by John, Ashley
“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 e
ntrance 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.
“I'm scared about what happens when we leave this place. Like you said, we both have such different lives.”
She stared intensely at the painting, not wanting to turn to show Nolan her exposed heart. She was feeling impossible things for the journalist standing behind her.
“Don't be scared,” his hand brushed across her neck, brushing past the loose strands of hair that hung from her messy bun, “it only makes me scared.”
“Why are you scared?”
He went quiet. A small nasally laugh escaped him before he finally spoke.
“I'm scared that I don't think I can get on that plane and go back to my normal life if you're not there.”
It was Delilah's turn to be silent. It's exactly what she wanted to say, and it's exactly what she wanted to hear, but it only complicated things even further.
“You live in New York and I live in LA,” she whispered.
From nowhere, a tear collected in the corner of her eye. Quickly, she dabbed it away, not wanting her mascara and eyeliner to run.
“There are planes,” he said feebly, “and I bet you're in New York a lot.”
It was true, Delilah was in New York, but when she was there, she was working. She wasn't dating.
“We're both so busy,” she dabbed another tear away, “in reality, people like us don't work together.”
“Fuck reality,” his hand traveled across her shoulder and around her neck, pulling her into his body.
Closing her eyes, she let herself fall into him, bringing her hands up to stroke his. She felt so safe and warm.
“So what do we do?”
“We stop worrying,” he whispered.
It was easier said than done.
“But -”
“Delilah, I'm starting to feel things for you. Serious things. Things that are rare and don't come around that often. I'm not going to let anything happen to that.”
She wanted to tell him that her feelings were reflected, but she bit her tongue.
“Do you mean it?” she closed her eyes.
Her mind wandered to André, and then to her manager, Tony.
“I wouldn't say it if I didn't, Delilah.”
The way he said her name made her knees wobble.
“I'm so confused. I keep trying to see past this trip, but everything is so murky.”
“We still have nearly a week together,” he whispered gently into her ear, “a week to figure something out.”
As he started to kiss the side of her neck, she hoped there was a way to figure things out. After the performance, she could give the week she was meant to give to André, to Nolan, before he left. It didn't feel right, but she couldn't imagine spending the time with anybody else. Something was growing in her heart and it was new and terrifying.
Nolan was right when he said that these feelings didn't come around often. She was sure that she'd never felt them before.
She spun around in his arms, and kissed him. Pulling her in closely and warmly, he returned the kiss, wrapping his arms tightly around her shoulders. Whenever their lips met, the bullshit and worry melted away, and it felt natural and right. If only she could spend her life attached to his lips.
As they kissed, Nolan pushed her towards the wall, knocking over the rope that kept the visitors away from the paintings. It wasn't until the alarm pierced through their kiss that she opened her eyes and realized she had her back up against the giant and priceless painting as Nolan kissed her. The doors at the bottom of the gallery burst open and the security guards from the red carpet suddenly appeared with torches. Red flashing lights lit up the shadows of the gallery, and the thick-set guards suddenly found them with their beams.
“Run?” Delilah suggested.
“Run!”
Nolan clutched her hand, and with one last glance back at the party through the open doors, they bolted across the gallery in the opposite direction of the guards, her gold silk dress floating in the breeze.
Chapter 20
The next morning Delilah woke once again in Nolan's bedroom, but this time, he was wrapped around her fast asleep. After they managed to get out of the gala alive, they ditched the car Nolan had rented and decided to walk back to the hotel. They spent the walk holding hands and chatting, but by the time they made it back up the winding road, they were both exhausted and they fell on to the bed still in their clothes.
She was about to wriggle off the bed, but Nolan groaned and pulled her in even tighter.
“Where do y
ou think you're going,” he smiled, eyes still half-closed.
He might have only just woken up, but he still looked handsome.
She collapsed back onto the bed and gave in, settling into his body and letting his arms and legs wrap around her. Nolan's gentle snores started to tickle the back of her neck, and she was just about to join him in the land of sleep when she suddenly remembered where she needed to be.
“The performance!” she cried, jumping up from the bed.
Nolan's hands slid off her, and he quickly sat up in bed, pushing his hair from his face. Delilah didn't have time to admire how adorable or confused he looked, she had to grab her shoes and get out of there.
“What performance?” he moaned.
“The performance. It's today!”
Nolan jumped out of bed as Delilah tried to find her other shoe. She dropped to her knees and started to feel around under the bed.
“It's only 8am Delilah,” Nolan smiled at her, “you have plenty of time yet.”
“No I don't!” her fingers wrapped around the strap of the shoe, yanking it from under the bed, “I have to be at the studio for 10am for another rehearsal and all of the backstage filming.”
“Do you need me to come with you again?” she paused at his question, bringing her shoes up to her face as she held her head and tried to think.
“No, it's okay this time. Marcus said there will be a translator for the actual show.”
He smiled at her and nodded, but she couldn't ignore the hint of sadness in his eyes.
“You stay here and get some work done, and I promise you'll be getting a knock on the door as soon as I'm back.”
“Promise?” he winked at her.
“Promise,” still clutching her shoes, she leaned in and kissed him gently on the cheek, “I better go before Marcus kills me.”