Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
C old showers. That is the answer to all of these ridiculous feelings and thoughts inside my head. I try not to think about what just happened and instead retreat to my hotel room, forgoing the couples massage.
I pace up and down asking the same question over and over: what just happened?
I really have no fucking idea. And no amount of flashbacks, over-analysis, or Venn diagramming is going to help me decipher this strange afternoon.
We’ll have to talk about this, yes? Or do we just both ignore it, and continue to act normal? God, it’s a freak-show kinda world.
Just in case, I choose the frumpiest maroon dress I can find in my suitcase. Very librarian. Wait, is librarian sexy? I think it is, so instead I select the nightie dress, and even consider leaving a roller in my hair. Does this erase the fact that just an hour ago, my naked breasts were on his chest and it made my body tingle?
By the time I’m ready, it’s almost four-thirty p.m. and we have to be in the bar, on strict Lulu orders, at least ten minutes before five p.m. for this big reveal, whatever it is. I, myself, need a lot of alcohol, because I just felt Ben’s penis against my right thigh, and it was not small.
STOP IT.
Inside the hotel’s classy wine bar, a small crowd of the wedding party and family is gathering. The pyramid of champagne glasses is tempting. Big armfuls of stunning blue hydrangeas, picked fresh from the garden, line the room.
Next to the bar, Chip and Lulu look almost identical in their nautical luxury clothes. If I tried to pull off that outfit, I’d look like a tennis coach, not someone who should be laid out on a sundeck asking for more champagne with their caviar.
As I wave, Lulu gives a look of disgust. She goes to the trouble of looping the silk scarf from her neck around her nose and mouth, as though just being in the same room as me could make her sick.
Despite her makeshift mask, I can still tell she’s scowling as her eyes flash me daggers. Still, I have to get this over with, so I take a deep breath and walk towards them. Remember, brides get like this. Just apologise and move on.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say with a tentative smile, and even though something in me is itching to say, Are you sorry too? I shove that inner voice down, and smile harder.
But Lulu just squints slightly and I know underneath the scarf her mouth is scowling. ‘Gemma, it was so inappropriate, and so embarrassing.’
‘I know.’
‘I had to apologise to the mayor. I think you should too.’
‘I will. I didn’t plan on getting sick. It just happened.’ And then I feel like I’m grovelling, yet again, and I hate myself for a second. ‘Let me go and find the mayor, make my amends.’
I find the mayor, and I am charming Nelly Nicepants, before slipping in a ‘Did you see that girl last night getting sick in the pot plant?’, and when she says she did, I confess it was me. I apologise, fall on my own sword and say I’d had a twenty-four-hour stomach bug, but it has passed. But then she looks at me as though I were still contagious, backs away and says she needs another drink, even though her vodka on the rocks is still three quarters full.
Speaking of drinks, I need one too. I take a quick glance around the room but Weasel isn’t here. Thank God. I scull an entire coupe of champagne, and manage a good go at another before a deep, suggestive voice resonates right behind me.
‘Gemma.’
I inhale the smell of him, cedar and warmth. He steps around so he’s at my side, facing me. This close he towers over me. I’m already slightly tipsy, but seeing him again is stone-cold sobering. His hair is perfect, waving and with volume that comes without the need for hairspray or gel. He hasn’t shaved and the darker stubble accentuates his jawline. He’s so goddamn hot. He’s wearing a white polo and navy shorts, and I wonder if his clothes are brand-new. Everything about him always seems so polished.
‘Good to see you … clothed.’ A small hint of a smile plays at the corners of his smooth, full lips.
I feel my pulse quicken and my cheeks already blushing. Not knowing how to respond to the reminder of being naked and pressed against him, I take a long gulp of champagne, and put the glass on the table.
When I fail to respond, I feel his eyes watch my cheeks redden. ‘Are you thinking about our little rendezvous earlier?’
Thankfully, just then Marla saunters past. ‘Oh Ahhhdam,’ she coos. ‘I heard you did the name tags? How thoughtful.’
‘It was mostly Gemma.’ Weasel glances at me.
She turns as if seeing me for the first time. ‘Oh, Gemma. You came. How…’ She doesn’t finish the sentence because I can see her eyes trail across Weasel’s smooth chest and perfect abdomen. She is undressing him with her eyes and purposefully leaning forward as if offering Weasel a glimpse of her cleavage. A strong wave of nausea flows through me.
Even Lulu, walking towards us, glares at Marla like she’s out of her mind. Lulu catches my eye, and for a second, she gives a mini shrug, as if to say, Mothers .
For a glorious moment, I think, Yes, there’s hope! I want to turn around and say to Weasel, ‘See, there is good in everyone; we can all connect . We are sisters.’
But then Lulu sniffs as she waits for the waiter to pop open a new bottle of champagne, and looks at me, and I can tell what’s coming next is going to be something nasty. She always does this when she sends little barbs my way, and my toes curl in trepidation inside my two-inch heels. ‘You know, you guys seem … perfect together.’
My heart skips a beat. ‘We do ?’
She tilts her head to the side. ‘I never thought I could picture it at first. But there’s definitely something there.’
I’m stunned into silence.
I hear Weasel say breezily, ‘You’re right. There is.’ And I can’t tell if he’s being facetious. Casually, he drapes his arm around me, so it rests on my hip, warm and heavy, and pulls me into him, so close our entire bodies are touching. The way he looks at me, adoring, is exactly the way a loving boyfriend should. His act is so convincing, I feel a buzzing underneath my skin. I can’t hide the feel-good factor that flutters in my chest.
Help me .
Lulu turns to me and says with a slight hint of confusion, ‘I like him.’ As if she’d been sure until that moment she wouldn’t like anything to do with me.
‘Yep, good,’ I manage to say, because my brain is racing and Weasel’s hand is still resting hotly on my hip. He squeezes me quickly, a sly grin on his face, and I try not to yelp. I take my drink and almost down it in one large gulp.
Lulu grabs Chip’s arm and is about to head over to her girlfriends when she turns around to add, ‘I hope you’re not thinking about coming to the wedding rehearsal tonight? I can’t imagine how it would look if everyone was talking about you getting sick in a plant, rather than focusing on the preparation. But then, I suppose it won’t matter as you’re not in the bridal party anyway. We can find someone else to do the music.’
God. Is that what my role was tonight? Delegated DJ? I could say so many things, but I choose to keep the peace, like any big sister would. I close my eyes, take a quick deep breath or two and go to my happy place. For a second I feel I have nailed life because I feel infinitely better, but it also could just be the chilled champagne in my hand. ‘Sure, okay.’
‘But you do have to come to the lawn for the big surprise.’ Lulu squeezes Chip’s arm, and they smile triumphantly at each other. ‘A very big surprise.’ Lulu turns and says to Weasel, ‘You can come too’ in a tone that suggests she’s just given him access to the most prestigious club.
‘Well, thanks.’ He seems amused at her offer, but thankfully she doesn’t notice.
Marla leaves in a shroud of musky perfume, and Lulu and Chip descend onto the lawn to prep for the big surprise.
Once they’ve left, Weasel gives me a mystified look. ‘Um, excuse me?’
‘You’re excused, Satan.’
Weasel turns to face me. ‘Seriously, you’ve got to be kidding.’
I look at him wide-eyed. ‘The lawn surprise?’
‘Not that. What Lulu just said.’
‘Well, yeah, but she’s a bride and it’s her wedding—’ I shrug.
He cuts me off. ‘That’s what you are? Bunting and music?’
‘I may also be a side act too; I can do a mean trapeze show. We did it once for a Christmas event at work. I even attempted a somersault dismount, I’ll have you know. Didn’t go well. Landed weirdly on my shoulder in the net, but still.’
But he doesn’t smile. ‘She didn’t even apologise for last night. Did you want me to say something?’
I laugh. ‘Are you feeling swoony? Protective? Getting on your horse to come and save the day?’
‘No, I just… Why don’t you say something?’
He doesn’t get it. ‘You think the worst of everyone, don’t you?’
‘And you always think the best of everyone. So, you find yourself in situations like this. Not saying anything, when you should. And the Gem I’ve gotten to know here is so much more than that.’
He leaves that last sentence hanging in the air. I’m not sure how to respond. But I’m in no mood to be intrigued.
‘Well, you keep people at a distance. And that means you’ll probably end up alone and sad, like a little … crab … a hard shell to crack.’
He gives a wry smile. ‘A crab ?’
I shrug. It wasn’t my best. ‘I’m still suffering from post-fever brain delirium.’
‘Well, I think you shouldn’t always think the best of people. People can be shitty. Exhibit A.’ He points towards the ballroom. ‘You have to be cautious. And you can’t always keep the peace.’
‘Ha.’ The thought of him teaching me something feels ludicrous. In fact, it irritates me.
‘Just … say something. Stick up for yourself.’
I step away from him. ‘Well, maybe you could learn some things too, like this concept of being considerate, and compassionate. Besides, I like everything to be peaceful. This whole thing will blow over soon, and I want them to be happy.’
‘At the cost of your own happiness?’
I go to open my mouth but I don’t know what to say. He has a point. This nutter has a goddamn point.
‘I don’t need your help,’ I announce proudly. Good sisters stay in their lane. They support, they cajole, they do what is asked, what’s expected. But how could I expect him to know this? He’s not a girl, not a sister, and not at his family’s wedding.
‘Well, I can, you know, say something. You can even blame it on me.’
‘This princess, is fine.’ I winked at him. ‘Abort that horse mission.’
* * *
Twenty minutes later, the concierge ushers the families outside for the big reveal.
Lulu has pulled out all the stops, but this one is another level of crazy.
On the bottom lawn, near a long path (which I now understand is an airstrip), is a small plane about to take the Evans and Montague families on a scenic flight.
We’re about to experience Italy by the skies, and God love her, she’s even managed to get the pilot to come out and meet us, carrying a Lulu and Chip’s Wedding banner.
I’m almost convinced she thinks she’s the President of the United States. Mr Montague claps everyone on the back – that’s the kinda guy he is, a tall, silver-haired gentleman, who swills whiskey and stands in libraries and claps people on the back. I bet he even calls them ‘old boy’.
He claps Weasel on the back, and for once cool-as-hell Weasel splutters.
‘You all right son?’ Mr Montague’s voice booms out, so everyone looks at Weasel.
‘Fine.’ Weasel nods quickly.
‘He does look a little pale.’ That’s Lulu, and if one should know pale, it’s her.
‘No, he’s just a vampire,’ I joke, and then think about him nibbling my neck and I have to scurry my thoughts somewhere else.
‘Hi, Mr Montague, we haven’t officially met. I’m Gemma,’ I said, feeling like I’m back at school.
‘Philip,’ he booms before moving on, and I think, He should be American . And have paddocks, or an acreage down in Texas.
Weasel is peering at me. ‘You have the look again. What are you thinking about?’
I’m trying not to directly look at his smooth lips, chiselled jaw, perfect face…
‘He’s an oil baron down in Texas,’ I muse, tilting my head and looking at Mr Montague. ‘One loaded shotgun and a world to take revenge against.’
Weasel gives a small laugh. ‘I’m rather enjoying these Gemma daydreams.’
‘It’s how my mind works. Sometimes there’s an entire movie in there.’
‘Have you ever written them down?’
I’m about to say, I do, I have, I did. I wrote about Italy once, about how food brings people together. No one liked it. But this doesn’t seem like the time to bring this up.
Everyone lines up to get onto the plane. Lulu saying dismally, ‘God, it’s much smaller than it looked in the photos.’ I assume she’d pictured a private jet with champagne and here we are in a little twelve-seater with plastic arm rests.
Before I climb on, I lean in and apologise for my sister, but the pilot just smiles. Either he can’t understand me, or they’ve paid through the nose for this. Both is my guess.
Weasel sits next to me, on the window side. We haven’t been this close to each other since a few fateful hours ago during MudGate. Apparently armrests between seats aren’t a thing in Italy, so he’s almost touching me ankle to thigh, while completely pressed against me hip to arm. I do my best to ignore it, but his entire energy is like a heartbeat pounding next to me.
I’m about to break the ice, say something about being squished together as we die, when I turn towards him and realise he looks extremely uncomfortable. And pale. Much paler than he did outside.
Suddenly, he isn’t at all like the suave guy he is in the boardroom, or the first night here on the plane, or in the ballroom. In fact, he was looking positively nauseous.
‘I don’t feel great.’ He’s right; he doesn’t look great either. He’s sweating a lot on his forehead.
‘I didn’t realise being so close to me would make you so sick,’ I joke.
‘No, it’s not that, it’s…’ He looks around. ‘I’m just going to close my eyes for a second.’
He’s almost shaking. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I … I…’
I’ve never seen him like this. ‘Do you have what I had the other night?’
He shakes his head.
‘Then, what is it?’
Finally, he says in a small voice, ‘I hate tiny planes.’
Oh.
I look around. This plane is indeed tiny, far from the airbus we flew in from Australia. This one is rickety with a tiny wheeze of an engine.
So, we have found something the infallible Weasel can’t do. I want to feel smug about this. I want to feel smug as hell, because I love tiny planes. I love the excitement. The thrill when it gets a little bumpy, the feeling of the air rushing around us, dipping with the currents, but I can’t.
I can’t because Weasel isn’t just work Weasel anymore. He’s the guy who helped me when I was sick. And now it’s my turn.
‘Tiny planes are okay, and if we plummet to death, at least we’re together.’
He gives me a pained look.
‘No? Not funny?’
His face has a green tinge. ‘Why can we see the pilot? There isn’t even a door!’
‘Okay, wait.’ I dig around in my handbag and pull out the two little bottles of white wine that I stashed in there, just in case. ‘Scull them.’
This is a great time to joke about me being the Mary Poppins of alcohol but he doesn’t. He looks panicked. His face is ghostly, a sheer white.
‘You can do this.’ I open the twist tops for him, and he takes the first one, then the second one, downing them in seconds.
Aunty Janice leans through the seats from behind us like a stealth ninja murderer and says, ‘What a wonderful way to see Italy at night. We’re apparently going to get so close to the Duomo we could land on it!’
‘Great!’ I’m excited but Weasel looks like he’s going to pass out.
As the plane makes a tiny whirring start-up sound, Weasel looks as if he’s forgotten how to swallow. He’s lost all ability to be confident or charming. He breathes heavily, his chest going up and down. Part of me wants to put my hand on his chest, and reassure him, It’s okay, calm down .
But I definitely don’t do that.
The plane jets down the runway, and he clenches the plastic seat on either side. This is a proper phobia, and I’ve never seen someone so scared. As the plane lifts into the air, rattling a bit, he jams himself back in the seat, his eyes tightly shut.
Finally, when we level out, I look at him. ‘Better?’
His eyes remain shut. ‘Not until we land.’
‘Why did you even come?’
He says quietly, ‘Because you were.’
‘I don’t always need a chaperone, even amongst these lunatics.’
‘No, because…’ He can’t finish it.
I say jokingly, ‘Because you wanted to be entertained ? Or because then I’ll owe you? Hmm, which one…’
He takes a deep sigh. ‘No. Maybe because you told me I shouldn’t care just about myself, something about being nice, caring… Lame, right?’ He focuses on breathing like he’s at a Lamaze class.
My eyes widen. He did this for me? From the look on his face I suspect, despite his radical honesty, he really hadn’t wanted to tell me that. I feel like putting my hand on his, but I stop myself.
‘Well, I wish I could say I feel smug, but…’
He’s not even listening to me much. He peers out the window. ‘Can you hear the sound of the engine? Does that sound right to you?’
‘It sounds normal, I guess. Never flown Lulu and Chip Airlines before.’ I laugh and expect him to crack a smile at least, but he doesn’t.
He’s petrified. He can’t spend the rest of the forty minutes like this. He’s so wound up I’m scared he’s about to have a heart attack.
I finally give in and reach out and hold his hand. I guess it’s an act of mercy. He opens his eyes and looks grateful. It’s warm between our hands. He loops his strong thumb on top of my hand, as if to say, Don’t move. He has nice hands and I can’t help but see how strong his fingers are, how wide his palm is. I could see these hands on tractors and mowers, covered in grease and oil, and saving people from fires in houses or something, and?—
We lurch suddenly to the right, banking quite hard as the plane turns, and he squeezes the life right out of my hand like a python.
‘Ouch. Trying to break a few bones?’
‘Sorry.’
The plane rights itself.
‘Better?
He nods, but remains a white shade of mozzarella pale. I know he needs something quite dramatic to take his mind off this. Meanwhile, everyone else is nattering over each other, and I keep hearing Lulu say, ‘Can you take another one of me, Chip? This time, with the dome in the left of the background.’
‘There it is, the Dooo-oh-mooo!’ my mum exclaims, pointing out the left window.
‘Duomo.’ Lulu sighs as if she were suddenly fluent in Italian.
Over Weasel’s incredibly tense shoulder, there it is. A majestic sphere rising out of the city, pointing towards the night sky. In the background the last of the sunset is gleaming, the rays bouncing off the red tiles making them shine like a crimson gold.
‘Wow.’ I lean over to see out of the excruciatingly small window. I forget about personal space; I forget I’m pressed against him, still holding his hand. That my face is inches from his neck. That he smells more and more like a piney, cold Christmas up this close.
It’s funny, but instead of leaning forward, he seems to lean into me. ‘Can you see okay?’
I nod. ‘Mmm.’
We watch in silence as we soar around the Duomo, and he squeezes my hand every time when we bank hard, but gradually less and less tightly. Until finally he leans back in his chair, and pulls me forwards so I’m leaning against his chest, and we stare out of the window together at this gorgeous city lit up by the most spectacular orange sunset. I can feel his body starting to lose tension.
‘I love Italy,’ I say breathily, because I’m overcome with a sudden urge to write, the words seeming to tumble down into me, inspired by everything around me. ‘I want to write about it.’
I wonder momentarily if I’m going to regret this candour tomorrow morning, since I’m floating on a three-glasses-of-champagne cloud.
‘You should. You could. Why don’t you?’
I feel considerable relief when he says that. He’s about to open his mouth and say something else, but I silence him with a look. I like that he knows what that look says. It says, We’re up in the sky above in Florence, let’s just enjoy it.
‘Better now?’ I look up at him, but I couldn’t have said it at a worse time because the plane hits a patch of turbulence and we lurch up and down, and jerk in our seats like rag dolls.
‘Oh my!’ Aunty Janice says as if she’s about to strap in for a rodeo ride.
‘Fuck.’ He’s pale again and looks like he’s about to faint.
I’m so close to him I can see the fear in his blue eyes. He looks miserable and I’m racking my brain to think what we can do to get his mind off this flight because there’s at least another fifteen minutes to go. Without thinking, I lick his cheek in a bid to get him to laugh.
‘WHAT?’
‘No? Not a fan of the cheek lick?’ I can taste him on my tongue, sea salt and clove.
He wipes his cheek with the edge of his jumper. ‘If I wanted you to put your tongue on me that’s not the spot I’d have chosen.’
Tiny fires in my heart. Where does he want my tongue?
As the plane starts to bank again, his knuckles are clenched so tightly they’re white. He shuts his eyes and presses back into me so hard I can feel his muscles through his soft jumper. There’s an undeniable warmth that tingles up and down my body. I’m so close to him now, his cheek is an inch from my face.
I lean forward, just slightly, pressing my lips to his warm cheek. Just quickly. No lingering. It’s not a kiss, but rather a reassuring You got this . Things I don’t know how to say in words.
He seems surprised at first, but then, something softens in him. For the first time on this plane, he relaxes, and gives me a half smile. ‘That was almost worth the horror of this ride.’
‘Just helping out a poor stranger on the plane,’ I say teasingly.
‘I hope you don’t do that with all strangers.’
We bank again as we head away from the city and back to the hills of Tuscany. He winces. I can appreciate how much this sucks for him, so I squeeze his hand as tight as I can.
When we level out, he turns to me.
‘No kiss this time?’
‘That wasn’t a kiss.’
He raises his eyebrows. ‘It wasn’t?’
‘No, it was a cheek linger. Because when I kiss someone, they’d know I mean it.’
He gazes at me so intently I can feel my heart starting to race. He unhooks his hand from mine, and turns so we’re facing each other.
‘Really?’
Against my better judgement, I nod.
‘Really,’ he repeats, like a warning. He puts his warm hand on my cheek. I can smell him everywhere and my heart races. He’s looking at me intently. There’s a feeling of electricity zapping between us. Oh, the tension. I should sit back. I should . But…
He leans in further, his lips so close to mine. He pauses. My whole body quivers. My heart bashes against my chest. I’m sure he can hear it. With a smile, he grazes up and down my cheek with his finger and I can hear him saying it again. ‘ Really .’
I’ll never know if it was the force of the plane, or if it was it him, but he slides towards me. My eyes shut. And then his mouth is on mine.
Softly at first. Warm pressure. My lips tingle. I want more. He wants more. His lips part. My lips part. His tongue finds mine. I put my hands through his hair, and it’s like silk. He tastes incredible, like warmth and faintly like white wine. I hear him groan softly. I pull him into me. Our kiss grows deeper.
It’s a kiss that makes me see things, colours all around me, even though my eyes are closed. A tiny firework goes off in my chest.
I like him. God, I really like this man, who came on this plane just for me.
But then I’m hit with the realisation of what I’m doing. We can’t. I pull away, breathless.
‘Wahoo!!’ Aunty Janice claps loudly in the row behind us. ‘Now THAT was a kiss.’