Until We Collide by Fallowfield Charlotte

Author:Fallowfield, Charlotte [Fallowfield, Charlotte]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Charlotte Fallowfield
Published: 2016-02-21T05:00:00+00:00

‘When … the … moon’s in your eye, like a big piece of pie, or whatever the lyrics are, that’s … amore,’ I sang as I danced across the room, threw open the balcony windows in the lounge of my suite at The Rome Domville, and looked out across the city. I leaned on the ornate railings and rested my chin on my knuckles to soak in the view and atmosphere. ‘Hello, Rome, I do love visiting you.’

The noise was insane, the chatter, the whizz of mopeds zipping up the narrow streets, cars and taxis honking. I loved it. I breathed in deeply, I could smell garlic and steak cooking. I was famished. I quickly headed through to the bedroom to unpack. Jean-Claude thought that it was hilarious that I was the most undiva-like model he’d ever worked with. Other than Vivian and Shauna doing the essentials, I packed and unpacked myself, ordered my own room service, made no demands, and had no required list for when I travelled or stayed in hotels. He was also infuriated at my refusal to have a bodyguard. It was complete overkill in my eyes. When I dressed down with my shades on, virtually no one recognised me.

I showered and washed my hair again, taking my time to dry it, and applied a little mascara and Vaseline. I was only going to dinner with Jean-Claude, to an amazing little trattoria off the tourist track, not too far away, so there was no need to get glammed up. I had on a strapless, shirring maxi dress in black with blue flowers growing up from the hem. It was just a cheap thing I’d seen in a supermarket back home, but the flowers had reminded me of the cornflowers Alec had given me on our one and only date. I slipped on a pair of flat black sandals with a large rose bud on the thong and a load of silver bangles, then a silver lariat and a pair of big hooped earrings. My favourite perfume dabbed here and there, and I was good to go. My phone rang, so I bounced over to get it, hoping it wasn’t Spence again. We’d already spoken twice since I landed and he was worse than a woman for chatting on the phone, I’d never get out in time.

‘Paige,’ came Jean-Claude’s gorgeous French accent. ‘I’m outside on a hot pink moped, just for you. Get your rump down here, let’s go.’

‘Moped? I have a dress on!’

‘Hitch it up, show off those pins of yours. When in Rome,’ he laughed.

‘I’ll be down in a moment. If I get helmet hair, I won’t be impressed,’ I warned.

I grabbed my small bag and chewed my lip as I looked at my phone, which was a bit too big for my bag. I didn't really need it, so I decided to leave it behind. I slipped in my Vaseline and room key and headed out towards the lift, humming Dean Martin’s That’s Amore as I descended.

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