‘What?’ she asks incredulously, looking up at me. ‘No– that’s a term of endearment. Nicholas is a first-class asshole.’
‘Ah.’
She turns away, huffing loudly and tapping her phone against her leg.
I approach slowly, unsure if she wants to be left alone or if she needs someone to vent to. ‘I take it he’s leaving Iceland?’
‘Yep – flies out tomorrow morning. Doofus.’
‘That’s a new one for the repertoire – is that me or him?’ I ask, joining her at the railing.
She glances at me, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly. ‘He’sthe doofus – for not embracing where he is. He takes these things for granted. He takesmefor granted.’
It’s a hefty disclosure and I stay quiet, not wanting to impose on her reflective moment. Sometimes you need the mental and emotional space to marinade in the truth, reallyfeelit.
She huffs – sharp and loud. ‘Fuck it. He can do whatever he wants. He wants to piss away a chance to experience another country, another culture, then that’s on him. Right?’ she asks, turning to me.
‘Not sure I’m supposed to answer that,’ I reply with a dry smile.
‘No, don’t answer it.’ She looks off again, her eyes drinking in the view. ‘God, it’s beautiful here.’ She nudges me with an elbow. ‘Imagine coming back with a cast and crew, hey.’
‘Nowthatwould be counting my chickens before they hatch.’
She turns towards me. ‘Yeah, but isn’t it fun to dream?’
I look into Delaney’s light-filled eyes, mulling over her words, and accept that something has irrevocably shifted between us.
15
NICK
Delaney and I spend the rest of the afternoon brainstorming, and I’m blown away by how in sync we are, how easily we bounce off each other. I’ve been writing as we go, and when it’s time to get ready for dinner, I’ve got a first draft of the epilogue.
Delaney goes to shower, and I keep working, making tweaks to the montage we’re envisioning. I may have been sceptical at first, but she was bang on about the ending.
And it still hasn’t sunk in that she wants to make my film. It’s not a done deal yet – they say in filmmaking that until you attend the premiere, it could still fall apart – but this is the closest I’ve ever been to my dream coming to fruition. No wonder I’m buzzing – I usually have to jump out of a plane or roll a car ten times to achieve this sort of high.
Only it all comes to a screeching halt when my phone rings and it’s Pippa.
Pippa, who knows I’ve written a screenplay and that my ambition is to get out of stunt work while my body’s reasonably intact, but who never wants to discuss it. Resentment floods my veins, which I hate. I don’t want to feel this way about her, but it’s difficult not to.
I take a deep breath and hit the green button. ‘Hiya, Pip.’
‘I was worried you weren’t going to answer,’ she says accusingly.
‘Sorry, I— My phone was in the other room.’
I instantly catch my mistake and scrunch my face, waiting for the penny to drop.
‘What do you meanother room? Are you still in the suite? I thought you said you were moving to a different hotel?’
Bugger, bugger, bugger. I did tell her that, but I forgot to update her after we got back from the Blue Grotto. It completely slipped my prosecco-sozzled mind.
‘Uh, there was an issue with the other hotel. I’ve had to stay here,’ I say with a grimace, hoping she doesn’t hear it in my voice.
But her silence speaks volumes.
‘I’m sleeping on a folding bed out in the lounge,’ I add hurriedly, hating myself even more for the lie. But even though the sleeping arrangements with Delaney are as chaste as they can be, I’ll never tell Pippa the truth. She’d be beside herself.