‘Uh, nope. But hold on…’ I go back inside and fish my wallet out of my tote, glad I grabbed some euros at the airport. I hand him a twenty, hoping it’s enough. He gives me a polite smile, then leaves.
I’m itching to explore the rest of the suite but first I check my phone, hoping I’ve heard from Nicholas. I grin when I see the notification, then tap the thumbnail of his handsome face.
Hiya. Just landed. Should be there soon.
Not the most romantic message in the history of dating. Hecanbe romantic sometimes – in his own way – but what’s got me baffled is thesoonpart. It took me nearly three hours to get here from Naples.
But I suppose it’s all relative. Three hours is nothing compared to four months.
I reply with a heart emoji, then fire off a message to Megan, my best friend since freshman year at USC.
It’s insanely gorgeous here. You’re gonna be super jealous when I start posting pics. *winking face*
I giggle to myself. It takes a lot to make Megan jealous; she’senamouredwith her life.
She married right out of college to a guy eight years older than us – one of the good ones, trust me. Gabe had the ‘Delaney Cole Seal of Approval’ long before he proposed to Megan on their fifth date. They live in a renovated mid-century modern in Studio City and have six-year-old twins – Gabriel Jr and Irina – who call me ‘Aunt Delaney’.
Megan is one of those mega moms who’s always on the go and loves every second of it. The kids were barely three weeks into kindergarten when she became the youngest PTA president in the history of their school. I even had a bumper sticker made in her honour – now proudly stuck to the rear of her Lexus.
She’ll be up by now – it’s 5a.m. in LA – but I don’t expect a reply until after she drops the kids at school.
Last, I message the group chat with my parents, telling them I’ve arrived safely. Mom, who works downtown and is always up at the crack of dawn, replies right away:
Thanks honey. We love you! xx
Messages out of the way – and I am very proud of myself for not checking work emails – it’s time to become intimately acquainted with my home away from home for the next six days.
I always do this when I travel – explore every tiny detail of my accommodation. Then I nest. Nesting is what makes travelling for work (almost) fun. As a movie producer, I live out of a suitcase more than I live in my own apartment. Not a complaint, just reality, so why not enjoy it, right?
And there’s something to be said for the creature comforts that come with a luxury hotel room. The fluffy robes, the bespoke scented candles, hand-crafted chocolates on the pillow… And I’mobsessedwith bath products. I always leave space in my suitcase to bring goodies home (the ones I’m allowed to take – it’s not like I’m stealing lightbulbs or anything).
The living room is compact but luxe, with a mini sofa and two armchairs, and its walls covered with framed black-and-white photos of famous people on Capri – Jackie O, Bridgette Bardot, Charlie Chaplin, Audrey Hepburn… A who’s who for a movie geek like me.
In the corner, near the doors to the balcony, is an old-school, fully stocked bar cart and next to it sits a record player. I wander over and flick through the records – Dean Martin, Etta James, Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald… This whole place has a cool retro vibe and I’m into it.
I put on Etta James and as her throaty voice fills the suite, I head into the bathroom, which – hilariously – is even bigger than the living room. And it must have been updated recently because everything looks brand new, including the giant soaker tub. I eye it longingly. Nest or take a bath?
It’s been almost twenty-four hours since I left LA and although I slept on the plane – thank you, business class! – I’m feeling a little travel weary. I lift one arm and sniff – make that travel wearyandstinky. And with Nicholas a few hours away…
Bathtime it is!
I run the water, adding a generous glug of limoncello-scented bubble bath, then go into the bedroom. Icouldunpack while I wait on the tub, but my typical post-arrival routine seems to have lost its lustre.
Maybe this is me switching into vacation mode – Nicholas isn’t the only one who rarely takes a break.
Or it could be Capri. I’ve heard this island has magical properties. Although that was from a gal I work with and she’s into that kinda thing – mystical stuff. She sees her psychic every week.
Whatever the reason, I’m content to leave my suitcase zipped up and I drift over to the gift basket by the window, helping myself to a bunch of plump green grapes. I’m pulling one off the stalk with my teeth when I spy the card. Someone has scrawledWelcome, Delaney and Nickin loopy handwriting. Ordinarily, I’d get a kick out of such a thoughtful gesture, but I should probably toss it. Nicholas hates it when people shorten his name. I drop it into the trash, then go check on the bath. It’s only half full, but it’s a deep tub and I’m only little, so I undress, tie my hair up in a messy bun, and sink into the fragrant water.
‘Oh, that’s amazing,’ I say, my eyes drifting shut. I exhale slowly, letting the bubbles tickle my chin, and ease into a dreamy Zen-like state.
I couldn’t say how long it’s been – a few seconds or a few minutes – but something snaps me out of my reverie – something that sounds exactly like a key in a lock and a door opening.
I sit up abruptly and strain my ears to listen over the music. Nothing. Hmm, maybe I imagined it.
‘Hello?’ I call out.
The door closes loudly and something heavy hits the floor, both sounds reverberating through the suite. Nope – didn’t imagine it. Nicholas is here. Not exactly how I imagined our reunion, but it’s not like he’ll complain if he finds me naked and covered in bubbles.