“Why can’t you go to Capri and take some pictures to use for your fabric?”
I give him an incredulous look, hardly even considering it. “It could never happen. I have no clue how to get there and even if I did, I still couldn’t do it. I can’t just skip off to Capri.”
“Sure you can,” he says easily. “We can go together.”
“Yeah, okay,” I answer with a laugh.
“I’m serious. We could go for the weekend. I’ve been meaning to go there for a while.”
“Really?” I ask skeptically. “What for?”
“It’s a personal project that I’d rather not fully disclose at the moment. But I really do want to go.”
An uncontrollable thrill surges though me and there’s no way I can really do this, right? I mean, I could, but...no, I couldn’t.
“I have so much work I have to do for my collection this weekend. Our meetings with Lorenzo are Thursday and we’re flying home Friday.”
“But wouldn’t going somewhere in order to make the material you want count as work? If we leave early tomorrow morning we can be there in a few hours, stay one night and then come home first thing the next morning. You’d be home early Sunday afternoon.”
My mind kicks into high gear, working hard to make this seem like a feasible option. Budget-wise, I might be able to do it. I worked nonstop back in New York and managed to put away three thousand dollars. None of the gowns I’m planning to make for the collection are super material heavy; most are light and two are figure hugging. It’s a decent mix, so I figure for five gowns I would most likely need somewhere around five yards of silk per gown—maybe less for some and a drop more for others. Twenty yards of printed custom silk would cost somewhere around two thousand dollars. It’s an outrageously expensive collection for a student, but with every shift I worked, I told myself this was what I was saving for. Ninety percent of all my income goes toward paying down my never-ending student loans, but this bit I saved, this was for me. For my art.
I consider saying yes, but guilt steadily starts to gnaw away at me. Guilt is the one thing I can always count on. Specifically, I think of Holly. Holly, who finally likes me and who explicitly articulated that I shouldn’t get personal with Matt. But would she really mind if she knew the whole story? I know she said what she did on our first night, but if she understood how things developed and changed between Matt and me, I really don’t think she’d have the same stance. If she were here right now, I’d tell her everything before we left, but she’s been staying at Dino’s the past couple of nights. She smirks and looks away when Marco and I try to get her to talk about him at work, but she says she’s staying optimistically quiet about it. I don’t want to jinx it, but we all know adestinowhen we see one.
Vowing to tell Holly everything about Matt and me the next time I see her, I focus back on the decision at hand. To go or not to go. To traipse off with my willing tour guide or to safely stay at home.
“How will we get there?” I decide to ask, delicately placing the frame back on the bedside table. “If I’m potentially going on this trip, I need to understand the logistics. Facts soothe me.”
“We’ll take a train into Naples, which is about an hour and a half, and then hydrofoil to Capri, which will take an hour, give or take.”
“Is train fare and boat fare expensive?” I ask. I’m sure it has to be.
“It’s honestly not that bad. The train is probably around forty dollars and the ferry to Capri is usually twenty-five.”
Not too bad. For the end result of custom fabric, I’d be willing to spend it. But that’s not all, is it? Matt also said we’d spend the night. That’s a hotel stay. A hotel stay on a ritzy expensive island.
“And we’d have to sleep there?” I ask.
Matt sits down on the edge of the bed, his feet on the floor. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to, but it’s a decent amount of traveling to do in just a day. And if we weren’t staying, you’d probably have to rush to take the pictures. I’d have to check the ferry schedule, too. I’m not positive how late they run.”
I nod my head. It makes sense. But the price of this excursion is rapidly adding up.
“For the record, I would be paying for the hotel,” Matt adds. “The trip was my idea and there’s something important I’ve wanted to do there for a long time, so you coming with me would be doing me a favor. I know it’s a work trip for you, but you’re also my guest.”
It makes sense, but my pride says no. This is strange terrain to navigate.
“Please don’t overthink this,” Matt goes on. “My parents used to take their friends out to Capri all the time. It’s all good. It’s not weird. I promise this isn’t out of the ordinary.”
He’s looking up at me and I’m looking down at him. His eyes are honest and pleading, and I try to find a happy medium.
“Okay,” I agree. “But if you’re covering the hotel, then I’m paying for our meals. No exceptions. Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take it,” he says. “So does this mean we’re going?”
“I’m still internally debating.” I step forward and turn to sit beside him on the bed. As I do, another question comes to mind.
“Will we be getting a double room or two separate rooms?” I don’t even know why I’m asking. I think I just want to hear what he says.
“Whichever you prefer,” he immediately replies.
