‘I suppose that’s some consolation,’ I reply. ‘If you’re going to be trapped somewhere for who knows how long, there are worse places than Capri.’
‘Like Naples airport.’
‘Or any airport.’
‘God, yes,’ she says. ‘Look, I shouldn’t complain that I get to travel for work, but airports seriously suck.’
I snigger. ‘Generally, yes, but don’t you get lounge access?’
‘Lounges are the worst! All those entitled rich people… They’re so rude to the staff, they hog all the good seats, and I have seen some questionable hygiene in “fancy-schmancy lounges”,’ she adds, making air quotes. ‘People are gross. Rich people are really gross.’
I snigger again, but we’ve got off track.
‘Anyway,’ she says, dragging us back to the point, ‘we are stuck, but it’s Capri, so it doesn’t completely suck,andTrue North is upgrading us.’
‘Sorry, upgrading us how?’ I ask, my brows knitting together. ‘Oh– they found me another room – something like this?’
‘Not exactly. Actually, not at all – like Vittorio said, the island’s at capacity – but they do have this cool activity package. And they’re giving it to us for free.’
‘Activity package?’ I ask, dubious. ‘You mean like walking tours with swaths of tourists?’
‘Better– they’re exclusive excursions. I’m talking chef’s table dinner, boat trip to the Blue Grotto, visiting a limoncello distillery, a spa…’ She trails off, then chews on her bottom lip.
‘Don’t,’ I say, reaching for her lip. I stop myself before I touch it. ‘Sorry… just that last time you drew blood.’
Her chin dips and she swipes her hand across her mouth. ‘Thanks,’ she whispers.
And that’s when I know for sure: this bouncy, OTT, let’s-make-the-most-of-it Delaneyisan act.
‘Delaney,’ I say softly, wanting her to look up.
‘Uh-uh,’ she says, shaking her head vigorously. She sniffs, rubs under her nose, and breaks into a forced smile.
‘You okay?’ I ask.
‘Not even close,’ she replies, lifting her head. ‘But, hey, we might as well make the most of it, right?’ she says, echoing my exact thought, her eyes pleading.
I break into a smile. ‘Absolutely.’
Her mouth stretches wider and she exhales a happy sigh. ‘Thanks, Nick.’
‘Sure,’ I reply, ignoring how relieved I am to kick the Pippa situation into the long grass.
‘So, what’s up first?’ I ask before chugging the rest of my coffee.
8
DELANEY
What’s up first is me getting my shit together. That’s twice I’ve nearly cried in front of Nick. And I am not a crier. I am the opposite of a crier – I’m capable and unflappable and…
Ah, who the hell am I trying to kid?
Less than two days ago, I boarded a plane, brimming with hope, next-level excited to see Nicholas. Now I’m riding out a natural disaster, dealing with a travel company’s colossal fuck-up, and entangled in a situation straight out of a romcom – all while stuck half a continent away from the man I love.
No wonder I’m on the verge of tears.
There’s also the other thing – the thing I’ve been pretending isn’t happening.