Unlikely Love: A Romance Single (15 page)

Delilah's eyes opened on the day before her big Spanish TV debut, but that wasn't the first thought to enter her head. She bolted upright in bed and quickly started to wonder who had tidied her bedroom. She stared at the dressing table, rubbing the sleep from her left eye.

Where was her make-up?

Why was there a laptop there?

“Morning,” Nolan appeared in the balcony doorway.

“What time is it?”

“It's nearly 10am. You looked so peaceful, so I didn't want to wake you.”

She looked down and she was wearing a baggy white T-shirt that wasn't hers. Nolan was wearing a pair of grey sweatpants, and from the way it clung to his junk, nothing else.

“Did we-”

“Don't worry,” Nolan walked into the bedroom, his tanned abs flexing and twisting as he did, “I was the perfect gentleman. You said you didn't want to go to sleep, so I invited you in, but you pretty much passed out straight away.”

Images of very sleepily walking up the stairs after an exhausting day wandered through Delilah's mind.

“Where did you sleep?” Delilah asked.

“I wasn't that tired,” he smiled, perching on the edge of the bed, “I had a lot on my mind.”

Searching his face, he didn't show any signs of not sleeping. If she ever didn't sleep, she turned into a zombie, but aside from a little redness around his eyes he still looked as handsome as ever.

“I need to get back to my room,” she jumped up off the bed and picked her dress up off the ground, “Marcus will be having a bitch fit if he's tried to get in touch with me.”

She doubted he would try after her outburst at the studio.

“I meant everything I said yesterday, by the way,” he smiled at her, “just in case you were wondering.”

She dropped her head to the ground and smiled to herself.

“Good,” she smiled, “because I did too.”

“Have you got any plans today?”

She turned, brushed her hair from her face and shook her head with a smile spreading across her lips.

“I have tickets to this Gala tonight in the city. It will probably be super boring, and I wasn't going to go alone, but I thought it would be fun to get dressed up and have a bit of fun.”

Her mind wandered to her suitcase. Had she brought anything worthy of a Gala?

“I don't have anything to -”

“You need a dress? What size are you?”

“Didn't anybody ever tell you that you aren't supposed to ask a woman her size?” she popped one of her hands on her hip.

“I have a friend, she's a designer. I met her on my last trip to Spain, so I'm sure she'll happily donate a dress to
the
Delilah White.”

Delilah had almost forgot she was that pop star.

“I'm a sample size 2,” one of the benefits of being so thin meant that designer's clothes usually fit her.

“2,” he smiled at her, “I'll be in touch.”

With one last wink and bite of his lip, he spun around on his heels and sauntered out onto the balcony. She kept her eyes fixed on his muscle covered back until he was out of sight.

She ran back to her room, determined that she wasn't going to show up to a gala, no matter how boring, not looking a million dollars.

***

“You can't go out tonight De! You just can't,” Marcus protested.

“If you don't shut up, I'm going to mess up my eyeliner again, so hush!”

Marcus turned up at her door sometime after dinner, holding two plates of food and a pair of big puppy eyes. After making sure he'd suffered, she let him in and brushed off his apology.

“It's your performance tomorrow. Tony would say the same thing. You need to relax and get a good night's sleep.”

“I've been doing this for years. I'm not scared of a performance.”

“But it's a big deal! This show is seen all over Europe. It's your big break here.”

“If it was that big, Tony would be here. If it was that big, they wouldn't have put me in this stupid hotel. If it was that big, I'd have more than just an assistant here for two weeks.”

“What do you even see in that journalist anyway? He's not that good looking.”

“Liar.”

Marcus shot her a look that told her he was more jealous that she'd snagged the hot guy who didn't turn out to be gay for once.

“You're playing with fire De,” Marcus glared at her through the mirror, “you're going to make a lot of people angry back home if this gets out.”

“Do I look like I care anymore?” she shot back the glare through the mirror, “things are going to change when I get back.”

“Good luck with that,” he sniggered.

“Thanks for the support,” she looked back to her reflection in the mirror, applied her lip liner and smacked her lips together.

She leaned back in the chair and admired her handiwork. Despite not having a makeup artists help, she was happy with the result. Her dark smoky eyes were sexy, not clownish, and her cheeks were slightly tinted, giving her a natural glow. She looked refined, but she still looked like herself.

“How do I look?”

“You need more lip,” Marcus said dismissively.

“You need to give me less lip, boy. Remember who pays your bills.”

Marcus narrowed his eyes on her and plastered on a fake smile, “you look beautiful.”

“That's more like it.”

As the sun started to set she loosely curled her hair, pinning most of it up into a messy bun at the back, leaving a couple of strands to hang at the front of her face. Simple, yet elegant.

Marcus flicked the lights on, and through the hazy darkness, she felt the nerves start to collect in her stomach. She wasn't just nervous about seeing Nolan, she was nervous about the dress he was going to pick for her. She had no idea who the designer was, and she had no idea if Nolan had enough taste to pick something that would look good on her.

Eying up the designer dresses she'd brought with her on the trip, she wondered if anything would be Gala worthy. She had no idea what kind of gala it was, but she was sure that dresses as short as hers wouldn't make the cut. Just as she was about to rummage through and check, there was a stern knock on the door.

"I'll get that!" Delilah practically pushed Marcus out of the way to answer the door.

"Your dress awaits, Cinderella," Marcus quipped sarcastically before collapsing onto the bed.

Biting her lip, she let out a silent squeal before opening the door to see a long black clothes bag, "I was starting to think you weren't coming."

The bag lowered, but it wasn't Nolan standing behind it. A scrawny hand clung onto the bag reluctantly and a hairy lip snarled with a bitter smirk.

"You," she spat, "Mr Nolan ask me to give you this."

She thrust the bag forwards, and it would have fell to the ground if Delilah didn't dive to catch it.

"Oh, thanks, I guess," Delilah expected Julia to scurry back to her desk, but she planted her feet on the ground and crossed her arms angrily.

"You. You no good for Mr Nolan. He nice. You, not so much. He deserves nice woman with curves, not skinny thing like you."

She crossed her arms even harder and narrowed her piercing eyes on Delilah.

Delilah was about to go to town on Julia. She wanted to point out her mustache and the hangover over her pants. She wanted to poke her stomach to ask her if she had the curves '
Mr Nolan
'
should be looking for, but she had a better idea.

"Thank you Julia," Delilah smiled sweetly, “it was lovely to see you.”

She scowled and pursed her lips so tightly, they were nothing more than a thin line across her wrinkled face.

“Mr Nolan meet you outside at 8. He bring car," she looked Delilah up from her toes to her eyes with disgust before shuffling back down the hall, muttering various words under her breath in Spanish.

"Unzip it!" Marcus urged.

For all of his protests, he seemed just as excited as Delilah. Filled with nerves, she hung the dress on the back of the bathroom door and yanked down the zip as slowly as she dared.

When the zip reached the bottom, she closed her eyes briefly before pulling back the covers to reveal the dress.

Her jaw dropped and her stomach churned.

Walking down the stairs of
Paraíso
, she clung onto the front of her dress, letting her white
Gucci
heels take center stage. When she reached the bottom of the stairs and dodged the evil eyes Julia was sending her way, she headed out to the front of the hotel.

It was already 8:05pm, but she liked to go by the rule that it's better to be late and make an impression. Plus, it took Marcus an awfully long time to zip her into the dress.

Just as promised, Nolan was waiting for her. He was leaning casually against a small black chauffeur driven car, with his arms crossed across his smart tuxedo. His eyes were fixed on something that was happening next door, so Delilah took a couple of seconds to admire him, before his eyes landed on her.

He sprung up from the car, instantly dropping his hands into his pockets, trying to look cool.

“Wow, Delilah, you look...wow!” he stuttered.

She ran her hand across her sweetly scented neck and along the smooth fabric of the dress. The dress Nolan had chosen was near perfection, she was sure that it was too good to be true. It appeared to be made from gold silk or taffeta, and fit Delilah's body like a glove. A plunging neckline put Delilah's breasts on show, but subtly so. Below the bust, the dress dropped to the ground in an empire line, fanning out slightly at the bottom. It hung off Delilah's body like it had been made for her, and she'd never felt more beautiful. Coupled with some of her simple diamond earrings and a thin diamond bracelet, she looked ready for a movie premier.

“You don't look too bad yourself,” Delilah smiled.

Nolan brushed down the front of his tux. He seemed to be nervous.

“Did I pick the right dress?” he asked, his voice shaking.

“You honestly picked this?”

He nodded, “I spent all afternoon at the boutique my friend owns. The minute I told her who you were, she wheeled out her next collection and said I could pick anything. There was so much to choose from, I wasn't sure what would look pretty on you.”

Delilah walked forwards, letting the panels of the dress fan out in the light evening breeze. Leaning into Nolan, she pressed her finger against his lips to stop his nervous babbling.

“It's perfect,” she whispered, “it's more than perfect.”

A sharp sigh of relief escaped his mouth, followed with his dimpled smile. She already found him attractive, but in his tuxedo he looked a cross between James Bond and a high fashion runway model. His hair had been messily gelled back off his face, and he was wearing his usual black-rimmed glasses.

Like the perfect gentleman, he opened the car door for her and helped her down into the luxury vehicle. He ran around the other side, and jumped in next to her. He nodded to the driver and they headed down the winding streets, towards the center of Madrid.

Nolan told her over and over how beautiful she looked. Normally, it would get annoying, but he sounded so honest, she soaked it up. She was glad that she'd opted for simple hair and makeup, because the dress was doing all of the talking. He may have told her that he preferred her when she was 'natural', but couldn't help but notice his eyes wandering down to her chest more than once.

The roads smoothed out and the buildings suddenly started to look more expensive. After spending a whole week on a tiny backstreet, she could have forgot that there was a big and beautiful world of luxury out there.

They drove through the lights of the city, until they came to a long, white stone building, which Nolan referred to as '
Madrid's Avenue of Art
'. It was like something out of a movie. Huge stone columns supported the giant bustling entrance. Delilah was sure that Nolan had played down the significance of the gala. The car pulled up in front of the building, onto what looked like a red carpet. The driver jumped out of the car and opened Delilah's door, offering her a hand out. She snapped into pop star mode and accepted his hand. Instantly, camera bulbs started to blind her. Nolan slipped his arm into hers and accompanied her down the red carpet. Security lined the edges of the carpet, stopping the photographers from getting any closer. Delilah was sure she even spotted a couple of television crews finally.

“Small boring Gala?” she muttered out the side of her mouth, still making sure to look elegant for the camera.

“Did I forget to mention it was the '
Annual Madrid Gala of Fine Art
', and we're at
Museo del Prado
, which features Europe's biggest collection of fine art.”

“You did forget to mention that, actually.”

“Must have slipped my mind.”

Delilah suddenly wished she was wearing more makeup and more hair. She just hoped that none of the paparazzi knew who she was because she didn't want the pictures of her walking down the red carpet with a stranger surfacing on
TMZ
.

Tony would have a heart attack.

“Delilah! Delilah!” one of the paparazzi called from the crowd.

She pretended not to notice, but Nolan spun her around and let go of her arm, leaving her to pose alone. She worked her angles, and gave the photographer what he wanted, but very soon, the other photographers were copying him, like a chorus of parrots. Not wanting to miss a shot of whoever this '
Delilah
' was, they all called for her, and being the professional that she was, she made sure that every single camera got the shot.

Rejoining Nolan, they walked slowly up the steps and through the giant stone columns. By the time they reached the door, the Spanish paparazzi were already shouting for the next person who was walking the carpet.

“You could have warned me,” she muttered, as they gracefully floated into the grand central gallery.

It was truly a star studded event. Thousands of people were floating around the gallery. TV cameras and interviewers floated around the edges, grabbing whoever they could for a scoop. Lavish paintings lined the high ceiling walls. A waiter offered them both champagne, and Delilah gladly accepted, sipping her first glass faster than even she expected.

“I didn't want you to think you had to do anything special for it.”

Her hand wandered up to her messy hair as she eyed up the other women at the event. They were all dressed for the occasion, and likely had a team of stylists to make them all look perfect. Delilah's dress may have been stunning, but was it enough not to stand out?

“Oh my god, is that Shakira? Shakira is here and I look like this,” Delilah glanced through the crowd as a stunning woman with a head full of glamorous curls swayed in.

“You know Shakira?” Nolan laughed, sipping from his flute.

“That bitch got the Grammy that I was nominated for, so yes, I know of her,” Delilah dropped her head when the woman looked over in their direction.

“It's not Shakira,” Nolan whispered playfully, “you can stop hiding.”

Delilah looked up and glanced at the woman. Nolan was right, but she was still stunning. She smiled politely at Delilah, and Delilah returned the smile and looked away when she realized that she was staring.

They milled around the event, accepting canapés and drinks from handsome waiters in white shirts and black waistcoats. Every so often Nolan would stop and talk to a man or kiss a woman on the cheek before saying something in Spanish. He'd introduce Delilah, and they'd gracefully nod their heads in her direction, but they didn't seem interested in the English woman Nolan had brought with him. She didn't even know how Nolan could possibly know these people. This was her world, and yet he fit into it better than she did. Floating around the room, she let the sweet and delicate noise from the string quartet positioned in the middle of the room wash over her. People barely glanced at the art on the walls. It was a typical Gala to raise money for some charity, but it was just an excuse for rich and famous people to socialize, drink champagne and show off their dresses and lovers. Delilah had been to a hundred of them before, but she'd never felt so out of place at one before.

Was it because Nolan was the center of attention, and people weren't interested in the English pop star they hadn't heard of yet? She tried to shake the idea, but the more she smiled at strangers and they laughed with Nolan in Spanish, the more she wished she was back at the hotel with Marcus.

“Isn't this fun?” Nolan wiped a trickling bead of sweat from his forehead as he finished his fifth flute of champagne.

Delilah smiled awkwardly, “Yeah, it's great.”

She didn't mean to, but she shrugged and looked to the ground.

“You're not having fun, are you?” Nolan screwed up his brows.

She shook her head. She realized the reason she wasn't having fun wasn't because people weren't noticing her, or because she didn't speak their language, it's because she didn't have Nolan all to herself.

“I am,” she tried to lie.

“I thought you'd like this,” he held out his hands.

She glanced around at the beautiful people as they laughed and chattered above the violins.

“Honestly, I'm having a great time.”

“I can tell you're not. I just thought this was the world you were used to. I guess I thought you'd enjoy it here.”

“It is, but I just wasn't expecting this.”

“So let's get out of here,” Nolan shrugged, dropping his flute onto a tray as a waiter floated past, “I wasn't even going to come.”

“You'd do that just because I'm not feeling it?”

“Of course,” Nolan shook his head slightly as if her question was stupid, “If you're not happy, I'm not happy.”

He slipped his finger into hers and they pushed their way through the thickening crowd. They were walking away from the entrance at the other side of the building. They reached a large door and Nolan glanced around before slipping inside, pulling Delilah in with him.

It took her eyes a minute to adjust to the darkness, but they were standing in another long gallery with a grand high ceiling. She glanced upwards to see a sky full of stars beaming down on them, casting a silvery wash over the gallery.

“Won't we get in trouble?” she whispered, turning back to the door.

She could still hear the chorus of Spanish conversation and the violins.

“We'll just say we were looking for the toilet,” Nolan winked at her.

Still clutching her hand, they started to walk through their private gallery. Through the dark, they observed the paintings of yesteryear. Nolan rattled off facts about the wars and people they depicted, which didn't interest Delilah at all, but it was nice listening to Nolan talking. She hung on every word, absorbing all of the dates and artists, clinging onto his hand.

“You were the most beautiful girl in there tonight, you know that right?” Nolan stopped talking about art and turned to her.

She glanced sheepishly around in the dark. She'd seen how stunning some of the women were.

“Hardly,” she laughed it off.

“No, I mean it,” he grabbed her hand and pulled her over to one of the benches in the middle of the gallery, “you were catching every pair of eyes in the room!”

She had seen people looking at her, but she was sure it was for a different reason than what Nolan thought.

“Really Nolan, you don't have to say -”

“No, I do,” he pressed his finger on her lips, “because I don't think you believe me.”

He rested his finger on her lips, before gently pulling it away. They were at the other end of the gallery, so the sound of violins and chattering had died down to a low hum. They were sat directly under one of the skylights in the roof, and through the limited light, Nolan's eyes twinkled at her.

“I'm just not used to doing my own hair and makeup,” she brushed one of the stray strands out of her face.

“You don't need all of that,” he nodded his head to the door at the other end of the gallery, “you have something more special, and that shines through without all of the fake stuff. You have this aura, and you draw people in.”

She dropped her eyes to the ground.

“I don't,” she wasn't being modest, she just didn't believe him.

When she was in character, she could make anyone do anything, but being Delilah Smith, she didn't feel special. She felt lost and out of place.

“Remember when I told you I hadn't been with a woman in two years? I haven't even been on a date with one, and then I meet you, and I go on 3 in a week.”

“Really?”

“Really Delilah. Believe me, I never came here to find someone, but I can't stop thinking about you.”

She wasn't sure if it was her imagination, but Nolan seemed to move closer to her with each word.

“I can't stop thinking about you too,” she admitted, “but that scares me.”

She got up from the bench and walked towards a painting they hadn't looked at. It was of an epic battle, with two sides fighting against each other savagely. On one side, they were holding spears and on the other, they were firing rifles. It summed up exactly what Delilah was feeling. She had a spear through her heart and a rifle to her head.

“Tell me what scares you,” his voice came from behind, low and coarse, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.