. . . a busy schedule
‘So, here’s the plan,’ I say.
Noah and I got in last night, threw The Lizzie McGuire Movie on in the background and then created a detailed plan for today, stretching from the moment I got up to the moment I meet Nigel.
I initially didn’t want to get him too involved, given how weird he was around Nigel.
But he delighted in the whole thing, attacking it like a fun, high-stakes game, and everything felt right with the world again.
We were up half the night mapping out routes, planning public transport and figuring out the best way to give each guy a good time without sacrificing another.
The solution itself is quite worrying . .
. I’ve painstakingly had to go against everything I stand for and organise the details of each date.
Nigel already picked his restaurant, so I worked backwards from him and sent each man a time and location, all within a three-mile radius.
The tricky part was ensuring that they were all close enough for me to easily travel between, but far enough away from each other that they didn’t risk finding me with one of the others.
‘Thoughts on the outfit?’ I ask.
I emerge from the bathroom with a twirl as my dress floats around my ankles. I went with a wide-strapped, satin maxi-dress that is figure-hugging enough to make sense in the evening, with a floral pattern that’s casual enough to work during the day.
‘Perfect,’ Noah says. ‘Although I don’t understand why you bothered changing in the bathroom considering we’ve now . . .’
‘You saw me in a dark train cabin. It is hardly the same thing as a hotel room in broad daylight.’
I turn away from him towards my make-up bag and hope that it’s enough to hide my newly flustered features. It certainly isn’t. His smile shines out of the corner of my compact mirror, smug and taunting and dangerously attractive.
‘So, I’ve set your phone with alarms that go off at twelve-thirty and five. That should give you plenty of time to close your dates off, head to your next location and have a moment to collect your thoughts.’
He hands my phone back to me. I twirl the device in my hand and take a deep breath. He’s just a friend. He’s helping me.
‘You are scarily good at this,’ I say.
‘Hey, anything to help.’ He gathers my bag from the corner. ‘Keep me updated. I’ll be on hand if anything goes wrong. Just text the safe word “Ungermeyer”.’
‘As in—’
‘The most iconic character from The Lizzie McGuire Movie? Yes,’ he says proudly.
I can’t help but laugh. ‘I shouldn’t need to. We’ve planned this to a T.’
‘Of course, but remember it just in case,’ he says. ‘And if you and Nigel want to come back here for a nightcap after, feel free. I’ve made some plans so should be gone pretty late.’
‘Oh, really?’ I ask.
I look over to him but he drops his eyes, turning to fiddle with his own bag.
‘Yeah. I’ve been chatting to the barista at the café I work from. We’re going out tonight,’ he says briskly.
I freeze.
‘You didn’t tell me.’
‘I’m telling you now,’ he says, shrugging.
I try my best to bite back my sudden hurt, but it’s no use. Here I’ve been going on about my three dates, and Noah’s kept his own love life under lock and key again. That’s not the point of this. I thought we were done hiding things after we laid everything bare.
He turns to face me, bag fully packed, but pauses as he notes my sullen expression. His eyes scan over each feature as he takes a deep, sorry breath.
‘It’s no big deal. I just didn’t tell you because you’ve been so busy. You inspired me actually. After seeing your success, I thought I may as well do something too,’ he says dryly.
‘More details,’ I say.
I’m torturing myself. But the way my mind whirs, the truth is probably better than anything I’d make up. He sighs again.
‘She is nice and chatty, and cute. Really sweet. Makes great coffee. We laugh a lot. The conversation’s really easy with her, actually. I haven’t had that initial spark with someone since . . . well, for a while.’
His smile drops briefly, but he quickly shakes it back into place.
The dip, however, sends a shot of nerves straight to my gut.
He couldn’t possibly mean me. We shut things down back in Brussels and our night on the train had such clear parameters.
It would be irresponsible and impractical to look back on any of it with any feeling other than friendship.
I know, because I’m doing it, despite my best interest. I know Noah wouldn’t be so silly as to do the same.
‘Where are you taking her?’ I ask, attempting to distract both him and myself from an impending spiral.
‘There’s this hill where you can get panoramic views of the city – I found loads of videos of it online.
I’m gonna grab a pizza and I’ve bought this really fancy wine, so I’ll take her up there and watch the sunset, and get to know her properly.
’ He’s babbling, barely taking time to pause for breath.
I imagine the view from the top and the glow from the sun, cast across his skin as he leans in for a kiss. My stomach curls at the thought of his lips touching hers. I swallow harshly.
‘Too cheesy?’ he asks. ‘Be honest.’
I shake my head. ‘She’ll love it.’
It’s almost believable. Hopefully he’s too excited to note the bitterness.
‘Okay, great!’ He dips to tie his lace. ‘Now, get going or you’ll set the whole schedule behind.’
The morning starts off as it should, at a quaint little bistro right by the Trevi Fountain.
Mattia’s already there when I arrive and jumps in to pay for my pastry – a nice gesture even if it’s a two-euro croissant.
There are minimal tables inside, so he suggests we go and stroll around the area instead.
But I can’t risk straying far, so instead I point out a nearby bench round the corner and sit before he has a chance to object.
We chat about his job and the city, and his favourite things, and he asks about my family and shares stories of his own.
Then he buys me a macchiato and waxes on about how Italian coffee is superior.
One sip of it and I fear he may be right.
There’s nothing wrong with the date; it is perfectly pleasant, but at this stage I’ve learnt that pleasant is just not enough.
I find my mind drifting off to thoughts of Nigel’s face last night and my stomach patters at the thought of seeing him again.
I’m just not present for this guy, nice as he may be, and I feel a little bad for wasting his time.
But I try to lock in and give our last few minutes the effort he deserves, before wishing him a lovely day and leaving for good.
We part ways with a kiss on the cheek and a mutual unspoken agreement that this one date is enough.
I check my watch – only two hours, giving me an extra half hour ahead of schedule. I can take the scenic route to date two, maybe even swing by a couple of the souvenir stalls we walked past and see if there’s anything of worth for my sisters.
NOAH: How’s it going?
I see the message come through just as I pull out my phone to take a picture of a potential postcard for Sara.
ME: Great – already on my way to date 2. Excited for tonight?
He doesn’t reply.
Aldo’s waiting for me outside the restaurant as I walk up, leaning against a small smart car. He catches my eye and rushes over, wrapping me in his arms. His cologne wafts up my nose, sweet and rich in nature.
‘Nice to see you again!’ he says, his accent thick. He lifts my hand to his lips, planting a tender kiss. ‘You look beautiful.’
I smile back. ‘Thank you. Shall we go in?’
I turn on my sandals and begin to walk in, attempting to keep things as punctual as possible, but stop myself as I realise he’s not following. As I spin to face him, I see he’s grinning even wider than before.
‘We’re not going in there; I made a new plan,’ he says.
I can tell he’s so proud of his spontaneity. Typically, I’d be impressed; I love a man with initiative, but not on a day like today.
‘Oh.’ I’m stunned. ‘I just . . . I’m really hungry and I was particularly looking forward to this restaurant.’
‘You’ll like mine better, I promise,’ he says, waving my concerns away. ‘Come on, let’s go before there is traffic.’
It turns out that the car he’s leaning against happens to be his own, and before I know it I’m in the passenger seat and we’re speeding down the road.
I should have said something, made an excuse, but my brain shut down the moment we veered from the plan.
Plus, every time I glance over to him, he clearly can’t contain his excitement.
After thirty minutes we’re still in this car and I’ve lost track of the street names that I barely knew anyway.
Every time I ask him where we’re going, he chuckles and says, ‘Pazienza, principessa.’
I don’t think he’s kidnapping me . . . at least, I pray that he’s not. Noah has access to my location just in case, anyway. I send a text to alert him.
MAYDAY. Date #2 location has changed.
He responds instantly.
Mayday is not the safe word . . .
I roll my eyes.
Me: UNGERMEYER
Noah: Dang ur serious, I’ll call you.
Me: not rn – wait til I’m out of the car.
Noah: There’s a car?!
Noah: Where are you?!
Noah: Ffs. Just checked your location.
‘We’re here!’ Aldo says, calmly lifting the handbrake.
I look up from my phone and gasp at the sight before me.
There lies streets of vine-clad yellow buildings, cobbled streets and colourful flowers, all set to the backdrop of a sweeping blue lake.
It’s like something out of a postcard stood in front of me, bright and vivid.
My stomach swoops and then dips. We’re not in Rome any more.
‘This is Castel Gandolfo – my favourite place to come when the city gets too hot.’ He opens my car door. ‘It’s cooler and quieter and we can still get good lunch, but we can have it with a better view.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ I say, trying to keep it together. ‘And how far is it from the city?’
He checks his watch. ‘Fifty minutes. Nice and easy. Now, come on, let’s go for lunch.’