Not that I particularly want to go live on a beach in India and go, ‘Ommmmm,’ but even so.
‘That sounds great.’ I nod, smiling dreamily.
‘It does, doesn’t it?’ He grins, and we fall silent and stare doe-eyed across the table at each other, like a couple of loved-up teenagers. Truly, it’s horribly embarrassing.
Bloody fantastic, though.
The rest of the evening slips away in a hazy blur of delicious food, ice-cold champagne and flirtation. We skip coffee and dessert, as Nate doesn’t drink it or eat them; instead he asks me back to his for a night-cap. By the glint in his eye, it’s pretty obvious he’s not talking about a cup of cocoa.
I feel a frisson of excitement as he asks for the bill.
Although the chocolate profiteroles with hot sauce did sound to die for.
‘You OK?’ he asks, stroking my hair as I lean against him on the back seat of the cab on the way back to his penthouse.
‘Yeah, fine.’ I nod. I can feel the hardness of his thigh pressing against mine through my flimsy silk dress. It’s only a few hours since we were in bed together, but it already feels like eons ago.
‘Sleepy?’ Tracing his fingers underneath my hair to the nape of my neck, he moves them slowly down to my collarbone.
I swallow hard. ‘No,’ I reply, trying to keep my voice even. This feels like the longest cab ride ever. Filled with champagne and the anticipation of what lies ahead, every red light takes for ever, every block an eternity. I move my hand to his lap, feeling the hardness beneath. He flinches slightly and his breathing grows heavier. ‘Are you?’
‘No, me neither.’ He reaches his hand down into my dress and I feel a shiver run down to my groin.
God, this is so surreal, both of us having this perfectly normal conversation, while at the same time not being able to keep our hands off each other.
It’s also the biggest turn-on.
‘So if we’re not feeling sleepy, what shall we do?’ I ask innocently, while untucking his shirt and sliding my fingertips underneath his waistband.
‘Hmm, I’m not sure,’ he says, still playing the game. ‘We could watch a DVD.’
The breath catches in my throat. ‘What movies do you have?’ I manage. My entire body is pulsating and it takes every drop of self-control not to demand he has sex with me there and then, on the back seat of the cab.
I know. What am I like?
‘Oh, I’m sure I’ve got something that you’d enjoy . . .’ He trails off, his breath hot and ragged against my ear.
‘Really?’ I say thickly.
‘Really,’ he gasps, his voice trembling.
Then suddenly we’re pulling up at his building, and Nate is paying the taxi, and we’re walking in through the revolving doors and across the lobby. I’m so heady with desire I barely notice the doorman, or the ride up in the elevator. All I’m aware of is Nate’s body standing close to mine, the warm musky smell of him, the sound of his breath, short and urgent against my neck.
Now the doors are sliding open and we’re walking into the apartment and saying goodnight to the doorman, and it’s just the two of us, alone at last.
‘You know, I’m not really in the mood for a DVD.’ I turn to him, feeling as if my whole body might explode at any moment.
‘What are you in the mood for?’ He looks at me, daring me.
I can’t do it. I can’t play this game any more.
‘This,’ I say, and pulling him towards me, I kiss him. Last night I was so drunk on red wine the sex was all a bit hazy. Caught up in the whirlwind of seeing him again, of being with him again, it all seemed to happen so fast.
But now I’m getting a glorious rerun, just in case I missed anything, I muse, feeling a shiver of delight as, kissing me back, he pulls me to the floor.
Afterwards we just lie there, dozing. Bathed in a warm fuzziness, I rest my head on his chest, listening as our breathing slows to normal. For a while neither of us speaks, then turning his head, he kisses me gently on the cheek and says quietly, ‘I’ve got something to show you.’
‘Oh, I think I’ve seen everything,’ I say, raising an eyebrow and smiling.
He clicks his tongue reprovingly. ‘No, you haven’t.’ He grins, pulling himself up.
Naked, he disappears for a moment while I lie on the white carpet, warm and contented. I stretch out like a cat and let out a yawn. I feel sleepy, spent, satisfied.
‘I just found it today,’ he says, reappearing. ‘I thought I’d lost it years ago, but it just turned up out of the blue.’ Propping myself up on my elbows, I gaze at him as he bends down to kiss me. ‘A bit like you, hey?’
I look at him in confusion. What is he talking about? Then I notice he’s wearing something round his neck. A pendant. Half a coin.
My heart leaps and I feel a shockwave of amazement, incredulity, excitement . . . and something else. This must be more than just coincidence. This must be Fate.
‘Well, it’s funny you should say that . . .’ Rolling over, I throw out my arm and reach for my bag, which is lying discarded on the floor, along with my clothes. With my fingers, I fumble around inside, until finally I find it. My half of the necklace.
‘Look.’ Triumphantly I loop it round my neck and we exchange looks of delight.
‘Hey, I wonder if they still . . .’ Leaning towards me, he gently reaches for my necklace and puts it together with his. The two halves click into place, like two pieces of a jigsaw.
‘It’s a perfect fit,’ I murmur.
‘Are you talking about the necklace or . . .?’ He raises his eyebrows suggestively.
‘Nate!’ I giggle, and swat him playfully.
‘What?’ he laughs, then pauses thoughtfully, tracing a finger across my shoulder. ‘You know, now I’ve found you again, I’m never letting you go.’
‘Yeah, right,’ I tease, but inside I feel a burst of happiness.
‘No, I’m serious.’ His blue eyes search mine and he looks at me for a long moment. ‘You’re never going to get rid of me.’
‘Well now, there’s a coincidence . . .’ Reaching up, I pull him down towards me. ‘You’re never going to get rid of me either.’
Chapter Twelve
The rest of the week slips away in a dreamy montage of romantic dinner dates in some of the finest restaurants in New York, a horse-drawn carriage ride in Central Park, an amazing bouquet of fresh white lilies delivered to work . . .
It’s everything a girl could ever dream of and more. What’s even more amazing is this time it’s not happening to someone else. To some random celebrity I read about in a magazine on the subway, or a friend of a friend I hear about over drinks with my single girlfriends, but me. Me. Lucy Hemmingway.
I mean, who would have thought that only a few days ago I was trundling along in my normal life, doing normal things, like moaning about my cellulite to Robyn and doing my hand-washing, and then – boom – I bumped into Nate again and everything changed. Not that my life was terrible before, it wasn’t at all. It’s just . . .Well, put it this way, I’m not thinking about cellulite or hand-washing any more.
Now I’m too busy smiling as yet another slushy text beeps up from my phone, or lying giggling in his arms after we’ve had sex for about the millionth time.
As for my cellulite . . . the funny thing is, I don’t think Nate’s even noticed it!
Cocooned in our own little world called Nate ’n’ Luce: Population 2, it’s like no one and nothing else exists. In fact, it’s all I can do each morning to drag myself away from his penthouse and catch the subway downtown to work. I want to be like John and Yoko and just lounge around in bed for a week, though my reasons are slightly less honourable. Well, ten years is a lot of lost time to make up for.
Saying that, as soon as I enter the gallery, I automatically switch into work mode. Wafting around in a heady, romantic state might be wonderful, but it’s all-consuming and you can’t get anything done, and there’s loads to do, as this Friday is the opening at the gal
lery. Falling in love and having your first New York gallery opening to organise all in the same week is a bit intense, but I rise to the challenge. Switching back and forth between loved-up Lucy and work-mode Lucy, like Superman, only without the cape.
Until by Friday everything on my list has been ticked off with my brand-new highlighter pen. My sister, Kate, has always been a fan of highlighter pens. She carries one in every colour in her handbag – unlike me, who can never find a pen and usually ends up digging around until I find an old broken bit of charcoal I used to sketch with. This time, though, I’m determined to be more organised.
Compile guest list: tick. Send out invitations: tick. Write promotional material: tick. Book caterer: tick. Hire waitressing staff: tick. Hang paintings ready to exhibit: tick. Now all we need is for it to be a success, I tell myself, feeling a bundle of nerves as the first guests start arriving.
‘Welcome to Number Thirty-Eight,’ I smile, crossing their names off my list. ‘Please feel free to wander around and enjoy the artwork, and if you have any questions, my name’s Lucy and I’d be delighted to help you.’
Panic: tick.
Twenty minutes later and the gallery is buzzing. It’s a hot, muggy evening in New York and the doors have been thrown wide open. People are milling around inside and spilling outside on to the pavement.
It’s a diverse crowd. Magda has put together an eclectic guest list, from sombre-looking artists dressed in Birkenstocks and Elvis Costello glasses to some of New York’s glitterati, including several pubescent-looking models, the odd actor and lots of older men with impossibly white teeth and impossibly skinny wives who are dripping in diamonds and designer handbags. And who all look suspiciously like they bought their face at the same place as Magda, I notice, watching them air-kissing with their strangely swollen lips.
‘Wow, you clever girl, this is amazing!’
I glance up to see Robyn bounding towards me, her hair flying loose, a large smile sweeping across her face. I’ve barely seen her all week, as I’ve been at Nate’s, and it’s great to see her. She’s wearing an embroidered kaftan and a pair of fisherman trousers, both of which are tie-dyed, and the longest, dangliest pair of earrings I’ve ever seen.
‘And you look amazing! I love your hair!’ Flinging her arms round me, she gives me a breathless hug. ‘The colour looks great on you!’
‘Thanks.’ I grin. In honour of the occasion I popped into a salon this lunchtime and changed the colour of my hair from a boring chestnut to a spicy blackcurrant.
‘Has Nathaniel seen it yet?’ she asks excitedly.
What she really means is, has Nathaniel been seen yet? All week she’s been dying to meet him, but I’ve been keeping him under wraps until tonight.
‘He’s running a bit late at the studio, but I’ll introduce you as soon as he arrives,’ I promise.
‘Cool. I can’t wait.’ She grins. ‘OK, I’m off to grab a drink before I die of thirst. Do you want one?’
‘Oh, no, I’m fine.’ I shake my head. ‘Better not drink on the job.’
‘OK, well, I won’t be a sec.’
As she disappears into the crowd, I turn back to my guest list. More people are arriving and there’s still more yet to come, including my sister and her husband, Jeff, though they left a message saying they’d be late. Something about an appointment. I can’t complain. Knowing her, it’s probably some mega-important multi-million-dollar lawyer thing. In comparison, mine is just a little gallery opening.
‘Babe, sorry I’m late.’
My thoughts are interrupted by a familiar voice and I look up to see Nate. Instantaneously my stomach does its usual loop-the-loop. ‘You made it,’ I say, experiencing a rush of happiness as he bends down and gives me a kiss.
‘Just. We had a bit of a nightmare at the studio.’
‘Oh, is everything OK?’ I feel a beat of concern.
‘For now.’ He nods, checking his iPhone. ‘There was a problem with the presenter of one of the shows I’m working on. He’s being a total prima donna, making all kinds of demands.’ He stops and stares at me. ‘Hang on, you look different.’
I feel a wave of pleasure. He’s noticed my new hair.
‘What do you think?’ I do a bit of flirty flicking with my hand.
His brow furrows. ‘Lucy . . . is your hair purple?’
‘It’s called “spicy blackcurrant”,’ I falter. ‘Don’t you like it?’
He looks at me, as if he’s weighing it up carefully. ‘Well, it’s certainly interesting,’ he says, but inside I feel disappointed.
He hates it. He hates my hair.
‘Isn’t the colour amazing!’
Hearing a voice, I swivel round to see Robyn reappearing with a drink, her eyes wide with excitement as she takes in both me and Nate.
‘Robyn, this is Nate,’ I say, quickly doing the introduction and changing the subject from my hair. ‘My boyfriend,’ I add.
Well, I can’t resist. Just saying it gives me a little burst of happiness.
‘Wow, I’m so pleased to meet you!’ With a glass of champagne in one hand, she throws the other round him. ‘I’ve heard everything about you!’
‘Really?’ Nate looks amused. ‘Everything?’ He shoots me a look over her tie-dyed shoulder and I blush.
‘About Venice, and the bridge, and the legend.’ Releasing him from her one-armed hug, she stands back and looks at us both, a huge soppy grin on her face. ‘Just look at you two. You make such a cute couple.’
I blush as Nate squeezes my shoulder.
‘No, but seriously,’ she continues, her face falling suddenly solemn, ‘you guys were meant to be together. You know there is a force out there that none of us understands, a bigger energy than either you or me . . .’ She pauses, then lowers her voice to a whisper as if she’s telling us a secret. ‘Believe me when I say this, destiny is an amazing thing, and this is your destiny. This course was set out for you. It’s kismet. You’re puppets and Fate is pulling the strings, and—’
The jingle of someone’s phone suddenly interrupts Robyn’s monologue and Nate clamps his hand to his breast pocket.
‘Sorry, excuse me.’ Pulling out his iPhone, he glances at the screen. ‘Do you mind? I need to take this. It’s the studio.’
‘No, no, go ahead,’ bats away Robyn, snapping back to her usual vocal range, which is loud-verging-on-even-louder.
Clipping on his Bluetooth headset, he moves away. ‘Hi. Yeah, Nathaniel Kennedy speaking . . .’
‘Wow, Lucy, he’s amazing,’ gasps Robyn, as soon as he’s out of earshot.
‘You think so?’ I say, trying to be modest, when of course I know he is.
‘Totally.’ She looks at me, suddenly welling up as if she’s about to burst into tears. ‘Oh, honey, I’m so happy for you.’ Giving me a hug, she breaks away sniffling. ‘Sorry I get so emotional . . . It’s just . . .’ She dabs her eyes with the sleeve of her kaftan and gives a little hiccup. ‘I’ll be right back. I’m just going to grab a napkin.’
Thrusting her drink at me, she turns and I watch her dashing off through the crowd. As it parts, I spot my sister. Carrying a briefcase and wearing a dark work suit and harassed expression, she couldn’t look more out of place at a fashionable gallery opening if she tried.
‘Hi, Kate.’ I wave to attract her attention, and seeing me, she turns and marches over. ‘I’m so glad you could make—’
But she cuts me straight off. ‘Is that who I think it is?’ she demands, bypassing the pleasantries and jerking her head towards Nate, who’s still chatting away on his iPhone.
Oh shit.
I feel a clunking thud. The thing is, I haven’t actually got round to telling my sister about Nate. It’s not that I forgot as such. It’s more . . .OK, I completely avoided telling her. She left me half a dozen voicemail messages this week, but I just texted back saying I was busy with work. Which is entirely true. I have been super busy with work.
I’ve also been super busy falling in love with Nate, bu
t I couldn’t tell her that. She’s not exactly a paid-up member of the Nathaniel Kennedy Fan Club.
‘Um . . .yes, it is,’ I say, avoiding eye contact.
‘The Bridge Guy!’ she gasps incredulously.
‘He’s called Nathaniel,’ I say, feeling defensive.
‘I could call him a lot of things,’ she replies, with a hard edge to her voice, ‘and most of them aren’t very complimentary.’
I feel my jaw set and I square my shoulders, just like I always do when I’m about to have an argument with Kate.
‘Like, for example, married.’
‘He’s getting divorced,’ I explain quickly. ‘He and his wife are separated. He’s living here in New York now.’
Kate’s eyes narrow and she fixes me with the kind of look that terrifies vice-presidents of law firms across Manhattan. ‘You’re not seeing him again, are you, Lucy?’ she demands, in a tone that makes grown men tremble.
By the look on my face there’s obviously no need to answer.
‘Oh my God, you are,’ she gasps in disbelief.
‘We’re in love,’ I say simply, trying to suppress a blissful smile, and failing.
‘In love?’ She staggers back as if she’s just been shot. ‘Since when?’
‘Since I was nineteen,’ I say, smiling ruefully.
Kate gives a little snort. ‘Lucy, you haven’t seen him for ten years. People change.’
‘Well, he hasn’t!’ I say rather crossly. For goodness’ sake, my big sister is always so negative. ‘OK, so he doesn’t drink coffee any more, and he does yoga, and—’
‘Yoga?’ gapes Kate.
‘What’s wrong with yoga?’ I demand. ‘It’s very good for you. We’re doing private classes together.’
‘You? Doing Yoga?’ She suddenly bursts out laughing. ‘Lucy, you can’t even touch your toes.’
You're the One That I Don't Want Page 12
