I return to the bathroom and let the water out of the tub – not feeling super Zen any more, so I might as well unpack and get ready for Nicholas’ arrival. Maybe mix a cocktail from that fancy-schmancy bar cart and read in the hanging wicker chair while I wait.
I breeze through the unpacking – not my first time – not even my hundredth – and I’ve just stepped out of the robe to get dressed when there’s a knock at the door.
‘For the love of—’ I cut myself off with a resigned sigh. Maybe the ferry guy left something behind. I put the robe back on and go to the door, paste on an accommodating smile, and open it.
The smile falls away the second I open the door. Itisthe ferry guy – looking both apologetic and bewildered – but he’s with an older man wearing a nametag that saysConcierge.
The older man breaks into a toothy grin. ‘Signorina Cole, I’m the concierge, Vittorio, and I’m sorry but we seem to have a small problem.’
3
NICK
Small problem, my arse.I snort out a scoffing laugh and they both look at me.
‘Signore, please…’ says the concierge, holding his hands out imploringly. Fair – from what I can tell, it’s not the hotel’s fault.
‘Sorry,’ I mutter.
‘How small?’ She glances between us, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern.
The concierge turns back to her. ‘Well…’ he begins, dragging out the word.
‘The room’s double-booked,’ I explain, talking over him. I’m not trying to be an arsehole – but the news isn’t going to be any better if he keeps stalling.
He shoots me another look, more pointed this time. Yep – he thinks I’m an arsehole.
‘Ah, it’s not so simple,’ he counters – also fair.
‘Can’t you just give him a different suite?’ she asks the concierge.
‘No, there is nothing else. I am sorry, we are fully booked.’
‘Oh, okay,’ she says, her brows creasing. ‘Can you give me a sec? I need to get dressed – then we’ll figure this out.’
Without waiting for a reply, she closes the door, and the concierge and I wait in awkward silence. To her credit, she’s quick, opening the door less than a minute later wearing shorts and a T-shirt.
‘Come on in,’ she says with a wave of her hand. We follow her out onto the balcony, and she folds her tiny frame into an egg-shaped chair that’s hanging from the ceiling. Staking her claim or playing hostess? It’s hard to tell but either way, she seems unfazed.
‘Okay, so the suite’s double-booked?’ she asks the concierge – a far cooler cucumber than I was at reception ten minutes ago. More evidence that I probablyaman arsehole.
‘Sì,’ he begins, taking a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. ‘The booking was made by True North and?—’
‘So,theydouble-booked the suite?’ she interjects.
‘It’s one booking, reserving La Dolce Vita suite for Delaney Cole?—’
‘Yep, that’s me.’
‘AndNicholas James,’ he finishes, nodding towards me.
‘And that’sme,’ I say, right as she says, ‘Exactly.’
Her eyes fly to mine, her mouth falling open. ‘Wait,what?’
She squirms in the chair, struggling to get out, and it swings wildly. I reach over to steady it, and she finally lurches free, scrambling to her feet like a baby giraffe taking its first steps.
‘Did you say that your name is Nicholas James?’ she asks, her eyes narrowed.