Chapter Thirty-One
Our final stop is in Barcelona. I pack my bags after breakfast and feel bizarrely bereft at the thought of returning to reality.
I hand my suitcase over at the desk. The cruise company arrange for it to be delivered to the airport so that I’m free to explore Barcelona without hauling it around with me.
We chose not to disembark at Palamos, the penultimate destination because we didn’t want to risk ruining our last full day together on the cruise with him being spotted, followed and harassed.
Gus meets me in the lobby, and we stroll the city streets, shopping, taking photos, eating and drinking.
It’s a bloody hot day and I’m grateful for my hat and the copious amounts of Fanta Limón I’ve drunk since we arrived.
I’ve got a loose pair of denim shorts on, white sneakers and a flowy blouse.
Gus, on the other hand, is dressed in his usual disguise of dark colours, cap and sunglasses.
He takes a seat on a nearby bench while I stroll round a couple of trinket stalls again, spying for last-minute gifts for my sisters. They’re little sparrows like me. They like small shiny things they can put in small, adorable boxes. I pick up a few cute rings and a pretty gemstone.
Once I’ve browsed all the stalls I join him on the bench, sitting beside him and leaning on his shoulder. He smiles down at me but there’s a ghost of something behind his eyes.
“What happens after today?”
I swallow, glancing at my crossed ankles. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about it.”
“It feels insane to me that I’ve seen you every day for the last fortnight. At one point, you were my lifeline. And now, it’s just going to crumble into nothing.”
I look up and find him already staring. I sigh, nudging him with my elbow.
I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to tell him that I’ve loved this time but my very sensible brain tells me this is a holiday fling and all these feelings, this intense ache in my chest will all melt into nothing in a matter of days.
I can’t say it, because my heart doesn’t believe it and I don’t want to hurt him.
I think he senses it anyway, letting out a slow sigh. He places a hand on my thigh and smiles sadly. He glances over my shoulder. “The city is busy,” he says. “Do you remember what I said about the burner phone and my team?”
I nod. “Call the number saved under security.”
“And the codeword?”
“Roko.”
“Good. Yeah. I have a feeling. I’m pretty sure I’ve been spotted already. And with everything going on, they’ll be speculation about where I am.”
I tense, searching the sunny square for dangers. Gus squeezes my leg again. It’s not that I’m ashamed to be seen with, of course I’m not. How could I be? It’s more that I have no idea what the damage of being seen with him right now would be to my world, my sisters, my dad.
“What are you doing after today?” I ask.
“I guess I’ll go home and start the process of kicking my bratty sister out of my house.”
“Will you be ok?”
He drops his head. “I’ve got lots to keep me busy.” Which isn’t really an answer, but it’s something.
At least he’ll be busy. He’ll forget about all this within days. I swallow as the pain of that thought lodges itself in my throat.
I don’t want him to forget me.
I don’t want to go back to my lonely apartment.
I don’t want to only be in his wildest dreams.
To distract myself, I jump back to my feet and brush myself down, even though nothing even fell on me. Gus blinks at me.
“Come on. Let’s get to Basilica before we miss our slot.” The cruise booked us specific times to meet there, organising the final tour of our trip before I’ll take a taxi back to the airport, my flight leaving later tonight.
We stroll side by side. He takes my arm and loops it through his. And I’m not sure if it’s because Gus has specifically brought it up and I’m now more aware, or whether I was simply completely blind before but I’m certain there are eyes tracking us. Or more specifically, tracking Gus.
Groups of young women. A few men. There’s a middle-aged lady too, who I’m convinced is following us with her phone out filming.
And it doesn’t become an issue until we arrive outside the cathedral, staring up at its magnificent architecture, when we’re essentially parked here like sitting ducks. A blonde girl, with a Spanish accent, marches up to Gus.
“Is it you?” she says, her face disbelieving. “It is!”
And like some kind of superpower, I watch him turn it on.
Suddenly he’s a famous popstar. He takes his sunglasses off, hanging them on his t-shirt, then he grabs something from his back pocket and places it in my palm without even looking at me.
It’s his burner phone. I step away but watch the situation unfold.
He’ll want to see the cathedral. Maybe she’ll go and…
Another person comes up to him. He signs a leaflet she’s given him. The Spanish girl asks him to sign her white t-shirt.
I glance around me to see if anyone is taking any interest in me. But no. I’m a nobody. Of course. What did I expect? They wouldn’t look at me and see a woman worthy of Gus from Just4Summer. It’s laughable really.
As more people huddle around, asking questions about the band splitting up and taking selfies with him, I realise I have no choice but to call his team.
My chest is tight as I open the phone and find the number. It rings once before a stern voice answers. “Yes?”
“Hi,” my voice is shaky. “Yeah. Erm, Roko?”
“Sara,” a gruff voice responds. “Did he tell you to call me?”
“I don’t actually know who you are.” I frown. Should Gus have told me that? Despite him briefing me on this exact scenario, I feel so unprepared. “But yes. We’re at the Basilica in…”
“Barcelona. I know. What’s the situation?”
“He’s surrounded by fans.”
“We’re two minutes away,” he says, his voice softening as if he can sense my tension. “Stay on the phone.”
I do as I’m told, listening to the engine revving, indicators clicking, then the sound of car doors opening and slamming shut. When I spot two large men, dressed in dark shirts and black trousers, striding towards Gus, I experience a wave of nausea.
Is this it?
Do I even get to say goodbye?
I suck in a sharp breath as they reach him. I’ve stepped away so much now that it feels like I’m only spectating. I hang up the phone and drop it into my bag.
The bodyguards are polite to his fans but carefully untangle him, guiding him back towards the car that’s been abandoned by the side of the road.
It’s like watching a stranger. I can’t comprehend that the Gus I’ve been with for the last two weeks is the same one being treated like a royalty now. He stops to speak to his bodyguards, but they continue to encourage him towards the car.
He shakes his head, clearly irritated with their insistence to leave.
Before they can push him in, he pauses, searching the crowd. He leans on the open door. Some of the people in the crowd have followed him. There are so many phones out, filming. I swallow thickly.
And when his eyes find mine, I don’t know what to do. I stand there numb.
Gus nods towards the vehicle as if inviting me in.
I shake my head subtly.
I feel like an absolute coward.
But it’s asking too much. He’s asking me to step into the spotlight. And I’m not ready for that.
Because I never intended to join him past Barcelona anyway.
I barely know the man, not really. The rational part of me is already clocking this whole situation as a romantic, summer fling. It’s only… I’ve had them before and they’ve never felt quite like this, like we’re threads in a rope being unravelled and torn apart.
What good could come from extending this goodbye?
His stare holds mine across the crowd for the longest moment. He looks like he wants to run to me. It looks like he wants to say something he’s forgotten.
But, instead, he smiles sadly, nods and does one final wave before climbing into the car. Once the door is closed, I realise there’s no changing my mind. It’s like a wall has been built between the time that we’ve had together and the super celebrity who is so far out of my reach it blows my mind.
For a moment, I think I’m going to cry.
But I’m too good at evading tears, too practised and it passes.
Because I’m a grownup.
I am rational.
This will all pass.
And so, I join the queue for the Basilica like nothing happened.