Authors: Portia MacIntosh
‘This
is the number one woman in Dylan’s life,’ Crystal tells her friend, pointing at
me. ‘Well, she was. I’m her replacement.’
She
laughs, walking off and leaving me with one of her clones.
‘So
what are you going to do now?’ Clone asks me.
‘What
do you mean?’
‘Are
you going to find another boyfriend?’
‘Dylan
wasn’t my boyfriend,’ I tell her, super confused.
‘Oh.’
Clone looks confused too.
‘We’re
just friends, and I’m a music journalist so I help out with some of his band
stuff.’
‘You
have a job?’ Clone looks even more confused.
It’s
like talking to a child, which is weird because she looks a lot older than me.
‘Yes,
I have a job. Do you have a job?’
‘No!’
She laughs hysterically, and I wonder if Liam is giving her alcohol too. ‘I’m
just waiting for my rockstar.’
I
stare at her blankly.
‘You
know, like Crystal. We’re all looking for them, so they can take care of us.’
‘Why
don’t you just get yourself a footballer? They have more money,’ I joke.
‘Oh
no, being a WAG is so 2008,’ she replies, totally straight faced. Oh God, she’s
actually serious – I’m out of here. It’s late, I’ve babysat these bitches for long
enough, I am going to bed before Daisy the cow comes up and tries to make me
sleep in the bath.
I
walk towards the toilets, before making a dash for the exit. Hopefully they
won’t notice I’m gone.
Maybe
it’s because I’m a bit drunk, but I can’t remember what number room we’re in –
I think it ended in twenty-five. Maybe. I’ll just try my key card in all rooms
ending in twenty-five, there’s only like a billion floors here.
I’m
not sure how long I’ve been trying my key card in various doors, but none of
them have opened.
Unable
to spot the lifts, I make my way to the stairwell. After wobbling down one or
two levels, I spot someone sitting on the floor. It’s Dylan, and he’s
so
drunk.
‘Dylan?’
‘Nicole!
How are you? Are you having a paaaaarty?’ he screams.
I
plonk myself down next to him and ask, ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I
don’t know, I don’t know. But listen, come here.’ He looks around to check the
coast is clear, before gesturing for me to lean in.
‘I’m
drunk,’ he whispers, although not that quietly.
‘I
can smell that, babes. Where are your mates?’
‘Tomorrow
I’m getting married!’ he unhelpfully replies.
‘Dylan,
listen,’ I hold his face with both hands so that he is looking into my eyes and
hopefully listening. ‘Do you know which room I am staying in?’
‘I
know what room I’m staying in – Mikey wrote it on my hand.’ He laughs manically,
clamping my head in his hands like I am doing with his. ‘Let’s go there!’
Before
I have chance to say anything he plants a kiss on my lips - just a peck, but
probably not the smartest thing to do the night before your wedding. I need to
get him to his room and I need to get him sobered up. He’s going to have one
hell of a hangover tomorrow.
‘Let
me help you up.’ I stand up and offer Dylan my hand.
‘I
can walk.’ He springs to life, jumping to his feet. I’m not convinced he is
sober enough to take care of himself – and I’ll do anything to avoid the
slumber party from hell – so I’ll get us some coffee, just to make sure he
sobers up properly.
‘Do
you have coffee in your room?’ I ask.
‘We
do not.’
‘Right,
go to your room, I’ll go get us some coffee from reception. I’ll knock on the
door so let me in, ok?’
‘Take
my key, I have two. Just in case,’ he says with a wink.
I
take his key card and head downstairs as Dylan climbs up the stairs towards his
room. I probably should have taken him, but he seems a bit more alert now.
Making
my way down the empty stairwell, I jump at the sound of Dylan’s voice echoing
down from a few floors up.
‘I
love you, Nicole,’ he shouts.
‘I
love you too,’ I reply in a loud whisper. He’s definitely conscious, he’ll be
fine.
After
collecting packets of coffee, milk and sugar from the bar in reception, I head
back up to the room.
Pushing
the card into the door, it opens and I’m thankful I remembered the number of at
least one room tonight, even if it wasn’t my own.
The
room is in darkness and I have no idea where the light switch is. There’s just
enough light coming in from the windows for me to make out that Dylan is in his
bed – his huge bed. It’s probably about three times bigger than the one I’m
supposed to be sharing with Daisy.
Maybe
I could sleep here? Or maybe I should go. It’s a bit of a dodgy idea, the night
before his wedding. But then again, this bed is huge and I’ve shared a bed with
him a bunch of times before, this isn’t really that different. Someone needs to
stay with him and make sure he isn’t sick, and anyway it’s not like anyone will
ever know. All I know is that my head feels fuzzy and I’m really tired.
Slipping off my dress, I climb into the huge bed. I’ll think of an explanation
for where I was to tell Daisy in the morning – if she even cares.
Mmm!
That was one of the comfiest night’s sleep I’ve ever had. Maybe it’s this bed?
I don’t feel the slightest bit hung-over, although I imagine I still look it.
It’s not a miracle bed.
The
sun is shining in through the massive windows and it takes my eyes a while to
adjust to the light. Rolling onto my side, I realise I’ve made my way to the
middle of the huge bed.
‘Morning,’
I say to the semi-naked, complete stranger in bed next to me.
‘Good
morning,’ he replies.
I
double take. I have no idea who this man is, but I’m in bed with him, in my
underwear. Screaming seems like the practical response but I can’t get one to
come out. Instead I whimper a little.
Sensing
my alarm, the stranger gets out of bed and pulls on a pair of jeans and a
t-shirt.
‘I’ll
go grab us some breakfast and then when I get back, maybe you can tell me your
name,’ he smiles. ‘Tea or coffee?’
‘Tea,’
I reply weakly. And with that, he’s gone.
As
soon as the door closes I jump out of bed and grab my dress, putting it on as
quickly as possible. How drunk was I last night? This has to be Dylan’s room,
because it was Dylan who gave me the key card that definitely opened this
door... I think.
Looking
around the room for clues, I see a suit hanging up. Dylan sent me a photo of
his wedding outfit, and the one hanging here looks just like it. Examining the
desk I see Dylan’s phone, this has to be his room – so who was that man?
Searching
frantically for my other shoe, with every intention of making run for it before
the stranger returns, I hear the door open again. In walks the stranger,
carrying a tray with two cups of tea and a plate of delicious looking
croissants.
‘So
who are you?’ he asks, taking a seat at the table and sipping his tea.
‘Is
this Dylan’s room?’ I ask, ignoring his question.
‘It
is indeed. Sugar?’
‘What?’
‘Sugar,’
he waves the sachet at me. ‘For your tea. It’s Nicole, isn’t it?’
Now
I am really freaked out, how the hell does he know my name?
‘Yes,’
I reply cautiously.
‘I
recognised the accent,’ he tells me, standing up and offering me his hand to
shake. ‘A handshake seems a bit formal considering we just spend the night
together. It’s Charles. Charles Pace.’
Oh,
I am mortified. I shake his hand as I try to get things straight in my head. So
last night I tipsily bumped into Dylan (who has very drunk), took his key card
from him (probably his only one), decided I would share his bed with him, and
ended up sleeping next to the man who is in charge of his public relations –
AKA the man whose job it would have been to clear up the mess I would have
caused if anyone had found out that I’d shared a bed with Dylan the night
before his wedding.
‘Sorry,
this must be weird for you,’ Charles explains. ‘Dylan asked me to keep an eye
on him, so I went along to his party and said I’d sleep in here with him
tonight. I didn’t even realised he had left the room – I was pleasantly
surprised to wake up next to you instead. It’s nice to finally see what you
look like.’
‘Yeah,
you too – and in your underpants, no less,’ I reply, managing to find a little
of that that Nicole Wilde cheeky charm, despite our awkward situation. He
blushes.
‘So
this
is
Dylan’s room?’ I’m still confused.
‘It
is and it’s also the Honeymoon Suite.’ A cheeky grin spreads across Charles’
face. ‘I’ll be sure to tell him we road-tested it for him.’
‘We
didn’t... did we?’ I can’t even say the actual words, but it always pays to
check, right?
‘We
didn’t. I just woke up this morning and there you were. Anyway, it wouldn’t be
that great if we had, would it? What with you thinking you were in bed with
Dylan.’
It’s
hard to be sure if that was a dig or not, or perhaps a polite way of warning me
off. I must look like a proper little scandal magnet.
‘I
was drunk, I was tired, I didn’t have a room of my own – all Dylan’s fault
really,’ I offer as some sort of explanation.
‘You
secret is safe with me, Nicole.’
‘So
where is Dylan now?’ I ask.
‘I
was hoping you could tell me that,’ he replies calmly. I’m not sure if he’s
being professional or if he just doesn’t know Dylan well enough yet – I
remember one time we lost him for twenty-four hours, and you wouldn’t believe
what I had to go through to find him.
‘Well,
when I left him he was on his way here.’
‘So
the groom is missing,’ he says, still totally calm. ‘Shall we go look for him?’
I
try to give off the same calm vibes, but it’s impossible. How can anyone be
calm on the morning of a massive celebrity wedding when the groom is missing?
I’ve
had some pretty weird weekends in my twenty-five years but this is one of the
strangest ones yet. I am currently searching the public areas of the hotel for
Dylan – the last man I ever thought would get married – because he’s due to tie
the knot in a few short hours. That’s weird enough for me without the whole
sleeping-in-the-same-bed-as-Charles thing. Speaking of Charles, he’s gone to
the lobby to see if the hotel staff can help us locate the elusive Mr King.
Hopefully he hasn’t left the hotel, or we’ve got no chance of finding him in
time.
Now
that I’m alone – and clothed – I’m realising how hot Charles looked in just his
pants. I was a bit too freaked out to notice it at the time, but the more I
think about it the more my cheeks flush. Looking at my reflection in the mirror
in the women’s toilets (which is why I’m in here, not to look for Dylan... then
again, you never know with him) I realise just how bad I’m looking right now.
My make-up is smeared all over my face, my hair is absolutely massive and when
I hurriedly put my dress on... let’s just say it’s not hanging on me as nicely
as it did last night, more like hanging off me to be honest. What a fantastic
first impression I must have made on Charles. Sexy, sexy Charles. I may have
only spent a few minutes with him (awake at least) but I think I’ve got him
pegged. I’ll bet he goes to the gym everyday – when he isn’t working, which I’d
imagine is the rest of the time, he seems to be constantly in professional mode
– and I doubt he’s short of female attention with that perfectly styled dirty-blonde
hair, those deep blue eyes and that sexy designer stubble he’s sporting. I
wonder if he’s married, I didn’t think to look for a wedding ring – clearly I’m
off the ball this morning.
All
I want is to go to my – sorry, Daisy’s room and smarten myself up so that no
one else has to see me looking like this. Can you imagine if Crystal saw me in
this state? She’d have a field day.
As
I attempt to scrape off some last night’s make-up with toilet roll, my phone
rings. Even with a tiny handbag like the one I’m carrying, I struggle to find
it.
Eventually
grabbing hold of it I see that Charles is calling me. I hope this means he’s
found Dylan.
‘Hey!’
I answer, trying to sound cool, calm and collected, but achieving none of the
above.
‘Hey,
I’m on my way to the security room. We’re going to look over the CCTV footage
from last night so if you want to meet me there and show us where you saw Dylan
last we can follow him and see where he ended up... hopefully.’
‘Yeah,
of course. Where is the security room?’
‘On
the ground floor, ask at reception and they’ll show you.’