As for the food, it was certainly its own brand of “wow.” I nudged James who was seated beside me, near the end of the long rectangular table. “Am I going crazy, or are there mashed potatoes in this ravioli?”

  He cleared his throat between bites. “The crazy issue is an entirely separate matter.” I elbowed him. “And yes, you’re right.”

  I beamed. “I love Tuscany!”

  I looked over at Laura at the center of the table and blew her a kiss. She was next to her dark-haired burly husband Dave, and across from them were both sets of parents. Before I could return my focus to the amazing food, one of the middle-aged aunts suddenly pointed at me. She said something loud in Italian that sounded angry. Or passionate. Or both.

  I whispered to one of Laura’s tween-aged Italian bridesmaids. “Did I do something wrong? Do I have food on my face?”

  The bridesmaid smiled. “Not at all. She is only saying that you and your boyfriend should also be getting married. She said that at your age you really need to hurry!” James started laughing, but didn’t correct her on the “boyfriend” thing. As for me, I was now having flashbacks of my life in Toronto, as I realized that Indians and Italians had a little too much in common...

  ***

  The next afternoon, I stood in the doorway of Laura’s spacious suite, where she sat in front of a massive gilded mirror. Laura’s young bridesmaids were busy doing her hair, fussing over every strand and speaking fast in Italian. Through the mirror she gave me a look that said she wanted me to pull out a gun.

  “Sorry!” I mouthed.

  In my pale yellow dress that could only be fit for the angel I certainly wasn’t, I turned the corner and shuffled back into my room. This was the dress I’d be wearing when Erik saw me again, for the first time in a year and three months. Not that I’m counting, I’m just South Asian so I like to do math. My stomach was all in knots about the moment when I’d actually first see him. Would it happen in the hallway? In front of guests? In front of “her”? All I knew was that I needed James to be there so I wouldn’t have to face it alone. Just like he was there in that four-poster bed last night, hubba hubba. I smiled and looked out the window where the rolling hills and vineyards beckoned in the afternoon sun. James was somewhere out there now, on one of his inspirational screenwriter walks. Hopefully he’d be back before the big “collision,” but for the moment I was glad he was out of my hair, because, well...I needed to do my hair.

  Ten minutes later, I’d managed to create a loose cascade of wavy hair falling down to one side; it was the hairstyle where people would ask: “How do you make it look so easy?” Hairspray and pins was the answer, but I’d never tell.

  Now that I was done I was ready to go find James, but first I opened the door and tiptoed into the hallway to see if anyone new had arrived. That was about the moment when I realized I was using my actual toes.

  The shoes!

  I raced back into my room, and rooted around in my suitcase until I pulled out the strappy sandals. Fastening the various straps was easy enough, but when I stood they looked way too loose, like I was a six-year-old trying on my mothers’ heels. I sat back down and with my head hung low, searched for the next hole on the sandal’s strap.

  But there wasn’t one.

  Wait...what?

  “Oh my god, did I seriously buy fat-ankle sandals?”

  “Well that would be a shame.”

  My head shot up at the sound of his voice, and with it came the sudden compulsion to dry-heave.

  There he was in the doorway, wearing a buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a look that screamed “hot guy on vacation.” And those black-rimmed glasses which I found so sexy. And his hair all askew. And pants, he was definitely wearing pants or the “man in the doorway” moment would’ve been a lot weirder.

  It was Erik.

  I realized how odd I must’ve looked hunched over a pair of sandals so I quickly sat up straight. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” he said.

  This moment was difficult to process. For well over a year he’d been a floating image in my head, getting more and more transparent over time. But now he was a solid human again, who did things like blink, smile and breathe.

  “You look gorgeous,” he said. “Not just because you’re dressed up,” he quickly added. “I mean you look great; even better than when I last saw you.”

  I nodded slowly. “It must be surprising, I know. Usually people expect you to gain a lot of weight after heartbreak.” He seemed nervous all of a sudden. “Not me though; I drink protein shakes and join illegal fight clubs.”

  From his expression, I could tell he wasn’t entirely sure if I was joking or not. I enjoyed observing his uncertainty, because he didn’t deserve to know me and my humour anymore.

  I heard a door close in the hallway, and suddenly remembered that he’d come into my room announced.

  “Why’d you break into my room?”

  “The door was open.”

  “No it wasn’t.” I frowned and rose to my feet, unsteady in the loosely-strapped sandals. “Hotel doors always close automatically. Get out of the way, I’ll show you.” He released the doorknob he’d been awkwardly holding and moved farther into the room. I waited for the door to slowly swing shut. But it stayed exactly where it was. I pushed it a little to coax it along. It creaked but nothing more. “Weird...”

  “I don’t think castle doors are as advanced as hotel doors in New York City.”

  New York. The memories. Oh god. It was suddenly getting very hot in the room, or at least it was getting hot in my dress. And I hadn’t even checked for a wedding ring! I took a quick look and his ring finger was free, but that didn’t exactly tell me a lot. Why can’t guys wear engagement rings and let the world know we own their asses too?! It’s a man’s world. I moved past him and sat on the bed, avoiding his stare and looking out the window instead.

  “You really did it Romi,” he said.

  “Huh?” I continued to stare out the window.

  “You quit that corporate world you didn’t feel passion for, and followed your dream instead. I knew you could do it.”

  Without any permission from my logical brain, my head turned to face him and I smiled. “Thank you,” I said, as much to my surprise as to his. Who is in control of my voice and body right now?! Oh yeah, that stupid heart thing. A moment later my brain resumed control of operations. “So what are you doing in my room?”

  “Well...I was walking around in search of the person who runs this castle; or any person that works here really. Our room doesn’t have any towels.”

  OUR room, he says. Him and her.

  I couldn’t respond, as my mind went instantly back to that voicemail he’d sent me when she found out all about us; the coldness in his voice when he told me how the two of them were fine and would continue to be fine; happily ever after and all that shit. That was the last time I’d ever heard his voice. Fifteen months ago. Until now of course, and his precious fucking towels.

  I suddenly found myself glaring at my sandals, which were the only things that saved me from making a pathetic scene.

  “I can’t believe I bought fat-ankle sandals...”

  “Yes, you mentioned that earlier, and from what I’m seeing I agree that you have a problem.” I scowled. “But maybe there’s a way we can fix them.” He came closer and bent down, but I stood up quickly before he could get anywhere near me. No touching.

  “I just need a frickin’ knife,” I said.

  I started opening and shutting drawers madly, like he wasn’t even the room anymore.

  “How can a hotel room not even have a knife? Is this an airplane? No. Am I terrorist? Definitely no!”

  Despite his bewildered expression, he managed to block the next set of drawers with his body. In his hand was a fully loaded Swiss Army knife, spread out on display with its various stabby options. I put out my hand.

  “Great, drop it here.”

  So I don’t have to make physical contact with you ever again.

  “Romi, this has sharp edges coming out of everywhere; there’s no way I’m going to drop it in your hand. I’ll just pass it to you carefully.”

  Why, so you can touch me? Sorry but I’m not that dumb.

  “Put it on the dresser.”

  He seemed disappointed that I’d avoided his touch, but it wasn’t my fault I was smarter than him! Haha sucker. Nor did I even care; I had sandals to fix, after all. I grabbed the knife off the dresser, sat on the bed, slipped off the sandals, and started poking brand new holes through all the straps. It was laborious work.

  “Got it!”

  I tossed one sandal away and went to work on the next. Erik stood there the whole time, a smirk on his handsome face. I could almost see one of his dimples. Dammit. Once I was done I looked around for the other sandal I’d tossed away (why did I toss it away?), but Erik was already on it. He laid it out on his hand and presented it to me, like Prince Charming with the delicate glass slipper. Only he wasn’t a prince at all. He was the one who’d given up on me, the one who couldn’t overcome a simple ocean of distance, which meant I wasn’t really important enough to fight for. What else could it mean? I averted those mesmerizing pale blue eyes and took the sandal.

  “Thanks,” I said. “You should probably go see about those towels.”

  “Not until I see if my knife did a proper job. Put them on.”

  I couldn’t help but smile even though I was mildly disturbed. “Do you have a foot fetish? Are you the guy who watches YouTube videos of women putting on shoes?” He smiled. “And I’m sure those videos exist.”

  “Of course they do, I’m the one who posted them all.”

  “Gross!”

  We both laughed, and for a moment I forgot he was the reason why my heart had never healed.

  I put on the sandals formerly made for thick ankles, and with the improvised holes they finally fit. I smiled, then suddenly remembered he was there, staring at my feet like a total freak. “Your towels!” I exclaimed, as I led him to the door. “Go get your towels!” On the way out he noticed a suit jacket hanging on the door.

  “Are you staying with someone?” He was smiling again, but now all of a sudden his face was the colour of vomit.

  “Are you?”

  That was enough to shut him up. He nodded slowly and made his way down the corridor. I watched him until he turned the corner, then slammed the door and let out a sigh. I couldn’t deny those little moments of remembering what it was like to be around him, and how much I’d always enjoyed it. These instants were like little dots of light against a pitch-black sky; it was lovely to look at, but it definitely wasn’t enough...

  Chapter Twelve

  The suit jacket no longer hung on the door. Instead, it was hugging James’s rock-hard body. “How do I look?” he said.

  I smiled. “You’re everything I’d ever want a fake boyfriend to be.”

  “You’re sure about this then? This charade?”

  I frowned. “How could I not be? It was bad enough to see him when he was alone. Imagine when he’s at the wedding, holding her hand, squeezing her ass cheeks one at a time…”

  James smirked. “What kind of wedding are we in for anyway? And do I have equal privileges?” He came at me with his big strong hands but I skipped to the side.

  “Just do what you can.” My face darkened. “Please.”

  He stroked my arm and smiled. “Trust me Roms, it won’t be that hard to pretend.”

  I instantly felt better, but also felt slightly confused about the status of my artificial boyfriend...

  ***

  Arm-in-arm, with slow deep breaths, James and I approached the castle’s intimate garden, where a small wedding of fifty guests would take place. My nervousness subsided when I realized no one was there, except for members of the hotel staff who didn’t even notice us. They were too busy lining up simple white chairs in perfect symmetry, while children kept running in-between them to mess it all up. At center stage was a temporary altar made of wood and painted white. I approached the altar and sniffed one of the beautiful flower arrangements beside it. “They’re real,” I said. “Also...where is everyone?”

  James shrugged his shoulders. “Are we early?”

  Just then, a mad dash of Italian aunts stormed into the garden. They were zeroing in on something, and pretty soon I realized that something was me.

  “Signora!” one of them bellowed.

  “Uhh that’s me!” I said. I didn’t have time to utter another word as they grabbed me by the arm and dragged me away. “What’s happening James?!”

  I looked back and instead of chasing after me he stood there, laughing. The bastard was laughing!

  They dragged me down the stony path, and on the way we almost collided with Erik and...her. It was all a blur, and our eyes only met for a second before the aunts seemed to recognize Erik. They grabbed him by the arm, now dragging him along with us too. The rest of our journey down the path was surreal, because the only thing I could process was that one tiny second when I’d seen her. Sylvia. In that moment I’d seen how her blond hair fell past her chin in soft waves, I’d noticed her bright blue eyes, and I’d definitely noticed her short curvy body in that green dress...we couldn’t have been more different from each other. It kind of made me wonder if I’d only ever been an escape from Erik’s usual type. A chance for him to experiment, perhaps? I suddenly felt dirty, so when he glanced at me as we rushed down the path with these crazy Italian ladies, all I could do was glare at him, this man in the sexy grey suit. You bastard.

  We finally slowed down where the gravelly path of road began, and that’s when I spotted Laura, in the beautiful modern wedding gown she’d chosen for herself. I didn’t have to ask her if she’d chosen the big puffy hairstyle, since the way she kept sneering when she touched it said it all. Dave was by her side, looking handsome in his tailored tuxedo. He was surrounded by several tweens, which made up the bridesmaids and groomsmen.

  The last person I noticed was the slick-haired Italian with a camera, and that’s when it all became clear: here was the wedding party, and now it was time to take some awkward staged photos. Ugh.

  The first thing I did was hurry over to Laura. “You look great!” I said.

  She scowled. “He better not take any close-ups.”

  “It’s not as bad as you think,” I said. But it was. Her hair reminded me of an extra-large bag of cotton candy sitting atop her head. “So anyway...you guys have a really weird way of letting us know we need to take some photos.” I massaged my upper arms, which were red from the abuse of being dragged across the grounds.

  “Yeah, old Italian women aren’t big on the cell phones.”

  I laughed and was about to say something else, when the photographer clapped his hands.

  “We go now!” He gestured to a massive white van a little way down the road. It was exactly the kind of van you’d associate with child abductions.

  I tried to remember that taking photos with Erik was not as bad as being abducted, so I sighed and went inside, hoping it would all be over soon...

  ***

  During the drive to our photography setting, I made sure to sit between the groomsmen, if “men” was a word you could use to describe thirteen-year-old boys. Judging by their facial expressions, every time they accidentally touched my leg they immediately ejaculated. I didn’t mind being the replacement for a porn magazine, if it meant I could stay away from Erik.

  But the van ride was only five minutes.

  Outside us was another castle, but this one bore no resemblance to our charming hotel, as it looked to be in total ruin. A tower and two walls remained, but with the lighting and grassy hills the photos would be fantastic.

  The photos.

  Now that I was out of the abduction van, I lost all my previous courage to stand beside Erik in photos, and possibly have him touch me as well. My only thought was to hide, so I slipped away while the others were busy helping with the camera equipment. My plan was to run behind one of the half-crumbled castle walls, but behind it was a hill so steep I couldn’t stop my momentum.

  The next thing I knew I was hiding behind a tree at the bottom of a grassy hill. The rest of the plan was unclear, but this seemed like a solid first step.

  “Where is she?” the photographer called. At least that was what I thought he’d said in Italian. Anyway it sounded urgent.

  The next bit was spoken in English: “Romes get back here!” This time it was Laura, and she didn’t sound too happy about my disappearing act. Her irritated tone was an automatic trigger of guilt. Here I was, cowardly clinging to bark, just because I was afraid to stand next to a guy who broke my heart?

  Actually it was horrifying.

  It took ten more seconds for me to realize this day was about Laura, and I’d end up being the worst friend ever if I screwed it up. With a sigh I started jogging up the hill, or as well as one could jog on uneven grass in strappy sandals. By the end I was moderately sweaty; the photographer would not be happy.

  “Sorry about that,” I said. “I was looking for my earring because it fell...and then rolled down the hill; can you believe that?” Based on their expressions, they couldn’t. “But don’t worry everyone, I found it!”

  Not wasting a second, the photographer put us in position, with the bride and groom in the centre and the castle of ruin as our backdrop. He even directed our limbs, like the way Erik’s arm was casually wrapped around my waist. Doesn’t feel casual to me! This was the first time I’d felt his touch since I’d seen him last, and it was packed with memories that stirred a deep ache, like that weekend in New York when I’d realized I loved him. That was another lifetime ago, and in this current uncomfortable lifetime, I was standing on a hill in front of a castle, plastering on the fakest smile I could muster. Fake, fake, fake.

  By the time it was over my cheeks hurt from all the fake-smiling, and the wedding hadn’t even begun. But it’s not about me, remember? At last the photographer waved all us extras away, so he could take the best shots of the bride and groom. But not before telling us to walk ourselves back to the hotel.

 

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