Page 20 of Just for December
The pair leap up in a fit of excitement, screaming ‘Yay!’ in harmony and grabbing each other’s arms. Smiles wide as the moon, they jump and whoop, before suddenly coming to an abrupt stop. They look at each other then and, instantly, at exactly the same time, both seem to become remarkably embarrassed by such displays of teamwork, and sit down again, quickly and quietly, like it was a close call to ever have been so enthusiastic in such close proximity to one another.
‘Well then, goodnight from me,’ Duke says, once everyone starts filing out of the room.
‘Yeah,’ says Evie, standing up too. She opens an arm outward, letting him know to go on ahead. He does. When he turns back around to say something – he doesn’t know what, exactly – she’s gone.
13
Evie
‘The coffee spillage wasnotmy fault, just so we’re clear,’ Duke tells Evie as they play a fairground game of Bottle Stand. They are Trying One More Time re: a fake date, at the behest of both their teams. It’s going better this time – at least in the sense that neither of them are covered in coffee. She aims a ball at the row of jam jars. If she can knock one off the ledge, she wins a prize.
‘Yes,’ she says, after she’s missed her shot. ‘It was. But whatever. I’ve been talked into trying again, so … I’ll just be sure to keep all further drinks out of your reach, and also be my guest: you can pay for everything from now on. I won’t even pretend to try and reach for my money.’
‘If you’d have let me be a gentleman in the first place …’ Duke intones.
Evie shakes her head. ‘Seriously? I thought we just said bygones?’
Duke bites his bottom lip. ‘We did. As you were.’
‘You know,’ she tells him, pretending the jar is his head and if she hits the target she knocks it clean off, ‘what’s insane about this is that I can’t tell if anyone has even clocked you at all out here. If there were photographers around, wouldn’t we know? Can anybody even see this charade playing out?’
‘You’d think they’d be easy to spot, wouldn’t you?’ Duke says, handing her another ball and pointing to a jar as he says, ‘I know the instinct is overarm for this, but you might be better off with underarm.’
She issues him with a glare.
‘Or not,’ he adds, holding up his hands in surrender.
Evie misses her third and final shot, a pulse of frustration passing through her. She really wanted to prove Duke wrong. It feels strangely apt though, given that this whole thing feels similarly out of her control. And she knows it’s not just the bottles making her mad at Duke now. Even if she did let money trump her morals and agreed to the fauxmance, she feels compelled to blame someone, to have a concrete body to channel her misgivings towards, and tough luck, Duke Carlisle, you’re in the line of fire.
Filming has moved further down the Romantic Road, now, and the schedule has been arranged so that Daphne does her solo scenes today and Duke does his tomorrow. So, making the most of Duke’s rare free day, after checking in to their Rothenburg ob der Tauber hotel, they headed out to the Christmas market. It’s only 2 p.m. but the sky is heavy and grey, the blue skies of the morning giving way to clouds filled with the threat of snow. There are fairground games and food stalls, fried doughnuts and bright, glimmering lights.Duke and Evie have been tasked with simply moving through it for a few hours as if it’s a real date, with Duke’s publicist even going as far as to say that if they did a little cheeky kissing, too, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Fat chance of that, thinks Evie, that goes well against the rules of engagement. She’ll take in the sights and even talk a little, if the mood takes her, but she’s not for sale in anything close to the biblical sense. The only thing she intends to let anywhere near to her lips is juicy wurst off of theSchwenkgrill.
‘Hungry?’ she asks Duke, as she spots a place selling sausages and mulled wine.
‘I’ve not been allowed to acknowledge my hunger since 2009, but sure,’ he replies. ‘I can buy one to hold and fake-eat, as we fake-date.’
He pays for their food and, as Evie waits for hers to cool down, she asks, ‘Is that true? That you’ve been on a diet for over ten years?’
Duke nods. ‘Camera adds ten pounds,’ he tells her, patting his belly for emphasis.
‘God,’ Evie snorts. ‘Next you’ll be telling me you’ve had three nose jobs and can’t eat ice cream because your veneers are too sensitive.’
‘Oh no,’ laughs Duke. ‘My dental work is second to none. My dentist could win awards for the work he’s done on my smile.’
‘Show me,’ Evie teases, finally taking a bite of her food. ‘Give me thePeople Magazinesmile.’
Duke looks away, over his shoulder, and then whips his head around to look at her and grin. Even though she’s expecting it, it still unnerves a part of her. His cool blue irises,his strong, Roman nose, the way he can speak with the subtlest of expressions – it’s all too much. No one human should be that attractive. And his skin? It’s like the man doesn’t have pores. Where does his sweat go?
‘How’s your …’ he says, dropping his voice to a suggestive lilt. ‘Sausage? Everything you hoped for, little lady?’
Evie chews and rolls her eyes at the same time. Everything is just so ridiculous that it’s actually not hard to slip into the role of woman-falling-in-love-with-him, because it’s like an out-of-body experience. Not so long ago she boarded a flight to Europe as regular old Evie Bird, and now she’s playing for the international cameras. Not that she can spot them. When he talks to her like that – playful and silly – it would beveryeasy to think this was real. She has to keep her wits about her.
‘I can see why they don’t let you write the scripts,’ she jokes. ‘Your dialogue is very clunky.’
‘Hey!’ Duke laughs. ‘Don’t knock my dreams!’
Evie uses a napkin to wipe her mouth. She could eat more, now. The fairground food isn’t filling her up, it’s opening a void in her that asks for more and more. She wants those little hash brown pancakes, too –Kartoffelpuffer? Is that what they’re called? – and she’s seen people with little bowls of mushrooms in some sort of white, garlicky-looking sauce. She wouldn’t mind that, as well.
‘I could eat a horse,’ she announces. ‘And I smell garlic. Let’s follow my nose.’
