Even if he did tell her about the wedding, that can wait.
‘Do youwantto go to London?’ I ask.
It seems like the only thing holding their relationship together is Delaney’s commitment to making it work. And that’s wavering based on what she said last night.
‘Truth?’ she asks, looking over.
‘Always, remember?’
‘Hmm, yeah. Well, in that case, no. Even if I could free up some time after this – which would have to be unpaid, ’cause I’m out of vacation days – what’s the point? It’ll only be a repeat of the last visit and the one before that and the one before that.’
She doesn’t go into detail and I’m unsure if I should pry.
‘You know, I’ve never met his siblings and I’ve only ever met his parents once,’ she says, her voice notably quiet. ‘And he introduced me as his “friend from America”.’
‘When was that?’ I ask – maybe it was early in their relationship, and he was still finding his feet.
‘The last time I saw him – about four months ago. I mean, I could understand it if we’d just started dating, but…’
There’s that word again –dating. A word brimming with promises of romance and adventure, of fun and sex –lotsof sex. Lots offunsex.
Only it doesn’t seem to hold the same meaning for Delaney – or not any more. Sadly, I can relate.
We arrive at the hotel, only the night feels incomplete somehow and I don’t want to go back to the room yet.
‘Did you want to go up or…?’ I ask.
‘Or what?’ she asks before capturing her bottom lip between her teeth, a habit I find more charming each time.
I check my watch. ‘The funicular’s closed for the night, but we could walk for a bit, maybe find somewhere to sit, take in the view.’
‘The view we’ve been looking at all night?’ she asks, her head tipped to the side.
‘That would be the one, yes,’ I say, giving her a lipless smile. ‘Never mind – let’s go u?—’
‘No, we can walk a bit longer. Except…’ She sighs loudly. ‘Do you know why high heels are like Kardashians?’ she asks, bobbing down and undoing the straps of her sandals.
‘Uh, nope – can’t say I do.’
‘Because they look good, but after an hour or so, they’re just a pain in the ass.’ She picks up her sandals, letting them dangle from her fingers as she straightens.
‘Was that supposed to be funny?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, but now you get whyyou’rethe writer and I should stick to location scouting and budgets. Okay, let’s go.’
‘I could run up and get your sneakers if you like? Or your flip-flops?’
‘Nah – pretty sure that’s cheating.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Swapping out your shoes in the middle of a night out? Cheating. Come on,’ she says, heading off along the path.
‘Is that some weird American rule?’ I ask, rushing to catch up.
‘Nah, I just made it up. But only because I wasthis closeto calling it a night and the shoe-swapping thing would’ve landed me on Team Go To Bed.’
‘Your logic is quite?—’