‘You’ll finally have the room to yourself,’ he says.
‘Yeah.’
Tell him, says the little angel on my shoulder – or the devil – I can’t tell any more, because the lines between right and wrong have blurred dramatically over the past few days.
Tell him!
I draw in a deep breath. ‘I’m breaking up with Nicholas,’ I say, not daring to look at him. I suck on the straw again, drinking a huge gulp of spritz while the silence swells between us.
I’d rather get a bikini wax in the middle of Santa Monica Pier than be sitting here right now. Nick’s silence, that stony expression…Ah, shit.I’ve clearly misinterpreted what’s going on between us.
I fix my eyes on the hydrofoil, now halfway to Capri.
‘Delaney, hey…’ he says in a gentle, placating tone. God, that may be worse than the silence.
He extends his hand across the table towards me, palm up, inviting me to take it and completing the let-her-down-easy trifecta.
What’s my move here? Do I evenhavea move? Within seconds of discovering he could leave Capri, he had a flight booked outta here. If he wanted to stay – more to the point, if he wanted to stay withme– he would.
He withdraws his hand, and his fingertips drum on the table.
‘It’s not because of you,’ I say, wishing I could suck the words back into my mouth before I’ve even finished.
‘No, I didn’t—’ He cuts himself off and I look over. ‘I didn’t think it was.’
‘Great, glad we cleared that up.’
My phone chimes – it’s face up on the table, a message from Nicholas on the screen:
Landed safely. Let me know if you’re coming.
I look across and Nick’s reading the text. I flip the phone over.Great fucking timing, Nicholas.
‘Sorry,’ says Nick.
‘It’s okay.’
‘So, he’s back in London then?’
‘Yeah. I guess he and Pippa didn’t embark on a passionate affair after all.’Geez, Delaney!I throw my head back and sigh loudly. ‘That was dumb – I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay,’ he parrots.
I reach for the spritz and drink deeply. It’s going straight to my head – not surprising considering it’s off the back of a generous limoncello tasting. We tried three types, including one infused with honey – but that reminded me too much of cough drops – and a cocktail called an Amalfi Sour.
No wonder I’m buzzing.
‘So, what about the rest of your time here? What do you think you’ll get up to?’ he asks casually, as if we weren’tthis closeto fucking last night.
‘Well, True North gave us a bunch of excursions, right?’ I say, swivelling to face him. ‘I guess I’ll do those.’
‘Oh.’
He seems surprised. But what did he think? That I’d spend the next couple of days moping around our suite, pining for him? Why are men so dumb sometimes?
‘Yeah, there’s Villa San Michele… a guided shopping tour of Capri Town… and the spa is supposed to doamazingtreatments.’
This time, when I sip from my straw, I lift my chin, channelling Meg Ryan in a 90s romcom – pure spunk.