The shoot didn’t take long. Martha and Al got on like a house on fire, and all remaining thoughts of her rubbish boyfriend were temporarily forgotten just as soon as Martha got a glimpse inside Jane Bennett’s fabled wardrobe. I left the two of them playing dress-up with Kekipi and went back to the cottage to work on the photos. As soon as I pulled them up on my laptop, I knew we’d done it. They looked amazing. Al looked happy and proud; Martha looked stunning in every shot. Each dress told a story, and happily, Nick now had those stories. And alongside the beautiful fashion pics, I’d pulled the photos I’d taken of Al on the beach. They were perfect. Honest, sweet and real. And not a ukulele in sight. Somehow, we’d pulled off the impossible. Before I could think better of it, I picked my favourites and emailed them to Agent Veronica. One job down.
‘While I’m dealing in miracles,’ I muttered, reaching for my phone. Reluctantly, the fucked-up phone dialled out, rang several times and eventually went through to voicemail. I cleared my throat and closed my eyes. I felt horrible. We’d never fought and gone so long without making up before. I couldn’t believe she hadn’t called me. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t called her. I had no idea what I was going to say.
‘Aims, it’s me,’ I started, not knowing where to go next. ‘I am a massive cock. I deserve to be punched in the boob and I love you very much. I’m sorry I’ve been so useless, I’m sorry I went complete batshit mental, and I’m sorry I’m not there when you need me. Hopefully you’re just down at G.A.Y. dancing on a table to Rhianna and not in the bottom of the Thames. I’ll be home Sunday evening, about five-ish. I’ll call you then? If you’re not dead?’ I paused, minimized the Photoshop window on my laptop screen and stared at the picture of me, Amy and Charlie that I used as my wallpaper. Weird. ‘So yeah, topline summary, I love you. I’m coming home. Vanessa’s probably going to kill me in my sleep, so if you don’t hear from me again—’
Before I could finish my round-up, the call waiting tone chimed loudly in my ear.
‘Someone’s trying to call me and I’m hoping it’s you. So I’ll talk to you in a minute. Bye!’
But I couldn’t talk to her because my phone was officially a piece of shit. I stabbed at the shattered screen again and again but it stubbornly refused to switch calls, and because I’d made such a beautiful modern artesque job of destroying the thing, I couldn’t even see for sure who it was that was calling.
‘I hate you, iPhone,’ I yelled, furious at being refused a chance to make things up with Amy properly. Voicemail messages always sounded hollow and worklike. No one left voicemails any more. Apart from me and whoever had just tried to call me, it seemed, as a green box flashed up underneath a criss-cross pattern of shattered glass announcing a voice message. Out of sheer perversity, I jabbed at the box and, lo and behold, it connected immediately.
‘Of course you did,’ I hissed, picking up my technological nemesis and holding it to me ear. ‘You little shit.’
‘Hello, um, Tess?’ Bugger me backwards, Bob, it was Charlie.
‘Yeah, just checking in. Again. Wanted to see if you’re all right or not, or talking to me again. Or not. I tried to call Amy, which was probably a mistake. She’s not very happy with me, but when is she? Anyway, um, I’ve got some news. My football team won on Wednesday night. That’s not the news, but, well, I suppose it is news …’
He sounded so uncomfortable and so strange that I felt sick. I was doing this to him. Me not talking to him was making him sad. I’d spent ten years trying to make Charlie Wilder happy and now I was hurting him so much that he was making feeble jokey comments about his football team on my voicemail. ‘But call me back, yeah? Really need to talk to you. I know I’m a massive twat who doesn’t deserve a phone call even, but I, um, yeah, I really, really need to hear your voice.’
It wasn’t a long message and it definitely wasn’t a coherent one, but it was enough to make me turn off my phone (after six attempts) and rest my head on my forearms. Silly me thinking everything would magically be sorted out by a half-decent photograph. Or several amazing photographs, if I was really going to toot my own horn. Eurgh.
‘Vanessa?’
A quiet knock on the door announced my visitor before they spoke, so I knew it wasn’t Paige. Sniffing quickly and rubbing my face on my arm, I looked up, blinking into the daylight. Staring at a screen for so long had made me dizzy.
‘Kekipi.’ I tried to look pleased to see him, and not just because he had a picnic hamper in his hands. ‘How is the happy couple?’
‘I haven’t seen Mr Bennett happier for a very long time.’ He smiled right back at me. ‘They were still up to their eyeballs in haute couture when I left.’
‘Think they both needed a bit of a boost,’ I said, eyeing the picnic basket like the honey badger I was. I hadn’t eaten anything all day, and now the nervous energy that had carried me through the morning was about to blow up into one giant fist of fury.
‘From the looks of things, so do you.’ He set the basket down on my couch and came closer, unwittingly risking life and limb. ‘Trouble in paradise?’
‘Trouble, definitely.’ I looked at my phone again, looked at the computer screen and yawned. It was all too much. ‘I’m really bloody hungry. What’s in the basket?’
The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. My nan would have been appalled.
‘Nothing to eat.’ Kekipi frowned and made straight for the kitchen. ‘I’ll make you a deal. You go and shower, shave, do whatever it is that girls do, and I’ll prepare something light and delicious.’’
‘Why do I have to shower to eat something light and delicious?’ I looked down and poked my soft belly gently. Maybe I had gained a couple of pounds while I’d been away, but still, insulting much?
‘Because I’m taking you somewhere special for dinner, and that picnic basket is full of things to make a woman beautiful,’ he said, turning to fix me with an unmistakeably judgemental eye. ‘Things that you do not currently own.’
I would have been offended, but he was quite right. I was still using the Nivea for Men I’d nicked from work because I hadn’t had time to go out and buy proper moisturizer. Anyone going through my toiletry bag would think it belonged to a travelling salesman. ‘I’ll just be a minute.’
‘You will be a minimum of ten,’ he corrected. ‘Don’t wash your hair, I like it like that.’
‘Yes, boss.’ I pushed myself up out of my chair and sloped into the bathroom, weak from lack of munchies and the tyranny of an impending gay makeover. Hopefully he wasn’t taking me to a live taping of RuPaul’s Drag Race. Or, actually, I hoped that he was.
When Kekipi finally unveiled his handiwork, I gasped. His flair for the dramatic meant that he had covered every mirror in the cottage aside from the giant one in the bathroom, and I was forbidden to see myself until he was happy. And, scarily enough, when it came to make-up, this time what made him happy made me happy. My skin looked soft and airbrushed with a rosy pink glow rather than bronzed tiger stripes, my lips held just a whisper more than their natural colour, and, thanks to the very liberal usage of smokey eyeliner and individual false eyelashes that I was really, really looking forward to picking off when I got home from wherever we were going, my eyes looked enormous, but not creepy. I almost looked as pretty as him. ‘Thank you, lovely.’
‘You’re very welcome,’ he said, tapping me on the nose with a powder puff. And his work was complete. ‘I used to do Jane’s make-up. When she wasn’t well enough to do it herself.’
‘Sounds like she was amazing.’ I returned his sad smile with one of my own and gave his knee a squeeze. ‘I wish I could have met her.’
‘She was incredible,’ he confirmed. ‘But she was also a massive ballbuster and had very little tolerance for anyone not doing as they were told. Unless you were Artie, of course. He could do no wrong.’
‘Is that why he and Al don’t get on?’ I had so many questions about the Bennetts; it was like stepping onto the set of a Hawaiian Dynasty. ‘Because she let him get away with murder?’
‘If he murdered someone, she would have buried the body and torn the tongues out of any witnesses,’ he replied. ‘There was nothing that boy could do that was less than perfect in her eyes. Sometimes that doesn’t sit well with both parents.’
‘Sad,’ I pouted, swinging my legs on the high stool. ‘I wish they could make up. Al’s so cool.’
‘He had his moments as well,’ Kekipi said with a satisfied sigh, hands on his hips. ‘But maybe they’ll make up now. Now Mr Bennett seems to have snapped out of his mood.’
I nodded slowly, thinking about my mum. I hoped she was OK. I really had to call her when I got home. These things were never easy.
‘Shall we get you dressed?’ he asked, vanishing out of the front door and reappearing with a black garment bag. ‘I have something special for you.’
‘Ohhhh.’ I clapped my hands together and jumped off the stool, clipping my black fluffy towel to me by the power of my armpits. ‘What is it?’
‘I knew you wouldn’t sit still while I did your make-up if I brought it in, so I left it out there,’ he said. ‘Mr Bennett picked it. I had the final say. And yes, before you ask, it will fit.’
I pressed my hands over my mouth and tried not to cry as he pulled down the zip to reveal the red Valentino ballgown I’d been cooing over during the shoot. It really was remarkable. We’d had to pin it to Martha during the shoot, so there was a tiny sliver of a chance that Kekipi was right, that the dress would go on me. Jane Bennett had easily been as tall as I was, but we definitely did not share the same proportions. Her waist was offensively tiny and no amount of light and delicious food was going to change that.
‘What if I sit down and Hulk out?’ I whined as he pulled down the concealed zip in the back of the dress and beckoned for me to step into the skirt. ‘I’m deceptively fat. I get away with it because I’m tall.’
‘You are not fat,’ Kekipi snapped back. ‘Frickin’ women, always thinking they’re obese because they have an arse.’
‘Wasn’t thinking about my arse, actually,’ I said sulkily. ‘But thanks for the feedback.’
‘Shut up and put out your arms,’ he commanded. The dress felt surprisingly light and the skirt fell about my legs, fluttering lightly and demanding a twirl. I had to mentally staple my feet to the floor to stop myself from spinning. So this was how it felt to be a princess. Screw you, Kate, it was my time to shine. I felt absolutely beautiful. ‘And anyway, Jane wore this while she was pregnant with Artie. It’s empire line, so there’s plenty of room in the waist.’
And suddenly I felt like a fatty again.
But it didn’t matter. As soon as Kekipi parked me in front of the mirror, all was forgotten. If this was maternity wear, then someone needed to knock me up, pronto. The lipstick-red shade of the fabric made my lack of a tan an asset rather than an embarrassment, and the loose, soft waves that Kekipi had teased out of my hair made the whole thing look soft and romantic rather than uncomfortable and formal. I wasn’t afraid to move; I wasn’t scared I would rip it. We were a team – the dress breathed when I did. Floor-length layers of red silk floated in front of me and a deep, sleeveless V-neck bodice flattered my boobs and cinched in my waist. And Kekipi was right. The high empire line waist wasn’t too tight, and more importantly, I could already tell it was going to allow for eating. Hurrah.
‘Oh God, you’ve got to take a picture of me in this,’ I said, not able to look away from the mirror. ‘My friend Amy will never believe it.’ Not that she’d called me back yet.
‘Done and done,’ he replied, hands on my shoulders. ‘I think you’re ready, Cinders. I need to get you to the ball.’
‘We’re going to a ball?’ I was utterly non-plussed.
Kekipi shook his handsome head. ‘Not exactly, but you do have somewhere to be, and if I don’t get you there before midnight, Prince Charming will likely be pissed.’
‘My date isn’t with you?’
‘Honey, even dolled up like this, you’re just not my type.’ Kekipi took my hand and walked me to the front door. ‘You don’t need your shoes. Follow me, lover.’
So transfixed was I by my own reflection that we were locked in the back of one of Al’s SUVs before I realized I had still not eaten anything, either light or delicious. I pressed a sad hand against my empty belly and sniffed. So this was how models stayed so skinny.
No matter how pretty, graceful and grown-up I looked, when my stomach was rumbling, I was complaining. Kekipi fished around in the back of the SUV and managed to come up with two packets of biscuits wrapped in cellophane which I inhaled without bothering to ask where they had come from or how long they had been in the car. I did not care. I was so hungry. By the time the car rumbled to a halt, I was covered in very un-Valentino crumbs that Kekipi was obsessively picking off me in a very disgruntled manner.
‘I knew we shouldn’t have put you in something so elegant,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘There were some perfectly good mumus in that closet.’
‘Oh, shut up,’ I sang, hopped up on a tiny amount of sugar and arrival giddiness. I still had no idea where we were and Kekipi wasn’t parting with any details, but I’d deduced, from his Prince Charming comment, that Nick was most likely involved, and I couldn’t wait for him to see me in my dress. ‘Where are we?
‘You shut up,’ he snapped back, grumpy but smiling. ‘Get out of the car and you’ll see. Honestly, the things I do for love.’
The driver opened my door before I had a chance to and I gave him as pretty a smile as I could manage, given that all I really wanted to do was jump up and down and do the Snoopy dance of joy. The entire afternoon had vanished in a vortex of photo editing, make-up application and mystery road trips and, wherever I was, the sun was setting, casting a pinkish orange glow through the low, lush trees that hung overhead. Somewhere nearby, I heard water running. It was all very familiar but not.
‘That way.’ Kekipi nodded towards a narrow sandy path leading into the trees. ‘I’ll see you later, princess.’
‘Am I being sacrificed to a giant monkey?’ I asked, my nervous energy turning into flat-out nerves. ‘Because no dress is worth that.’
‘Go away.’ He flicked a hand at me and hopped back into the car. ‘Call me when you’re engaged.’
And just like magic, my nerves turned into complete and utter, all-consuming terror.
‘He’s joking,’ I whispered to my dress as I made my way down the path. ‘It’s just not a funny joke.’
Somehow I managed to keep my feet moving one in front of the other. The sound of water changed from running to rushing, the smell of the frangipani flowers swam all around me, and as I peered between the trees, I started to see little tealights appear. At first it was just one or two grouped together on the left or right side of the path, but as the path turned into a stairway, the candles became more common. Each step was lit with three tiny white candles in little glass jars. One or two had already blown out, but it was still beautiful. Ever so slightly cheesy, but very, very beautiful. It took me too long to work out why the sound of the water was so familiar, and I was almost at the bottom of the steps before I saw the waterfall. Right where we had laid in the sand was Nick. The self-satisfied smile on his face melted away when he saw me.
‘Wow,’ he whistled.
‘Yeah,’ I exclaimed, hands above my head. ‘I know.’
By the water, Nick, and presumably Kekipi, had set up a small round table that was covered in food and looked almost as good as my date. I stopped at the bottom of the steps and gave myself a moment to take it all in. The heavy scent of the flowers, the rush of water, all the little glowing candles and, in the middle of it all, the man who had done this, just for me. His hair was still a mess – by now I’d realized it always was – but his shirt and jeans were smart, and his eyes sparkled all the way across the beach. When he wasn’t looking smug, his smile was infectious, and I felt a happy grin spread across my own face. I couldn’t help but feel a little overdressed, compared with Nick’s ensemble, but at the same time, it was a very pretty dress. Probably not the best for swimming in, though. Probably ought to stay out of the water.
‘You found your way, then?’ Nick called, giving me a wave. ‘Are you coming down or not?’
‘Did you know there was a footpath to this bloody place?’ I bellowed, looking back at the steps I’d just descended with so very much grace and breaking his spell. ‘I nearly broke my neck on Wednesday and there’s a bloody staircase back there, Nick Miller.’
Nick smiled, said nothing and picked a bottle of champagne out of a silver ice bucket.
‘In the interests of this evening going well, I’m just going to ignore you,’ he said, popping the cork and pouring out a glass – just the one – and taking a sip. I remained on the other side of the beach. ‘Have you got any idea how long it takes to carry and light two hundred candles?’
‘Half of them have gone out.’ I flipped my hair and strode as agitated as was possible in a floor-length ballgown, on sand, and sat down at the table. The lure of food was irresistible. I was powerless in its presence. And Nick didn’t look half bad either. ‘Maybe you should run back up and relight them while I have my tea.’
‘Maybe you should be quiet,’ he replied, filling up a second glass of champagne and handing it to me, his fingertips just missing mine as I took it, but even the potential for skin-on-skin contact made me shiver. I breathed in deeply, breathed out slowly, and sipped my drink. ‘Nice frock,’ he said.
‘It’s all right, isn’t it?’ I fanned the skirt out around me and tried to steady my pulse. Between being completely famished and totally overwhelmed by what was happening, I couldn’t rely on my voice to stay calm. And there was nothing sexy about a squeaky comeback. ‘Just something I keep for hanging out at the beach.’
‘It works,’ Nick nodded, sitting down in the chair next to mine, his knee touching my knee. ‘You should wear it more often.’
‘Thinking it’ll look good down the job centre on Monday.’ I took a sip of my champagne and immediately realized my mistake. That was Tess’s problem not Vanessa’s. ‘Because I’m never going to work as a photographer again,’ I added quickly.
‘Those photos you took this morning were beautiful,’ he said. ‘You know they were. I told you everything would be OK if you just trusted yourself. You didn’t need Paige directing you; you needed Paige gone.’
‘It wasn’t Paige’s fault,’ I replied, feeling the faint twang of betrayal as Nick loaded my plate with bread and fish and, blee, salad. ‘It was everything. Today was better because we had Al. If he’d been around since the beginning, none of this would have happened.’
‘If he’d been around from the beginning, I probably wouldn’t be here now,’ Nick replied. ‘I’d been planning to change my flight to leave as soon as I’d got the interview.’
‘Something exciting to rush home for?’ I asked, popping a piece of marinated pork in my mouth and trying not to make inappropriate noises. Fuck me, it was delicious. ‘Hot date?’
Nick didn’t say anything. Instead he made a disgruntled sighing noise and gave his head a shake before his expression hardened. Satisfied he’d plied me with enough food and booze, he started to serve himself. In silence.
‘Did you refile the interview?’ I asked.
‘I did,’ he said. ‘Did you send the photos?’
‘I wanted to show Paige first. She’s been missing all day. I haven’t been able to get hold of her.’
Nick laughed, his blue eyes softening a little. ‘She’s been off shopping all day. You should have sent them to Steph yourself. She should know it was your idea.’
‘I don’t want to stab Paige in the back,’ I said, silently adding, ‘any more than I am right now.’
‘I’m guessing this is why our paths have never crossed before, Vanessa Kittler.’ Nick raised his glass in a toast. ‘You’re too nice.’
‘Vanessa Kittler, you’re too nice,’ I echoed, touching my glass to his and taking the tiniest sip. ‘Words that have never been uttered before and will likely never be uttered again.’
‘You really have got it in for yourself, haven’t you?’ he said, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. Apparently we’d been smart for as long as we needed to be. ‘OK, since this went so well last time, let’s play a game. I want you to choose five words to describe yourself.’
‘Hungry, tired, overdressed and …’ I glanced round at my surroundings for inspiration. ‘Annoyed that we didn’t use the stairs on Wednesday. Your turn.’
‘That’s more than five words,’ he admonished, flexing his forearm as he reached out for more bread. I resisted the urge to bite it. Just barely. ‘I’ll go after you.’
‘Such a gentleman,’ I said, huffing and cramming an entire chicken skewer into my mouth. I hoped Kekipi was prepared to send care packages once I’d left – every mouthful of food was delicious. ‘Fine. Hard-working, loyal, dedicated and still tired and hungry.’
‘You don’t believe all that any more than I do,’ Nick responded, leaning back in his chair and giving me a full headshake this time. ‘Are they honestly the best attributes you can come up with, or are you just being stupidly self-effacing? Because I can’t decide which is more irritating.’
‘Well, I’d add in stone-cold fox, but I’m worried I’d seem a bit full of myself,’ I replied through a mouthful of pig. ‘Your turn.’
‘Clever, perceptive, funny, loyal and quick.’ He counted his words off on his fingers. ‘And obviously a stone-cold fox.’
‘This is not the first time you’ve played this game, is it?’ I asked. ‘I feel cheated.’
‘At least you feel something other than the heavy burden of other people’s expectations,’ he said, deftly dodging my hand as I swung out to punch him in the arm. ‘See? I’m quick.’
‘And too bloody clever for your own good,’ I said, soothing my bruised ego with another well-earned sip of champagne. No matter how hungry I was, if I was going to get through another battle of wits with knobhead, I was going to need a cocktail or two.
‘You really don’t see yourself, do you?’ Nick asked. ‘You really do think you’re just this sad workhorse, slogging away.’
I coughed, choking on too much dry bread. Note to self – never be in too much of a rush to eat to forget butter. ‘Thank you for such a beautiful image.’
‘I’m serious,’ Nick said seriously, wearing his serious face. ‘I’m really good at reading people. It’s kind of why I ended up in the job I’m in, but I cannot get a proper read on you. You’re definitely not the girl I thought I was meeting, and you’re really not the martyr you think you are. So who are you?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I replied, wishing there was a toilet I could excuse myself to. Not because I needed to go, but because the conversation was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. And at some point I was going to need to go.
‘I’m talking about you hiding who you are under this “poor me’” act,’ he went on. ‘You put all your focus on what other people think, on work, on that stupid man in London who doesn’t know how fucking lucky he is, but when you let all of that go, you’re amazing.’
‘I’m amazing?’ I met his eyes, expecting to see a light of laughter, but there was nothing. Just painfully bare honesty. I felt myself blush and shifted in my seat. ‘Nick, you don’t know me.’
‘Yeah, I do,’ he argued. ‘The look on your face today when you were taking the pictures, when Al was talking about his wife. When you forget to try, you’re so beautiful. It’s the same when you’re with me. I love the look on your face when you know you can’t win a fight.’
‘I never know I can’t win a fight,’ I rallied, knocking back almost an entire flute of champagne. Hic. ‘And really, you don’t need to say all this just to get in my pants. I think we’re a bit past that.’
‘That’s the other thing,’ he laughed. ‘As soon as things get even the tiniest bit real or honest, you make a joke or you say something bitchy. It’s all a defence, Vanessa. I’ve been interviewing people for long enough to know when they’re trying to keep me out.’
I looked up at the sky and watched as pale pink and peach streaks washed over the light blue twilight. ‘And why would I be trying to keep you out?’ I wondered aloud.
‘I’m trying really hard to do something nice.’ I felt Nick’s hand cover mine on the table. Out of politeness, I let go of the piece of bread I was holding and curled my fingers around his. ‘I know I was a total dick. I’ve been a massive dick to everyone for a really long time, and I basically forgot how to be anything else.’
‘So why stop now?’ I asked, still not quite meeting his eyes.
‘Damned if I know,’ he replied, a hint of a laugh in his voice that didn’t really ring true. ‘Been trying to work that out myself. Thought of a thousand reasons: being back on Oahu, just had my birthday, haven’t had a shag in ages.’
He sat quietly for a moment, waiting for me to say something, but I had nothing. With one hand I cradled my glass in my lap, and with the other I squeezed his warm fingers. It was meant to be reassuring. I hoped that it was.
‘I’ve got a horrible feeling it’s actually because I really like you,’ he whispered.
‘Because I’m loyal, dedicated and hard-working?’ I asked.
‘Because you’re passionate and fierce and caring and creative and so funny and so beautiful and totally naïve, and you’ve got so much hair, and you’re completely fucking oblivious to all of the above,’ Nick replied, leaning closer towards me. ‘Apart from the hair. And because you took me on and won.’
I’d won?
‘And because you’re not afraid to tell me the truth.’
He had to go and spoil everything.
I wanted to melt, I wanted to kiss him hard and ask him to say things like that to me every single day, but I couldn’t. Because the day after tomorrow, the girl he was talking about wouldn’t exist any more. And the girl that would take her place didn’t know how to tell him the truth. Instead I let go of his hand and let my head fall backwards, as far as it would go, covering my eyes with my hands. I needed a moment, just a moment, to work this out.
I should just tell him. I should just laugh and take his hand and say ‘funny story …’ It wasn’t that big a deal, was it? It was only a name. I remembered something from my GCSE English: A rose by any other name would smell as sweet. Except things hadn’t worked out so well in that instance. Oh bugger.
‘Vanessa?’
I’d tell him in the morning.
‘I haven’t really opened up for a while,’ Nick said, gripping my wrist tightly to get my attention. I uncovered my eyes and looked at him. His jaw was set and the sparkle in his eyes was burning. It was all too much to bear. ‘So you can understand why this is a bit uncomfortable for me right now. Should I not have said that?’
‘I just don’t know what to say,’ I whispered, eyes wide and prickly. ‘I don’t know what to say to you.’
‘Then I’ll just stick with my earlier comment,’ he replied, leaning in to press his lips to mine. ‘In the interests of this evening going well, I’m just going to ignore you.’
I woke up in Nick’s bed, in Nick’s arms. The rest of the evening had passed perfectly, just as Nick had planned. I quietly relived the kissing, inappropriate touching, some champagne-fuelled skinny-dipping and fifteen minutes of drunkenly blowing out tealights on our way back to our car and driver, me wearing Nick’s white shirt, him carrying my precious dress. If he was hurt by my less than positive reaction to his confession of like, he did a fantastic job of hiding it. I looked down to see I was still wearing his shirt, with almost every button done up wrong. The rest of my clothes were scattered across the room, the Valentino was draped across the chair opposite the bed, giving me a sly wink. I felt as though I’d done her proud.
‘Go back to sleep,’ Nick murmured as I stirred again. His body was hot and solid, curled against mine, and I willingly pushed back against it, feeling the tension in his muscles. It made me smile. His knees moved up, pulling me in towards him, and he coiled his legs around mine, our hands and arms already entwined.
‘I should go back to mine and pack,’ I sighed in response. ‘We fly out this afternoon. I haven’t sent the pictures to Steph yet, and Paige still hasn’t seen them. There’s too much to do to stay in bed.’
‘But you’re really only agreeable in bed,’ Nick replied. ‘As soon as you get out, you start opening your mouth, and that’s when you get annoying.’
‘I know,’ I agreed. ‘But there’s really not very much I can do about that.’
‘You could come back to New York with me,’ he suggested in a voice barely louder than a whisper, speaking right in my ear. ‘We could stay in bed for days.’
I let him kiss my ear, my neck, my shoulder, before I replied. Was that throwaway pillow talk or a genuine offer? Not that I could just up and run off to New York, could I. Could I? I’d already upped and run off to Hawaii. What was one more week? And maybe when we got there, I could explain everything and he would understand. Probably. I bet New York was full of pathological liars. I bet everything sounded more charming in the shadow of the Empire State building. I’d be like a modern-day Meg Ryan. Without the plastic surgery. Oh, how we’d laugh …
‘You want me to come to New York?’ I said with a squeak as one of his hands let go of mine and started to work its way down my thigh. ‘With you? Today?’
‘Why not?’ he replied, his voice thick with sleep and desire. ‘You keep saying you have nothing to go home for.’
‘This is true.’ I closed my eyes and let a very speedy procession of images flash through my mind before giving in to Nick’s dexterous fingers. ‘But I shouldn’t.’
‘Because?’
I smiled and let out a tiny yelp.
‘I don’t really know,’ I said, rolling over to face him. ‘Why don’t you give me a couple more reasons why I should.’
Half an hour and two very good reasons later, I lay in bed listening to Nick shower, making no moves to head back to my own bathroom. I really should, I told myself – there was too much to do. But rolling around on the silky soft sheets with my eyes closed was too tempting. As soon as I opened up my suitcase, I had to admit that this week was over, and as soon as I admitted this week was over, I had to stop having fun and start making some very difficult decisions. Probably. Unless I went away with Nick.
Giving myself one more minute to wrap myself up in Nick’s sheets, I breathed in, storing away each and every memory as safely as I could. The smell of the ocean, of Nick, that lay on top of crisply laundered bedlinen. I had replayed the moment he had kissed me by the waterfall so many times that it was burned into my brain. It was already starting to feel like something I’d seen in a movie rather than something that had happened to me. The sound of the shower running in the bathroom echoed the rush of the waterfall, and, making myself a nest of pillows, I hid my face from the morning sun. Just one more minute. Just one more minute here, and then …
And then my phone started to ring.
And that’s when things really started to go wrong.