What woke her up seemed to be the ringing of a phone; and since it was something with a lot of bass, the gizmo wasn't hers. And then she realised that it was a phone ringing - and her eyes flew open.
Dair carefully moved her off him and stretched to his jacket folded on the floor next to their 'sleeping bag cocoon.' Judging by the pale light in the room, it was around seven o'clock in the morning.
He answered the call; and Billie heard loud, rapid speech on the other end of the line. The actor glanced at her; their eyes met; and he gave her an apologetic smile. She nodded and burrowed lower in the cloud of warmth inside the bag.
The conversation was in Italian and didn't appear to be particularly nice. Soon, Dair was furrowing his brow. His voice had dropped; the usually lilting notes in his native tongue were now more of a growl; and then he barked something harsh and finite, and hung up.
His lips moved silently; and then he took a slow breath, grounding himself.
"The phone's working," Billie pointed out - and his eyes widened.
"I r-reckon," he muttered and slowly turned to her.
His expression was guarded. Billie snorted. Did he think she'd wake up, gasp, and shield her 'perfumed breasts' like a bashful heroine, staggered and flustered by seeing him in the harsh light of the next day's morning?
"Hi," she said, shifted to him, and wrapped her arms around his waist.
She might have heard a relieved exhale. He slid down, next to her, and pulled her closer.
"Sh-should we call someone?" he asked, his tone clearly signalling his lack of enthusiasm towards this course of action.
Billie settled in his embrace and closed her eyes.
"We could, of course..." She trailed away. "Or we can just idle away for a tad."
"Let me s-see if I've got any messages," he muttered, lifting his phone above his head. "And m-maybe text Rhys."
Billie rubbed her nose to his neck. He stilled - and then tossed his mobile onto his jacket again.
"Maybe later," he said firmly and snogged her.
***
They were 'rescued' two hours later by James Whitlaw on a snow plough.
Thankfully, they'd gotten dressed again by then; so when three massive construction workers barged in, they found Billie and Dair snuggling in front of the wood burner, Billie reading the Pride and Prejudice that he'd given her, out loud. Admittedly, although the book was technically in her hand, her mouth had been 'occupied,' so she had hardly gotten past the second paragraph.
"Where should I drop you off?" Whitlaw asked.
Dair glanced at Billie questioningly. She appreciated him nonverbally consulting her, but she would like to know her options. She looked at her Mother's watch on her wrist.
"We're supposed to be at the Hall right now," she said as if pensively. "But we aren't particularly presentable, innit?"
"No one's working today," Whitlaw answered. "Don't think you're needed at work today. So, where to?"
Dair was still silent, and she leaned to him and whispered, "I desperately need a shower, but I'm not sure I can face my Aunts and sisters right now."
Mostly, she wasn't quite prepared for the onslaught of her relatives' interrogation and reaction to what had happened between her and Dair, and to what it could possibly mean for the 'Harewicke legacy' in the long run. After all, Billie herself hadn't made up her mind on the subject.
"H-how about Nana's cottage?" he offered to her in a hushed voice.
Billie asked herself at what point his older female relative had become less intimidating to her than her own - and nodded.
***
They found many more Holyoakes in the cottage. The storm had mostly affected the villages of Lower Woulds and Fleckney Bottom, which meant the presence of Fiona and Will and their children; Sam, Rhys' brother; his partner and Billie's boss, Yola; his children; and Clem and the girls who were still in Fleckney. Apparently, John Holyoake was on his way from London as well. It should have terrified Billie; but instead she let the whirlpool of their noisy and insistent care send her to a bubble bath, dress her into fresh pyjamas, feed her, and send her up for a nap. Dair took part in two of these four activities with her.
She woke up in the guest room, the spot on the bed next to her empty. Billie picked up her phone from the bedside table. She'd texted her Aunts' in the morning, on her way to the Holyoake cottage; and now she found seventeen missed calls from one or other of her relatives. Phee's text from around 6 o'clock in the morning explained a lot.
If you were planning to hide it, don't count on it. They KNOW. Your chart is full of Mars and Sun! And in the 7th house!!! Delia looked disgusted. Does it mean it was GOOD? ;)
Billie groaned. She scrolled through more messages, more or less with the same content. Then there seemed to be a break in everyone's attempts to reach Billie - and then she saw another text from her younger sister.
There's a PROBLEM. They found out a horrible fact about your Federico. Ask him about the Pinocchio's Oak!!! I'm so, so, SO sorry!!!
Billie stared at the screen - and then she scoffed and shoved the phone under her pillow.
What nonsense!
***
"Amore," his soft velvet baritone creeped into her half-sleeping hearing, and Billie smiled without opening her eyes. "Cara, I'm s-sorry to wake you up, but we n-need to talk."
Billie blindly felt about, grabbed whatever was the closest - that would be his sleeve, it seemed - and tugged. A quiet warm chuckle rumbled in his throat.
"If I lie down with you, we won't talk, polpetta."
Billie half-opened one eye and peeked. He chuckled again.
"Sei irresistibile, vero?" he purred and loomed over her.
That didn't require translation, did it? Billie decided that she was going to believe it. She quite fancied being irresistibile to him, as it turned out. Billie went for the already proven trick, hooked her finger to his collar, and led him to her lips.
Sadly, he stopped pretty quickly.
"Cara, w-we do n-need–" He made a frustrated noise in his throat. "N-need to talk."
Billie released his neck, and he sat up.
"I n-need to go back to Roma."
A pause stretched, and then Billie slowly said, "Alright," and sat up as well, her back against the headboard. "What do you mean by 'go back?' As in... completely?"
She was clearly missing something.
"The p-plan was to go back after C-christmas," he said, frowning. "I w-wanted to do as much as I c-could for Monte Cristo; get Julia into filming here; and–" He gave Billie a small fleeting smile. "And g-go on a c-couple of dates with you. B-but I'm contractually obliged to go back to Roma, to f-finish the p-previous film's post-production."
To gain a few seconds to find her footing and to hide her face, Billie turned away and rummaged on the side table, looking for her glasses.
"For how long?" she asked.
Years of practice with her Aunts made her sound convincingly nonchalant.
"S-six months at least."
Oh.
"M-maybe eight. M-my agent called, I n-need to fly back tomorrow morning. I'll be driving to L-london tonight." His gaze was intent on Billie's face. "Th-there's also an issue with m-my flat. I'm r-renovating it to sell."
Oh...
Even internal words were failing Billie. It's not that she'd had a particular idea of what their association would be like - but it surely wasn't a Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society sort!
He'd hoped they'd had more time together, but now there was an emergency. People had long-distance relationships. Rome wasn't far. Nothing tragic happened. Since she'd had no prior knowledge of what was happening, nothing effectively changed. Why are you feeling so discombobulated, Sybil?
"So, how did you think it was going to go?" she asked, her tone flat. She was once again recalibrating her perspective. Seems to happen a lot when it comes to the man, innit? "Were you planning to set things in motion here and then leave for eight months? And then return back to film with Bondarenko; coming and going; and then do post-production again, for another eight months or so?"
It's funny that when they'd met this time around, she'd thought that his face was inexpressive. She had even questioned whether he was at all Italian, considering how subdued he'd behaved. Right now, she could read a whole cocktail of emotions in his eyes. Primarily, he looked worried. She shortly wondered if he suspected that she was angry and keeping herself under control. She wasn't.
Why would she be angry? It's not like she was part of a neat retirement package for him, along with a cushy business and probably one of the local overpriced cottages.
Oh wait.
Also... oh!
Billie had just understood the slip-up that Clem had had when they'd been here last time. He'd bought the Duck Pond cottage, hadn't he? Billie could bet her favourite bookplate self-inking stamp that the Holyoake library was there too, to match his overall new aesthetics: an idyllic countryside establishment as a workplace, unlimited horse riding included; and a bookish girlfriend.
OK, maybe angry a bit. Maybe, not a bit. Maybe a LOT. Lashings.
"Th-that would make most sense, vero?" he muttered.
Billie bristled. Her self-image made a full roundabout again: she was a woman of convenience, after all! Just as before, when she'd thought he needed her for work and to cure his stammer, she could see how she was a perfect match for his needs! She could herd animals and children at his education centre; manage a library and a media centre; and to top it all off, she could treat his insomnia! And she was local and had nowhere to go - so, eight months here, eight months there wouldn't matter!
Billie gathered lungfuls of air - when Dair sighed and said, "I kn-now it w-would be best, but... I h-hate it, cara. D-do you think you–"
Billie froze, a tirade ready to burst out of her.
"C-can you just go with me now, amore? J-just... leave it all and go?"