Page 6 of Just for December

‘Really,’ says Evie, forcing herself to smile so the words sound more genuine than she feels. ‘All the best.’

She hangs up, puts her boots back on, and heads down to the staff meeting, the festive Christmas bubble she had not ten minutes ago well and truly burst. Not that she’s going to admit that to anyone, of course. Not even to herself.

4

Duke

The drive from Frankfurt to Würzburg takes just over ninety minutes, the dramatic sky lit up in swirling shades of fuchsia against impending darkness, like ink bleeding out on a party dress.

That was great,Carter texts him.You’re already up on the Daily Mail, TMZ and @DukesLewks,the latter referencing his official superfan account that has almost as many followers as his official page. Carter has attached some links, but Duke isn’t interested in clicking through. He’s tired.

Daphne says she couldn’t help falling in love with Brad, and she’s sorry, but Duke can see plain as day that Brad won’t ever leave his wife, a woman Duke has never met and who has kept a dignified silence through all of this. But, despite what he said for the cameras, Duke had fallen for Daphne. He’s hurting, and he’s at the edges of a thought that he’sbeen used, somehow, that Daphne played make-believe for the sake of her own profile. (Urgh, that word again!) He pushes down the notion, afraid that if he thinks too hard on it, he’ll never trust a soul again. He doesn’t feel safe to be himself in business meetings or at industry lunches, doesn’t take phone calls in cars or in the make-up chair – there’s so much to keep his guard up against. But with Daphne, he let her in.

He thought she got it, understood how solitary this life is because she lives it too, and together they could form their own little world, just the two of them, an escape from being Daphne Diamond and Duke Carlisle. Together they could just be Daph and Duke, walking the dogs and getting coffee and playing records and board games at home, maybe learning to finally cook instead of having staff do it. But then, now he’s thought about it, shedidwant to walk the red carpet together, and shedidconfirm their romance in an interview about her last movie, even though they’d barely been together a few weeks. They shared the same management, but surely if it was a ruse Duke would have been asked up front to be in on it – he’s not so desperate for affection that he could be manipulated by a whole team of people.Theywork forhim.Don’t they?

He leaves Carter’s text unanswered, as per his MO, and watches the motorway become the town. It’s charming. Lots of pointy church roofs and chocolate-box-style buildings in yellows and reds, the lights of market-square Christmas trees twinkling off the river to give the whole place an angelic, magical feel. He catches glimpses of couples and families meandering through the side streets off the main drag,cradling steaming hot chocolates and brown paper bags of chestnuts, their breath visible as they laugh, their love a blanket from the cold. A woman lingers by a bridge, cradling a hot wine, her long blonde hair falling in waves over her shoulders. She looks wistful, pensive. In fact, she kind of looks like Evie Bird, the author of the book. He recognises her from a Google deep dive. He perks up at the sight of her. He can’t wait to meet her.

And Duke can see why she set her book here. It’s exactly where a person would want to wake up on December 1st, just in time for the festive season. Just as its name would indicate, it’s impossibly romantic. Perfect for a person who isn’t justsomebody, but whohassomebody too.

Duke heads straight to his room at the hotel, to see if his things have been safely unpacked. They have. He’s in a suite, and he drops his carry-on in the office nook: computer, scripts his agent has sent to look through, hisOn the Romantic Roadscript and the accompanying book. He looks at the cover: a hand-drawn couple facing each other, his hair over his eyes, her leg kicked up behind her. They’re on a bridge, the top of the cover darker than the middle, like a sort of blue ombre. Evie Bird’s name sits at the top, and the title is blocky white characters:ON THE ROMANTIC ROAD. Above it is the strapline:Love is a journey – is this one they will take together?He sighs. Doing a romantic comedy was very deliberate: the Nineties classics have been having a renaissance, and where once an actor skipped the genre so as to be taken ‘seriously’, now everyone needs one in their wheelhouse. But even in his misery, he can see there is a deep-seated irony to the timing here.

There’s a knock at the door. He looks through the peephole to see Daphne. She’s biting her bottom lip, looking down at her hands. She does that – picks at her nails when she’s nervous. It’s her one bad habit. Duke has half a mind to pretend not to be in.

‘Duke?’ she says through the door, like she can sense him. Bugger. He takes a breath, steeling himself.

‘Hello, Daphne,’ Duke says as he opens it. She looks at him. Those eyes, man. Those eyes are why she’s a star.

‘I thought you might ignore me,’ she says.

‘I considered it.’ Duke shrugs, and he wants to be serious and earnest, to reiterate, for the thousandth time, how upset he is, but then they hold eye contact and she does her half-smile and he mirrors it and then they’re really smiling: awkwardly, but it’s there. Notinlove, but something like it. Friends.

‘I just wanted to …’ Daphne says, and then she looks around, down the corridor, to check there are no listening ears.

‘Come in.’ Duke steps back and she crosses the threshold. ‘Should I call up for drinks?’

She takes in the room. They talked about this, once, because that’s what Duke had loved about dating her: that shegot it.They’d talked about empty, stark hotel rooms, how it can be awful, or brilliant. The blank canvas and new project are an opportunity to be somebody else: sometimes their best selves, sometimes their craziest or naughtiest selves. But when it goes the other way – when a project doesn’t jive or drags or is riddled with problems – it’s just lonely, and the hotel room is always the most obvious manifestation of that.You don’t always get a choice which way to play it. Duke suspects this hotel room will be the latter more than the former.

‘Can we just raid the mini bar?’ she asks, settling into an armchair facing the bed. He doesn’t have to ask what she wants. He gets two glasses and locates two tiny vodkas.

‘Thank you,’ she says, when he hands it to her. She looks beautiful, as ever. Bright eyes and smooth skin and a sparkling, winning smile. And she doesn’t want him. He can’t speak first. He’s begged already, when he found out about her affair. He promised himself that here, on the second part of the shoot in a brand-new country, he’d show himself a little more dignity.

‘I wanted to …’ she starts again, and then shakes her head. ‘I don’t know. Not clear the air, but … talk? If that’s okay?’

‘I let you in, didn’t I?’ he replies, but they’re doing their half-smiles again, because neither can truly be mad at the other. In his imagination Duke can stay cross, but not in person.

‘I don’t want to insult you by repeating myself. I know I’ve had my fair share of airtime and I’m grateful you heard me out. I suppose it’s just … you know. We were such good friends before, and I’d be so sad to lose that. We tried being together and it didn’t work, and we have to work together for another three weeks, you know? And after that we have to promote the thing, and I’ll bet you get your nomination at the Globes so then there’s the awards circuit in the new year …’

He looks at her. He blinks. ‘I just need some time,’ he says eventually, picking his words carefully. ‘You say we weren’tsuited but …’ He trails off, the silence leaving room for what he’s said before. He thought this was it. Isn’t that the dream? To finally realise your friend is the one you’ve been looking for this whole time. After twelve years of knowing her, he’d thought it had all worked out like it was supposed to: the picture-perfect love story for the picture-perfect couple. But he’d been wrong. The thing is, Daphne knows him better than anyone in the world, and so if she thinks it isn’t right, he gets that he’s supposed to listen. It’s just … God. It’s so hard. He hates being single. He loves love! It’s the best thing in the world! And it keeps eluding him.

‘This is messy – I understand that,’ Daphne says. ‘But when you’re ready … I’d like us to try and be what we were. Before.’

He nods. ‘Before,’ he echoes.

‘I think we can,’ she offers. ‘If we try.’

He drains his glass. ‘You’re taking advantage of the fact I can’t ever stay mad at you,’ he notes, and she winks at him, a risk that pays off.

‘Only partly.’ She grins, and when Duke pulls a face, she concedes: ‘Okay. A bit more than partly.’

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