Chapter 35 Fuck, that's a hard one
I don’t mention the fact that Natte inadvertently knocked me back in London when I invited him in my flat for coffee that time.
“Whatever you say, sweetheart. But I know what I see, and I see that boy wants you. Men like Natte can be very hard to say no to. I married your father, remember,” she smiles, winking at me. “You love Will, yes?”
“Very much.”
“So promise me you’ll be careful with Natte. You have a gentle heart my darling, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Okay mama, I promise,” I sigh picking my drink up and taking a sip.
Natte returns back to our table a few minutes later, but I feel on edge around him now after what my mum just said.
I don’t think she is right about Natte wanting me, but all she has done is remind me of my own growing feelings for him. Or as I should say reignited ones.
We don’t stay too late at the club, and leave at midnight, my mum and dad being tired after their plane journey and long day.
Dave takes us back to the hotel, and Natte decides to come too, leaving the rest of them at the club.
I kiss my mum and dad goodnight at the bedroom door, agreeing to meet at nine am for breakfast.
Natte starts walking away.
“Do you wanna come in and have a drink?” I ask him, getting my phone out of my bag.
“Sure,” he says. “Actually come to mine, we can sit out on the balcony. Steve will be in bed by now.”
Natte’s suite is the only one with a terraced balcony and we won't disturb my parents rest.
Agreeing, I follow Natte to his suite.
He pauses outside his door. Turning to face me, he tucks a few stray strands of hair behind my ear.
“I had a great day today, but an even better night with you. This whole concert has been amazing so far … having you here, shia. It’s … just like old times.”
My heart starts to beat rapidly in my chest, and my face heats under his unwavering gaze.
Forcing a clumsy smile onto my lips, I say, “It has. I’m really enjoying it.”
He stares at me for a moment longer. Trembles erupt deep in my belly. And for a stupid moment, I actually wonder if he’s going to kiss me.
“Let’s get that drink.” He breaks our gaze, and pushes his key card into the slot, opening the door.
All the lights are still on inside, and we find Steve watching TV in the living room.
“You’re still up,” Natte says to Steve. His tone is surprisingly frosty.
Steve's eyes flicker between Natte and I, and I read clearly in them what he thinks I’m here for.
“I didn’t think you’d be back until later.” Steve switches the TV off and gets to his feet. “I was heading to bed in a minute anyway.”
“I just came back for a drink,” I pipe up. God that sounds even worse now I’ve said it. Like I’m covering something up, which blatantly wasn’t going to happen. “Stay, have a drink with us.”
Steve's eyes flicker to Natte then back to me. “No, I’m fine. I’m just gonna hit the sack.” He steps back.
“Come on…” I coax, smiling.
He looks at Natte again, then says, “Okay. Just one drink.”
I ignore Natte’s obvious sigh from beside me.
What’s his problem all of a sudden? He gets on really well with Steve, so why doesn’t he want him here for a drink?
‘Because mama was right,’ says a little voice in my head.
No, of course she wasn’t. I brush the thought to the back of my mind.
Natte’s just being a snarky bastard for whatever reason.
Steve grabs a handful of the mini spirits out of the little fridge. I love these tiny bottles. Helping, I get some cans of mixers, and three glasses.
Natte is already out on the terrace having a smoke when we get out there.
Steve and I put our little drink collection down onto the table.
I opt for a vodka and soda. Steve has the same as me, and I pour out Natte a neat whiskey.
Natte takes the seat on my left. His knee bumps with mine under the table, but he doesn’t say anything.
He seems a little irked to be honest, and I can’t figure out what happened to make him change from the sweet Natte just outside the door of the suite, to grumpy Natte now.
He picks his whiskey up and takes a drink, then puts it down and taps his fingers on the metal table.
The atmosphere feels a little uncomfortable.
I’m racking my brain trying to think of something to talk about, but coming up dry, so I almost heave out a sigh of relief when Steve asks me, “So where is that beautiful mother of yours originally from, shia?”
“Colombia,” I answer.
“So can you speak Spanish?” Steve inquires.
“I can,” I nod.
“So you know Spanish swear words.” An impish grin crosses Steve’s lovely face.
“I do,” I smile.
“Ooh, teach me some,” he leans close to me, eager.
“How old are you?” Natte snips.
“Old enough to kick your ass, you miserable bastard.” Steve winks at me. “Go on Shiva, say, ‘asshole’ in Spanish.”
“Gilipollas,” I grin.
“Gilipollas,” Steve tries to imitate.
Natte throws his drink back and pours himself another out.
“Okay, how do you say, fuck?”
Natte shifts in his seat, then picks his cigarettes up, lighting one.
“Joder.” I take a sip of my drink, soothing my dry mouth.
“Joder,” Steve copies. He’s doing quite well with the accent for a beginner.
“So how would you say, ‘fuck off asshole’?”
“Vete a la mierda gilipollas.”
Natte takes a long drag of his cigarette, and the smoke billows past me.
I let out a light cough.
“Fuck that’s a hard one!” Steve laughs. “Say it again.”
“Vete … a la … mierda …. gilipollas,” I say slower.
Natte stubs his half smoked cigarette out in the ashtray, and abruptly gets to his feet. “I’m off to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He strides away into the suite.
I look across at Steve, confused. He lifts his eyebrows at me, shrugging.
I stay with Steve for another ten minutes, finishing my drink, teaching him how to swear in Spanish, then I make an excuse about being tired, and head to my own suite.
I’m not tired at all, just confused as to Natte’s bad mood, unable to shake the feeling that for some reason, it’s me that he’s angry with.
I’m sitting in the small audience at a TV studio in the resort.
Natte's team is already clearing things to bid Natte goodbye in music.
Everyone in the audience is a competition winner. The competition was put out by the station a few weeks back, so to win a ticket to see them perform like this is a big deal.
I’m lucky enough to be here because I know the band. Because I know Natte. And I’m also here to work too. But that aside, I don’t discount how very fortunate I am to be here.
Natte is sitting on a stool, microphone in front of him, playing acoustic guitar, and Tim is playing rhythm. Sam’s not playing this show.
Natte finishes up singing.
Natte pauses, lightly strumming his fingers over the strings, he breathes into the mic.
“Okay so I’m going back to a song from our first ever album now. A good friend of mine told me that it’s her favourite of all the songs I’ve ever wrote, so tonight, I’m dedicating it to her.” He looks straight at me. “Shiva Golden this one’s for you.”
I gulp down.
Me? He’s singing a song for me.
Shit.