakes.’ I shrug matter-of-factly. ‘That bone-crush you.’
He laughs loudly, again. He tips his head back and almost cackles, and it’s so catching that I can’t help but giggle too.
‘I like this side of you.’
‘The right side?’ I ask because that’s the cheek that was shoved in his direction.
‘The truthful side.’
I raise my eyebrows so high they almost hide in my hairline. ‘I am truthful,’ I say proudly, like I’m a two-year-old about to provide a list of points as to why I should be chosen for the kindergarten relay team, but thankfully stop myself. Who cares what he thinks.
Weasel challenges me. ‘Do you really think Gavin’s three children are lovely? Have you even met them?’
Annoyance bubbles in my chest. ‘ Four . Four children. I have seen many photos,’ I respond, looking into his annoying blue eyes. ‘And listened to many stories. And this is what caring about other humans feels like.’
‘I’m an honest guy and upfront?—’
‘Direct. Rude. Inconsiderate. There are so many better synonyms.’
‘And honestly , you could have spent your time a lot better than chatting in the kitchen. You could have been chasing and signing new authors, finding ways to increase sales, and?—’
My blood boils. ‘Stepping over people to climb to the top? Such wonderful leadership qualities.’
‘SORRY, CAN WE LOSE THE BATHROBE?’ Emily shouts like we’re on the set of a bad porn, interrupting our little spat.
Begrudgingly, I loosen it and throw it to the side, and am left standing in a singlet that has been accidentally couldn’t-be-bothered-to-do-separate-loads washed with colours so is now off-white, and grey sweat pants.
‘Are those from the plane? Or is your entire wardrobe grey?’ Weasel smirks.
‘I like to be comfortable and not force myself into little dresses. People don’t have to look amazing all the time.’
He smirks. ‘Mission accomplished.’
Ugh, I detest this lump pretending to be human.
Emily orders us into more faux romantic positions. Leaning back towards each other, separated by rose bushes. I like that one, extra distance. Him walking ahead of me, towards the sunrise – separately thank goodness – both of us looking back over our shoulders. I feel ridiculous doing something so delicate in grey sweats.
‘This feels…’ I say, struggling to find the words. Awkward? Weird? Horrible?
‘Like you’ve always dreamt.’ Weasel winks.
I’m sure if he keeps speaking like this, I’ll just start yelling, ‘YOU’RE A DICKHEAD’, which isn’t something you want to yell at the person you’re supposedly madly in love with.
‘My dreams definitely wouldn’t have you in them.’
When Emily asks him to get down on one knee and look up at me with adoration, the absurdity of what is happening suddenly dawns on me: I’m with my archnemesis in a field in Italy pretending I love him while he looks like he’s proposing.
He shrugs as if it’s something he’s done before, and I realise he’s probably dated so many people he’s proposed multiple times, not because he actually wanted to get married, but because he’s a player that has a charade to hold up, lying to keep girls around. I take delight in thinking they said no, or that they ended things wretchedly, because I dislike him so much. In any case, I like that for once he’s down on the ground.
I can’t help myself. ‘You look at home down there.’
He winks. ‘I have many talents, including on my knees.’
‘Oh God. Disgust— I can’t even. I mean, how did we even get here ?’
‘By plane.’
‘OKAY, HOLD HANDS NOW, SIDE BY SIDE AND FACE ME.’
He stands up and holds out a hand, and for a few seconds I wonder how it will feel to touch it. I hesitate.
‘Seriously, I must have committed some atrocity in a past life…’
‘How about lying by niceness? In this life.’
I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.
He reaches over to hold my hand, and I expect it to be horrible. But as soon as we touch, a zing goes up and down my spine. I look away and pretend it didn’t just give me a little shiver that’s still reverberating across my chest and giving me tingles.
‘KEEP HOLDING HANDS BUT A LITTLE CLOSER.’
Emily is now on my hit list. I think about taking her out with a three-day-old Italian pastry, throwing it right at her camera or at her head, anything, so we can just stop this nightmare.
‘Look at us holding hands, who would have thought?’
‘Honestly, holding hands with you is worse than the worst torture.’ This of course isn’t true. His hand is quite perfect actually – largish and muscular, like he’s from the country and has spent years planting trees or something, but with fingernails that are manicured – but he doesn’t need to know that.
‘Breaking bones on a rack?’
‘Child’s play compared to this.’
‘Water infinitely dripping on your head?’
‘Like a fun water park.’
He thinks carefully. ‘Hmmm, how about solitary confinement and sleep deprivation?’
‘I am experiencing all those things right now.’ Then I can’t help myself. I want to take him down a peg or two; something about him brings out the worst in me. ‘Actually … being here with you is like the worst torture of all, for which I’m paying with a pound of flesh.’
When he doesn’t say anything, I think, Ha, got him . Not the English major he pretends to be. Finally, I roll my eyes for extra effect and say triumphantly, ‘Shakespeare.’
‘Yes, Shylock, I got the reference. The human heart weighs about a pound, so basically you’re saying that you would pay with your heart for me to come to this wedding. Awww, Gemma, that’s so sweet.’
I really hate him.
‘OKAY, TURN AND FACE EACH OTHER. GEMMA, PUT YOUR ARMS AROUND HIS NECK.’
I want to shout NO, but I can’t. Instead I turn my body to face his, put my arms around his muscular neck, and stare intently at his cheek, not his eyes. But I can see his stubble making him look more masculine, and the line of his square jaw, his lips, so I look over his shoulder towards a hilltop that is just becoming golden with the sunlight and it’s beautiful, and that’s the only reason I can stand here so close to this guy. The cicadas start to pulse from beneath every bush as the world wakes up.
‘So now we’re stuck here do you want to tell me the story of your family?’
‘Not really.’
‘But you probably should. Especially if I’m going to be the son-in-law.’
‘Please, I would never marry you.’
‘But you’d marry Adam?’
‘Of course. In fact, we will.’ And it gives me great satisfaction to say that. You can have your supermodels, Weasel, and I’ll have Adam.
He shrugs. ‘So you’re not going to tell me about Marla and your father?’
‘I am not.’
He looks over at me. ‘Are you going to tell me anything about any of your family?’
‘I am not.’ Weasel can never know about how deep the wounds run in my family. I could never trust him with one bit of information about myself.
‘What about the weird tension between you and your sister?’
‘Half-sister.’
He raises his eyebrows as if to make a point.
‘It’s fine.’ I shrug, giving my usual answer.
Weasel gazes at me. ‘Is it though? It’s okay if you’re not fine.’
My eyes quickly flick over his face, looking for signs of sarcasm, but there are none. I’m distracted slightly, because although I don’t go for looks, he really is a very handsome human up this close. It’s distracting. Pity he has no soul.
‘GREAT, JUST A BIT CLOSER.’
Weasel takes a half step confidently towards me. I mean to give him a stern look that says, Stay in your space , but I’m distracted by the way his neck is strong with muscles, and I can see the deep tan on his chest, making him a smooth olive colour. For some reason, I’d expected he’d be pale, but, quite frankly, he’s got a great tan, and I hate myself that I can’t seem to find anything out of place. My eyes take him in, up and down, looking for a flaw, any flaw.
‘What are you looking for?’ He’s watching me watch him.
The one thing about me, I’m quick-witted with words. ‘A pulse. Seems reptiles can get down to one beat per minute, so I’m just checking.’
He laughs. ‘Am I really that cold-blooded to you?’
‘Yes.’
He takes his hand and puts it on my cheek, softly, and I try not to feel the heat as my skin buzzes slightly. ‘See. Warm.’
I blink. My heartbeat quickens. This is weird.
‘BIT CLOSER.’
He leans in. My whole body stiffens. He’s so close now. I refuse to look at him, but I can feel his face is only inches from mine. He is broad, broader than I expected, and I can feel the strength of his muscles. And I don’t want to look at him because I don’t know what is happening. Instead, I look back at the sunrise, which is now streams of pink and orange, and the sun poking its head above the hills, until I think my retinas may permanently burn. I keep myself occupied by trying to name what I can see. Cerulean sky. Um… Tuscan yellow sun. Lemon yellow. Canary yellow. Butter. Marigold. Corn. Now I’m just listing things that are yellow and I feel ridiculous. I lean away slightly, and he wraps his hands tighter, pressing into my lower back. Warm and strong.
In spite of myself, I shiver. ‘Cold?’ he murmurs. ‘Or something else?’
I frown. ‘Cold.’
‘Really? I mean I could have guessed otherwise…’
My eyes flick to his for a second, and it’s a mistake I can’t undo. His piercing blue eyes are so intense, they burn into my soul.
‘Are you lying to me, Gemma Evans?’ His voice is smooth, deep; I feel it down to my toes. I smell him everywhere around me. Pine. Cedar. Woods and earth.
I narrow my eyes and am about to spitfire a response when Emily yells, ‘CAN YOU GUYS KISS? NOW THE SUN’S ALMOST UP, I NEED TO CHECK THE WHITE BALANCE.’
‘Well then…’ He sounds so cocky.
I narrow my eyes. ‘One hundred per cent never going to happen.’
‘Course not.’
‘Never.’
‘So then…’ He leaves it open, as if he’d kiss me, and now the ball’s in my court.
‘So then … nothing.’
‘ Gemma .’
‘ Weasel .’
He smirks. ‘Our photographer is waiting.’
I feel totally out of my depth right now. ‘We can pretend.’
‘How? You want me to put my hand on your mouth and then kiss that, like we’re back in school?’ He has the audacity to wink, because he knows it’s going to wind me up even more. And he’s a jerk because it works.
‘Are you high? Not at all.’ I sigh as if he’s completely dumb. ‘If you put your head forward, and I do too, but we’re inches apart, it will look the same from where she’s standing. As if we’re…’ I can’t bring myself to say it.
‘Kissing.’ He gives a short laugh. ‘You can’t even say it.’
‘Whatever.’ I just want this to be over. He’s still holding me, and we’re close, and my stomach is feeling jittery, and I tell myself it’s just the coffee. His entire charm assault, all the winking and smooth voice, is something I’ve seen him use with every girl in the office, but I’m different. I see his ways and I refuse to let them overwhelm me.
He leans in slightly, putting his lips right before mine. If I move a fraction they’ll touch. I try not to react like someone’s holding a dead rat near my mouth.
We stay there in silence for a second, until Emily, who is now a plague on my house, shouts, ‘BIT CLOSER.’
He pulls me towards him, his hands warm on my lower back. I feel my breathing get faster. He seems to watch my chest as it begins to rise and fall quicker.
‘You know, we may have to kiss sometime these next few days.’
‘No, we won’t,’ I squeak, even as my heart sinks. He’s probably right. What couple go four days without touching each other, or kissing? Jesus, I haven’t thought this plan through well at all.
‘We probably will.’
‘No, we won’t .’
‘Most definitely, even if it’s a cheek kiss.’
This gives me an idea. I look over at Emily, who has her hand on her hip, and seems to be waiting for us. I’m going to put myself out of this misery. Take matters into my own hands.
I lean forward quickly, aiming for his right cheek, the lower bit, close to his mouth, so it looks as though it’s on the lips to anyone far enough away. And I kiss him. My lips on his soft, stubbly cheek. For two long, horrible seconds. But he’s unprepared, so his eyes are open, and he looks surprised. I can feel my own body stiffen even more, and I realise my eyes are open too. I lean back and resist the urge to wipe my lips.
Weasel looks disgusted. ‘What was that?’
‘Quite like how I expect kissing Lucifer would feel.’
I mean awful and shite, but he raises his eyebrows and says, ‘Hot?’ then shakes his head as if I have a lot to learn if I think that’s a great kiss.
That’s the last thing I need, a kissing tutorial from this wanker who clearly thinks he is a gift to all women. Because I personally would like a refund.
‘CAN YOU KISS AGAIN? LONGER, SO I CAN CHECK THE FRAMING.’
In the background I see the doors to the hotel foyer open, and Lulu and Chip, and a small entourage including the bridesmaids, step into the courtyard. Lulu has large sunglasses on and is holding a giant coffee, and I can tell that from behind those fly eyes she is scrutinising everything we’re doing. The last thing I need is her seeing me in this position. She’d know in a heartbeat that it was off. A first kiss. A kiss I don’t want. She has a sense about these things.
‘Does your boyfriend kiss well? Just imagine him.’
Ugh. What a jerk. Still, I think back to Adam. His kisses are nice. Dependable. Warm.
‘Yes, he kisses just fine, thank you.’
‘Good, so do I. When I kiss someone, I want you to know, I mean it.’
I want to roll my eyes. This is like a B-grade romance film. I’m about to say something snarky in reply when I see Lulu walking closer, and staring at us. She lifts her sunglasses as if this is about to be an inspection. I can just imagine her yelling out, ‘Why aren’t you guys kissing?’
Weasel’s eyes flicker over, and I know he sees her too. Before I can say anything, he leans in, holds my face with one hand and pulls me into him, staring at my mouth.
We’re this close .
Without warning, his mouth finds mine. Easily. An electric jolt runs up my spine. His lips are soft. His warm mouth pressing against mine. God, he really knows what he’s doing. He holds me behind my neck, tugs my hair, and his mouth opens a little more. He kisses me softly, then slightly more passionately, trailing his finger across my cheek. The graze of his finger makes my skin tingle. He tastes like coffee and mint. My heart is pounding. My knees are buzzing. When he finally steps back, I can see his chest is rising and falling quickly too.
‘Like that.’ His voice is lower, rougher.
What the actual fuck?
‘Why did you do that ?’ Disentangling myself and stepping back, I want to scrape my tongue but Lulu is still watching. I want to tell him off, but also I can’t get my breath. I can feel the coolness of the early morning float over my arms, now his warmth isn’t near me. I try to hate him, but I’m stirred. Like every part of me is alive, my skin, my hair, tingling. My body is a traitor.
‘People were watching.’ He gives a brief wave towards Lulu and Chip. Chip returns the wave, but Lulu just tilts her head as if she’s trying to work something out.
‘You didn’t need to do that .’ What a monster. Trying to show off his kissing techniques.
‘You know I did. Lulu needed to be convinced.’
I scoff at that, but he’s right. If we hadn’t kissed there would have been questions. He picks up my bathrobe with surprising care and offers it to me. I tighten it around myself, well aware I look even frumpier now Lulu is fifty metres away in a matching crop top and long pants that are mocha latte coloured.
‘Besides, I don’t know where those have been either.’ I motioned to his lips.
‘Well, on a coffee. A toothbrush. Maybe a water bottle too.’
I was going to say something else, something I wanted to be scathing, to stop this horrible guy from perfectly kissing people, but Emily shouts, ‘GREAT, THANKS, GUYS, WE’RE DONE.’
I start walking back towards the grand hotel entry, trying to tell myself it wasn’t a giant mistake bringing a blind date to Lulu’s wedding. Even though it was, clearly, the biggest mistake I could have ever made.
I briefly wave at Chip and Lulu and stop for some excruciating small talk, asking how they slept, even though all I desperately want is a shower and to wipe my lips. Weasel is off chatting to some other groomsmen I haven’t met, so I gratefully make a quick exit, mumbling something about a long, hot shower.
I'm halfway across the foyer, and I can still smell his tell-tale scent, mint, around me. Lingering like a bad smell . I feel annoyed, and irritable, and something else I can’t put my finger on.
It isn’t until I get into the lift that I recognise the feeling… wobbly . Must be low blood sugar.