What a Girl Wants (27 page)

‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ I said, kissing the top of her head and padding back to my own bedroom, the knot in my stomach feeling considerably looser, if not entirely undone. Without looking at the clock, I picked up the phone and dialled Kekipi’s extension.

‘What’s wrong?’ he answered in a voice thick with sleep.

‘I’d feel bad about waking you up but I heard you still had dessert after I left so I don’t,’ I said.

‘Well, I’m not getting up to get it for you now,’ he yawned. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes, sorry for making a scene,’ I said, resting the handset between my ear and my shoulder and retying my ponytail. ‘Um, do you know which room Nick is in?’

‘He’s directly underneath you,’ Kekipi replied, a smile in his sleepy voice. ‘The irony.’

‘Thanks, goodnight,’ I replaced the handset and took a deep breath. Two apologies down, one to go. At least, the last one until morning.

The house was still in the middle of the night, but it didn’t feel sinister like big old houses usually did. If anything, it felt more open, as though I could walk through any of the doors and find myself in a fairytale. As much as I wanted to, I fought the urge, given that there was every chance I’d find myself in someone’s bedroom while they were asleep and that was generally frowned upon.

At the bottom of the staircase on the second floor, I paused across from a pair of double doors. They were the same as the doors to my suite, white with delicate gilt edging, but whatever was going on inside was certainly not the same as what was happening upstairs. Someone was talking, shouting, but not in English or Italian. If I had to guess at a language, I would have said Chinese or Japanese but since my ability to discern the different between languages of the Far East began and ended with Wagamama and The Golden Dragon, I was at a bit of an ignorant loss. Before I could decide what to do, one of the doors opened and someone slipped out. Domenico.

Once he had slipped away down the dark staircase, I stared at the closed door for a couple more seconds. Before Domenico had even made it to the bottom of the stairs, the shouting started up again. Sadly, the ability to translate through sheer willpower alone didn’t come any more easily than telepathy, and so I continued on my mission, marching down to the end of the hallway, certain, determined and only ever so slightly terrified.

I knocked on Nick’s door, half-hoping that he wouldn’t be there. He’d been AWOL all day after all; maybe Amy was right, perhaps he’d had to pop home and pick the kids up from school. Turning a terrified giggle into an awkward cough, I stepped back, startled when the door did open. There he was, not missing, no kids, just Nick, holding on to the door handle and looking very confused.

‘Do you know what time it is?’ he asked, his voice gruff and worn.

‘I don’t actually, I was working.’ I pushed past him into the room and noted that it was half the size of mine. Ha. ‘Where were you today?’

‘Working,’ he replied as he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. ‘What’s going on?’

I let myself take one quick look at his bare chest and snugly fitting boxer shorts before giving myself a shake and remembering why I was there.

‘I need to apologize,’ I said. ‘For last night.’

‘Oh. Right.’ Nick held out his hands and let them fall back to his sides with a slap. ‘We’ll just pretend it never happened. Hardly the first time a drunk girl declared her love for me.’

‘I really only wanted to apologize about the puking part.’ I was suddenly very interested in my toes. ‘That part kind of still stands. I think. Sort of.’

‘It does?’ He raised an eyebrow and a hint of a sleepy smirk appeared on his face. ‘Well, well, well.’

‘Don’t well, well, well me, Nick Miller.’ I looked over my shoulder at the bed and then back at the man in front of me. ‘Is it OK if I sleep here tonight?’

‘Depends. Do you really want to sleep?’ he asked, turning the lock on the door and walking over to me, taking both my hands in his. ‘I’m all awake now.’

Averting my eyes, I smothered my own smile and let the heat from his body warm me through. ‘I’m tired,’ I said, pulling him towards the bed. ‘And we need to talk about stuff. In the morning.’

‘Talk about stuff? Can’t wait.’ He kissed the back of my neck as I turned away. ‘But you’re a terrible tease, you know.’

‘I’m sure you’ll survive.’ I sat on the edge of the bed to strip down to my underwear, thankful for the forgiving cover of darkness that kept me in flattering shadows until I slipped under the covers.

Shuffling backwards, I kept going until my back was pressed right up against Nick’s chest and his legs were curled around mine and his breath was blowing evenly over my right ear. I closed my eyes and curled my hands over his, basking in the calm, easy warmth of the moment.

Perhaps I had walked in on a fairytale after all.

I woke up to a phone ringing, face down in my pillow and uncomfortably disoriented. Reaching out for my nightstand, my hand slashed through empty air and the phone continued to ring. Altogether too quickly, I realized I wasn’t in my bed and so the phone wasn’t where it was supposed to be. The phone was on Nick’s side of the bed. Only Nick wasn’t. Rolling over, I squinted into the semi-darkness of the closed curtains and looked for signs of life. Nothing.

‘Not again,’ I mumbled, crawling across the bed to stop the phone from ringing, either by answering it or throwing it through the window, I wasn’t quite sure yet.

‘Hello?’

‘Oh, um, Tess? Did I dial you by mistake?’ Al sounded confused at first and then wildly pleased with himself. ‘I was trying to reach Mr Miller.’

‘No, this is Nick’s room,’ I replied, face-palming myself for answering the phone in the first place. Which was more embarrassing? Pretending it was perfectly normal for me to be answering a man’s phone at the crack of dawn or telling your
de facto
granddad and boss that you honestly didn’t let the man whose phone you’re answering put any appendage in any part of you. Well, at least not in the last twenty-four hours. ‘I’m just visiting.’

‘Of course,’ Al said, doing his best Patrick Stewart impression. ‘Good to see my collaborators collaborating.’

Hmm.

‘If you could let Mr Miller know this morning’s field trip has been postponed, that would be fabulous.’

‘Yeah, no problem.’ I clutched the duvet tightly around myself and looked around the empty room. ‘I’ll tell him. Did you see the photos I sent to Kekipi?’

‘The photos, dear?’

‘Of Jane’s dresses,’ I reminded him. ‘For the party?’

‘Oh yes. They were marvellous.’

Even though I was plenty confused myself, I couldn’t help but notice he sounded distracted. ‘Is everything OK?’ I asked. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘Just some hiccups,’ he said, smoothing out his voice and my nerves. ‘Teething problems I probably should have expected with a new business. Nothing to worry about at all. Let’s all catch up this evening at dinner, yes?’

‘Sounds brilliant. See you then.’

I hung up the phone, pulling my knees up to my chest, and sighed. All I had to do was get through the rest of the day without killing anyone and I’d be just fine.

‘Well, bugger me backwards, look who it is. How’s your vagina?’

‘Morning, Paige,’ I smiled into my iPhone in spite of myself. ‘My vagina is fine. How’s yours?’

‘Grown over,’ she replied, the line crackling very slightly. ‘Sealed up. There are tumbleweeds up there, I think. Tell me everything.’

‘I would if I had any idea what’s going on,’ I said, turning on my computer and pressing a hand over the speakers before it could bust out its irritating Apple chime. ‘But I need a favour and you’re the only person I trust to help.’

‘Are you trying to flatter me because you know I won’t want to do it?’ she asked. ‘Because I’m very lazy and if it means getting off my arse, I won’t lie, I’m probably going to say no.’

‘There is the slightest getting-off-the-arse element,’ I admitted, ‘but only to walk to the printer. Mostly, it just involves using your eyes and pressing, like, four buttons.’

‘Four is a lot,’ Paige said. ‘You’re clearly taking liberties but luckily for you, the printer is next to my desk.’

‘I need someone to look over the Perito’s pitch for me and then print it out,’ I explained, opening up my PowerPoint document from the night before and scanning to make sure I hadn’t gone completely mad. ‘I’m emailing it all to Charlie but he’s shit at presentation boards and I’m worried I won’t have time to get it done properly before Monday.’

‘You’re still going ahead with this then?’ she asked. ‘Because someone might have told me that a certain tallish, blondish shagger had made an appearance in Milan and that the two of you were getting along quite well.’

‘How are you in touch with Amy?’ I opened an email and clicked on the attachments. ‘That girl cannot be trusted to relay the facts.’

‘Facebook, innit?’ Paige said. ‘And Twitter. And Snapchat. She loves an app, that girl.’

‘She’s sending you Snapchats?’ I pressed send and tried very hard not to think what she was sending photos of. ‘Yes, I am still doing this and yes, Nick is here but no, I haven’t got a clue what’s going on. I thought I had for half a second but you know what he’s like.’

‘You know what?’ she said. ‘I really don’t. I only know Nick the Knobhead. I know the character he puts about, the arrogant, full-of-himself shagger, but that’s not really him, is it? Or is it? Because I’ll be so happy if it is.’

‘I honestly don’t know,’ I said, wishing it wasn’t the truth. ‘He changes his mind more often than I change my knickers and I know you don’t know me that well, but believe me, I am fastidious about clean knickers.’

‘Good to know,’ Paige replied. ‘Back to Nick: you could do something incredibly wacky and ask him what’s going on?’

I looked over my monitor and checked out my reflection in the mirror. Thank God Nick hadn’t been there when I woke up, I looked like a panda on meth.

‘It is starting to look like I’m going to have to take such drastic measures,’ I said, trying to wipe away some of the mascara that was crusted all around my eyes. I didn’t care what Amy said: there was no way Debbie Harry walked around looking this shit. ‘Terrifying.’

‘And not to make matters more difficult but where does this leave taller, darker and quite frankly as far as I’m concerned, handsomer, Charlie?’

‘It leaves him as my best friend,’ I said, hoping it was still true. ‘I haven’t quite worked that part out yet.’

‘At least you’re sending him a brilliant ad campaign for chicken,’ she reasoned. ‘That’s bound to cushion the blow. Sorry I’m dumping you, darling, but ta-da! Here’s a big old boost up the career ladder.’

‘Are you taking the piss?’ I asked.

‘I’m not sure, to be honest,’ she replied, ‘but I’m looking at this presentation and it is
brilliant
. Don’t be a chicken! Eat one. Really funny.’

‘Because Perito’s is spicy,’ I said, excited. ‘So people need to be brave to eat it! And we’ll have a man in a shit chicken suit running around with a load of blokes doing Evel Knievel stuff – you know, stupid things that men think are cool.’

‘Yeah, it wasn’t a difficult concept to grasp,’ she sighed. ‘But thanks for assuming I’m an idiot. I’ll check it, print it out, and courier it over. Send me his address?’

‘Sending it now,’ I said, still very pleased with myself. It wasn’t often I managed to take someone hurling insults at me and turn them into a killer ad campaign. I was a glass of whisky and two married mistresses from feeling just like Don Draper. And it was a bit early in the day for the whisky. ‘Thanks so much for this, you’re a lifesaver.’

‘So you’re still coming back at the weekend?’ she asked. ‘Do you want to get lunch on Sunday or something? Catch me up on how your very many difficult conversations go?’

‘Yeah, I’ll let you know when we’re back,’ I looked around my bedroom, feeling incredibly possessive all of a sudden. ‘We’ll make a plan.’

‘Fine, glamorous photography lady,’ she said before blowing me two kisses. ‘Talk to you later.’

‘Paige?’ I squeaked before she could hang up.

‘Tess?’

‘Thank you,’ I said, feeling silly and grateful and sad and happy all at the same time, ‘for not sending me home in Hawaii. You could have kicked me off that shoot right at the beginning. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here now.’

‘Don’t thank me too soon,’ she warned. ‘And don’t do yourself down. You’re good, Tess. You’re a good photographer, and I’m only going to say this once, but you’re a hot piece and a nice person.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, wanting to give the phone a hug.

‘I mean, a bit
too
nice sometimes, probably. Almost erring on the side of martyr. And you’d do a lot better if you put a bit more effort into the hot piece part of that compliment but in general, all the raw materials are there for a shit-hot, shit-kicker of a woman.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, wanting to hang up.

‘No worries.’ This time I got three kisses. ‘
Ciao ciao, bella
.’

Peering back into the mirror, I frowned, peeling off my shirt and heading for the shower. It was hard to be annoyed with someone when you looked like Alice Cooper’s ugly twin sister but somehow I found a way.

The showers in the palazzo weren’t the most modern or luxurious in the world but any kind of hot running water was pretty wonderful when you had woken up alone in a bed that wasn’t your own. I wasn’t quite sure how it happened but almost an hour had passed since my chat with Paige when I finally found myself fully dressed. Amy was hanging out in the living room, knees first on the sofa, leaning out of the window and staring at the beautiful, sunny day outside.

‘You look nice,’ she said, giving me a slightly surprised but approving glance. I curtsied, holding out the skirt of my little red sundress and accidentally showing her my knickers. It was shorter than I might have liked, but that’s what I got for letting a gay man choose my clothes. ‘You’ve done something with your hair.’

‘Washed it
and
dried it,’ I declared, joining her on the settee. ‘Fancy, I know.’

‘What’s the occasion?’ she asked. ‘Is the Queen coming for dinner?’