"Goodness gracious, Laura!" Archie exclaimed. "You could've at least waited until we were back in London!"
As discombobulated as she felt, Billie couldn't help but to take heed of the hysterical notes at Billingsley's baritone. That surely didn't sound like generic righteous indignation brought up by a woman's loose morals.
"Why would I?" The publicist let go of the door and pressed her fist into her hip. "It's not like I expect any changes in my life in London, do I?"
There was a distinct challenge in her voice. Billingsley's hand flew up to his chest, as if seeking the proverbial pearls to clutch.
"What's up?" Dair asked, showing up behind the publicist.
Billie threw a panicked glance towards her only available escape route: crossing the actor's and the publicist's field of vision; past Billingsley; and considering Billie's proportions, possibly only if she nudged him aside a tad.
"Archie is here to wake us up for the trip," Moretti sing-songed, stretched her hand behind her, and tickled the underside of Dair's beard.
Billie jolted.
Dair was clearly planning to respond with some sardonic line, considering the cheeky squint and a shadow of a smirk; and then he paused, as if hearing something. He rocked forward, craned his neck, and met Billie's eyes.
She asked herself whether Billingsley would move fast enough, if she barked 'Coming through!' and dashed towards the stairs; or she'd have to shoulder-check the modern cinema's 'best dressed celebrity' and 'most prominent bachelor.'
"B-billie."
Laura followed Dair's gaze, and breathed out, "Shit."
Billie's cheeks flushed. Somehow, she'd only just noticed that Dair was barefoot, dressed in a soft white tee and pyjama bottoms, identical or the same as the ones from Nana Holyoake's cottage. Billie had been gifted the top, and she'd been sleeping in it ever since. Billie decided that the shirt was now destined for a donation bin.
"The car will be here in half an hour," Billingsley announced and squared his shoulders. "Make yourselves presentable. Ms. Harewicke and I will wait for you downstairs." He turned to Billie and offered her a looped arm. "Shall we?"
Dair's hand lay on Moretti's waist, and he nudged her forward.
"V-vai via, tantolina."
She dawdled, and he patted her lower back a couple of times.
Laura snorted and gave him a fake glare. "Pig."
"Ms. Harewicke?" Billingsley called insistently. It produced no result, Billie was still rooted in place; so the actor tried harder. "Billie?"
Dair's left eyebrow hiked up wryly. The publicist stepped out into the corridor; and now she and Billie needed to do a Laurel and Hardy skit to pass each other. They shuffled and cha-cha'ed. Billie caught the fresh, floral scent of the other woman's perfume. The hem of Laura's robe brushed at Billie's hip, and the latter winced away. Billingsley's arm was still hovering like the appendage of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.
"Sorry," the publicist muttered.
For some reason that was the moment that made Billie's eyes prickle.
"That's–" Billie's voice broke. "That's alright. I j-just– I'm too wide–"
She'd almost made it across - she told herself she was imagining that she could feel Dair's gaze on the side of her face - and then the familiar warm fingers caught hers.
"C-caspita! That w-wont do!"
Dair tugged gently, Billie gawked at him; and she thought that Billingsley seemed to be protesting in the background.
"C'mon, cara," Dair said softly; and Billie gathered some air to tell him that he was 'a beast and a swine and a bloody, bloody thief' - and took a step towards him.
"Eric, may I point out that in the current–" Billingsley started.
"Vai al diavolo, Archie," Dair boomed, pulled Billie in, and slammed the door shut.
***
Billie immediately jerked her hand back.
"What do you– What do you want?" Billie croaked.
Dair bent down, his brilliant blue eyes suddenly very close; and he studied her face, his eyebrows knitted.
"Are you alright, cuore?"
"Of course I'm alright! Why wouldn't I be?" she retorted defensively - and sniffled. "It's got nothing to do with me!"
"W-what 'it?'"
Billie backed off from him, and he immediately stepped back as well and leaned against a post of the massive bed occupying most of the guest bedroom. Against her will, Billie's gaze darted to the rumpled duvet and linens, pillows scattered on the bed and the floor next to it. She couldn't hold back a small cringe.
"Ah, th-this 'it.'" Dair paused for a second, and sighed. "N-normally, I'd ignore L-laura's games, but you look upset."
"I'm not upset! Why would I be upset?!" Billie bleated and started huffing dismissively, trying to express how preposterous it was to assume that she cared with whom he slept. And cuddled; and whose neck he kissed; and whose cheeks he stroked with his thumbs. Bugger. "It– This here– This thing–" She flailed her hand in the direction of the striped cotton bedding. "This is– This is your 'it!'" A hiccup burst out of her, and she clasped both palms over her mouth. "I'm not upset," she muttered behind her hands; and another hiccup made her almost hop in place.
"No?" Dair asked and pursed his lips. She knew this gesture well by now; that was Eric Dair suppressing a smile. "Good. B-because it's–"
Raising voices from the other side of the door interrupted him.
"...of all people, Laura... how much it bothers me... after last time..."
Billie and Dair looked at each other.
"... couldn't care less... stuck-up Englishman... cold fish..." The publicist clearly wasn't mincing words. "...rather read poetry than..."
Billie's skin almost crawled from the second-hand embarrassment, while Dair sank his teeth into his bottom lip and lifted his eyes to the ceiling. Another hiccup made Billie suck in a breath.
"...a proper English household... disruptive for everyone's creative process..." Billingsley continued droning.
"Should we let them know that we can hear them?" Billie whispered before covering her mouth again.
Dair shrugged. Billie had to agree, the two people loudly discussing their personal history in the hallway clearly couldn't care less about sharing it with innocent bystanders.
"...lost any right... you walked away... whatever I want... Italian stud..."
Billie's next hiccup was much louder. She held her breath like her Aunts taught her. Dair mouthed, 'OK?' and Billie nodded.
"...lasts twice as long... more than one move..." The publicist was properly driving her point home. "...doesn't make it about him..."
"She h-heard you two go up stairs," Dair whispered, and Billie's eyes flew up. Dair pushed his hand into his wild mane and ruffled the coffee-coloured curls. "Jumped into my r-room." He gave Billie a small apologetic smile. "It's s-stupid, but... she's my friend."
Once again, Billie's impulsive reactions betrayed her, and she glanced at his bed.
"N-no visitors there," he murmured, and Billie glared at him.
"It properly doesn't concern me," she stated haughtily.
"P-pity." He chuckled. "C-can never tell what you're thinking. At least if you were jealous–"
An exasperated 'Leave Eric out of it!' rang in the corridor.
"...clear from the start... always there for me..." the publicist continued.
Billingsley's muffled objections followed, but that seemed to be the end of Laura's patience.
She barked, "Make up your mind, Archie!" and then the door to her room banged.
Billie heard Billingsley's retreating steps. She exhaled in relief - and a painful, explosive hiccup gave her whole body a violent shake.
"W-water, cara?" Dair asked, and fetched a glass and a water bottle from his bedside table.
"Ugh, that was ridiculous," Billie grumbled while Dair poured the water. "How can they behave like that?" Billie exclaimed. "I'm sure the whole manor heard them."
"It's the industry." Dair shrugged again and handed her the glass. "Everyone's got the m-mental age of twelve. B-better?"
Billie hummed while slowly drinking; hiccuped; and the water roiled in bubbles. Dair courteously pretended to miss it.
"N-never enough d-drama," he scoffed. "That's w-why I'm quitting."
"What?!"
Dair visibly tensed, having realised that he'd made something slip just now.
"What's that?" Billie asked - while wondering why she cared and why she thought she had the right to even ask.
He hesitated and then answered quietly, "This is m-my last film. I'm d-done."
"Why?"
Billie finished her water in one gulp. Dair was watching her, evidently intensely pondering something. Billie told herself that he was probably trying to come up with a polite way to tell her to keep her nose out of his business.
"I'm t-tired," he said. "The p-parts I play? They t-take too much out of me. The v-violence, the–" He searched for a word. "D-darkness."
Billie opened her mouth to express her empathy - and yet another spasmodic 'yick!' erupted out of her.
"Your ep-piglottis keeps closing," he said. "A warm d-drink helps better than water. Or b-breathing exercises," he added - and something in his tone made Billie give him a suspicious look. He chortled. "Just s-saying. H-helps with my stammer."
"I'll get tea downstairs," Billie said raspily. "And you need to change. The car is probably– Hic! Already here."
"So, no b-breathing exercises?" he asked in an exaggerated pitiful voice.
Be strong, Billie! The sheer fact that she craved to give in was the best indication that she needed to nip this addiction of hers in the bud.
"I don't remember kissing among home remedies for– Hic! –hiccups," she said strictly. "As for your stammer, aren't we just making it worse? You hardly stammer around your colleagues, and only slightly with your family. If anything, it's like I'm causing it!"
She must have let some of her sincere distress slip into her words, because his flirty grin dropped.
"B-billie," he said softly.
"See?! That's what I'm talking about! You clearly have it under control when working, but that's when I'm not around. And then–"
He crossed the room in two large steps, and Billie choked on her squawking.
"C-cara, it's n-not that–"
Someone ran up the stairs, a cacophony of screeches and cracks echoed in the wall; and the person banged at Dair's door. Billie now understood how the publicist had pulled off her trick.
"Eric, the car is here!" Bondarenko was clearly beyond cheesed off. "And I assume the girl's with you! Finish your 'business' and get down!"
The director stomped away, loudly cursing 'sex-crazed Energizer bunnies.'
"Cazzo," Dair exhaled. "C-cara, c-could we have dinner, please? And t-talk?"
"Dinner?" Everything in her resisted the thought; but nonetheless, she pushed herself to ask, "As in, a d-date?"
Apparently, just saying it felt outlandish enough to make Billie stammer as well. Dair guffawed.
"Yes." He shook his head. "I'd ask w-why you're surprised, but I'm starting to g-get it."
"Get what?"
"You, polpetta," he said and tenderly booped his finger to the tip of her nose.
Opening her mouth to demand an explanation was a bad idea: the following hiccup was especially raucous.
"Still d-don't want any–" He trailed away and tapped his finger on his bottom lip.
"I'm good, thank you."
"Three d-days of excruciating withdrawal, and that's what I get." Dair executed a rather convincing martyr-like grimace. "What's more t-torture at this stage?"
Billie spun around and grabbed the door handle.
"Ehi! Cuore, I'm n-not making the same mistake again," Dair called behind her. "I n-need an answer."
Billie's shoulders jumped up.
"Dai, polpetta, w-what's it going to be?"
No one would believe her if she pretended she didn't know what the question was, innit?
"I will have dinner with you."
And before he decided that this development was worth celebrating with a spot of 'speech therapy' - or she snapped and lunged at him, in all his scorching, familiar, so very tempting glory - Billie jerked the door open and fled.