Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 135364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Before I can continue with my highly motivated pep talk, my phone buzzes.
I glance at the screen. It's Priya.
Perfect. I need a distraction.
"Hey!" I answer, dropping the phone onto the bed and holding it at an awkward angle. "Just finishing up here, trying to decide if I can fit my entire life into one suitcase."
Priya’s face fills the screen.
“Are you seriously still packing? It’s the night before you leave!”” she laughs. “Have you considered leaving half of your wardrobe behind and just going full minimalist?”
“Yeah, I don’t think so. Although if I could figure out how to pack my entire life in one bag without suffocating under the weight of it, I would.” I sigh. "But that's not happening. So here I am - stuffing everything I can into this thing."
She laughs. “I can’t get over the fact that you’re not just jumping for joy at the thought of being in Italy for three months.”
“I mean... it's a beautiful city, with lovely food, culture and history. Of course I’m excited,” I say, my voice lifting as I let myself get swept up in the fantasy of it all. “I’m going to be in Rome, Priya. Rome. The whole thing feels like a ridiculous dream, to be honest. But then...”
I trail off, my eyes narrowing at the screen.
“Then I remember it’s for football."
She snorts, almost spilling her tea.
"Please don’t tell me that’s the thing you’re getting stuck on. You’re going to be in Italy - who cares if it’s for football? Just think of all the food, the sunshine - and maybe even some cute, rich footballers…”
"I’ll just have to make sure I don’t accidentally trip over my own feet while pretending to care about goals and tactics,” I laugh, rolling my eyes. "You know, like a professional."
Priya shakes her head, looking more amused than sympathetic.
"Besides, you know I’d rather be writing about literally anything else to do with Rome. Fashion, food, tourist tips... anything."
“Right. Because you’re so passionate about the world of reality TV stars,” Priya says, the sarcastic undertone clear in her voice. “Look, you’re going to love it. You’ll get amazing material, and who knows - maybe you’ll even get inspired enough to finish your book.”
“I hope so. I feel like it's been collecting dust for years,” I sigh. “But you’re right. It’ll be good to get out of London for a while. Maybe Italy will breathe some life into me in general.”
Priya raises her cup in a mock salute.
“There it is. And if you really hate the football thing, I’m sure you can make it work somehow. It’s a job. You’re getting paid. And Rome’s too beautiful for you to be mopey and miserable.”
“I’ll try my best. I mean, there’s far worse places to be stuck for three months, right?”
“Oh, absolutely. And at least your parents will be distracted on their cruise, so you know they won’t be calling you every five minutes to ask about your career progression.”
I laugh at that.
She has a very valid point: my parents are currently on a Caribbean cruise and subsequently blissfully out of reach for the next couple of weeks, at least.
They’d sent me a text this morning wishing me luck, but it was the usual detached enthusiasm that comes from people who don’t really understand what I do.
“They're probably just happy to know I’ll be taking a break from writing about D-list celebrities.”
“Well, at least they’re not going to be badgering you. This is your moment, Daphne! Oh, and I’m telling you right now - I want regular updates. Detailed regular updates. You better keep sending me photos of all the food, the wine and the men.”
“Fine. You’re only getting updates on food and wine, though. The rest... we'll see.”
“Deal,” she beams. “I guess I should probably let you go and get some sleep before the big day. Just remember that you’ve so got this. Rome is yours.”
“I’ll try not to mess it up,” I sigh. “Talk to you soon?”
“Duh. Don’t even think about not calling me. I’ll hunt you down.”
We hang up, and I take one last look around my tiny London apartment, letting out a deep breath.
This could be it.
The escape from the endless gossip columns. From the dead-end assignments. From those ridiculous reality TV scandals that have been sucking the life out of me.
And who knows? Maybe I’ll even finish my novel.
Chapter Three
Daphne
The plane touches down with a soft jolt on a bright morning in early March; the kind where the sky is so blue it almost looks fake.
As the engines hum to a stop and the seatbelt signs flicker off, a ripple of movement surges through the cabin. People start shuffling around, grabbing their bags, stretching out stiff limbs. I stay in my seat a moment longer, staring out of the tiny oval window at the tarmac below and trying to process the fact that I am officially here.