CHAPTER SEVEN
Thefragrant smell hits me first as I push open the door to Violet’s penthouse apartment. Then, as I go to dump my kit in her hallway, I realise that the usual space has been taken over by a brass vase stuffed with flowers. In fact, every single inch of Violet’s hallway is covered with perfect petals. ‘I’m here,’ I call out, follow my nose through to the state-of-the-art kitchen where Violet is hyperventilating next to a ginormous display of vertical white flowers. The words ‘ciao bella’ are spelled out across it in pink roses.
‘What’s going on here?’ I ask, blinking pollen out of my eyes.
‘My own flower wall! Chip is too romantic,’ she gushes. ‘All of this is because he thinks we should go public! And that’s not all. . . He wants me to join him in Italy.’
Violet thrusts a card in my face and I read the typed-out note.
Darling Vi,
I’m off to film this summer’sTotally Toffsspin-off,Toffs Take Italy. Join me for filming? My agent thinks you’ll be perfect on screen.
Love Chip
Huh. Here’s my boss, sticking to her type of guy like glue and now she’s drowning in flowers and about to jet off to Italy for a cameo on a reality TV show. And here’s me, getting friend-zoned by hipsters because I’m not allowed to date the kind of guys I actually like any more.
Itry to pull myself together by taking some snaps of the pure Insta-bait that is this flower wall. #bloomsfordays #ciaobella #bignewscomingsoon #flowerporn #blessed #Violetisapenis
On second thoughts. I hold my finger on backspace until the last hashtag has been deleted. Violet isn’t really a penis. Ultimately, it’s way better for me if Violet’s in a good mood. I just can’t help feeling a bit miffed looking at this lavish display of affection, though. It would be lovely to get a bouquet from a boy. Or a single rose. Hell, even a flower emoji from a member of the opposite sex seems practically impossible right now. I am single AF and this mission of Mila’s is getting me nowhere.
‘So you’ll come? To Italy?’
‘Me?’
‘It’s the perfect opportunity for fresh blog content so I’ll be needing my trusty photographer in tow. I can’t believe this, Jasmine! I knew dating Chip would be the perfect move and now I’m going to be on television! What a day. You’re obviously free for the next week or so, right? Chip’s going to put you in touch with the production team who are staying in some poky. . . ahem. . . a cute little hotel near to the cast’s villa. He says it won’t be a problem to add you to the list at this late stage.’
‘Late stage?’ I repeat, feeling nervous.
‘We fly tomorrow. Which means I’m really going to need some help packing.’ She claps her hands, nods pointedly at her coffee machine and floats towards her bedroom for what I can already predict will be a long-ass day of folding, ironing and packing. . . for me.
Today has been a real swings and roundabouts kinda day. On the bright side, this is my first trip to Italy and it ismucho cuto, which is definitely Italian for very cute and yes, you’reright, I’m so good at languages! We’re staying in the beautiful lakes. The production team and I are holed up in a quaint hotel which isn’t nearly as savage as my box room in Cannes. My bedroom has windows, for a start, and if I lean out of my Juliet balcony I catch a tiny glimpse of Lake Como in the distance. Best of all, this morning’s breakfast buffet was the stuff dreams are made of. Meats, cheeses, breads, jams, a huge Nutella tub filled to the brim with mini pots of chocolate heaven. I went IN. And I intend to do the same for the entirety of this stay, size of my tush be damned! I can deal with that when I get back to England. Or, you know, never.
Of course there’s a not-so-bright side too, which brings me to my immediate situation. I was still wiping chocolate spread from my chops when Chip turned up at my hotel in some non-ironic burgundy corduroy trousers, Violet skipping along behind him, and during what I’m now calling the Debrief of Doom they told me that they’d like to announce their new romance with some ‘paparazzi’ shots. I tried to suggest that setting up pap shots is the opposite of cool, but when Violet paused to nibble Chip’s ear I stopped arguing and started nodding, because blurgh.
So now I’m hanging precariously out of a balcony with my long lens pointed right at them. It took quite a bit of sign-language to break through the language barrier and convince a restaurant owner to allow me access to the top floor of his property for the ‘perfect pap shots’. (Violet’s words). He’s actually been very jovial about the whole thing, making me a thick, black coffee and popping in to see how I’m doing before roaring with laughter. About what, I do not know. Still, other than impending death if I dangle too far off this balcony, I think we’re getting there.
Far below, loves young dream walk hand-in-hand down a narrow, cobbled alleyway. Well, up and down the alleyway if I’m to be accurate. They’ve been up and down this thingso many times that I feel like I’m watching the tennis. If other people attempt to cross the street Violet will stop and shout ‘NO, NO, NO. PHOTOSHOOT.’ Then she points at Chip and bellows, ‘FAMOUS’. The poor passers-by look scared and scurry off so that Chip and Violet can get back to their endless walking up and down. They stop to hug. They stop to share a ‘secret’ kiss. Violet does her best impression of being wistful and in love. Chip receives a bollocking every time he checks his phone. It really is romance at its finest.
My neck is aching when Violet finally shouts up to ask how the pictures are looking. They’re grainy, which is to brief, and I’m not sure I can handle another one of these coffees, so I wave a thumbs up in their direction. Spaghetti and a bath beckon. Ooh, maybe at the same time?
I’m ashamed to admit that finding out there’s no room service in our hotel got me a little miffed, until I remembered that I’m not the actual queen and told myself to get a chuffing grip. I’m in Italy! In the lakes! I can eat spaghetti in the bath when I get home (maybe?) but right now I should be making the most of this unexpected trip. Violet has plans with Chip tonight so I’ve tagged along with the crew and we’re sat outside a charmingly tatty restaurant. Vines dangle down from the canopy overhead and the vast lake stretches out in front of us. I breathe in the air, which smells of tomatoes and garlic, and watch little boats zoom across the water like skimming pebbles.
‘So tell us more about the new girl,’ says Pete, one of the runners.
‘Ooh yes, what’s she like to work for?’ chimes in Sally, a technical director.
Grateful for the pitcher of chianti being set down next to me, I say, ‘Violet is, um, very exacting and she knows what she likes.’
‘Soundsfamiliar,’ winces Pete. ‘If I have to organise another last-minute full body wax for a shitting reality TV star before we can coax them on to set, I’m going to quit.’
‘Ignore him,’ says the guy sat next to me, a scriptwriter called Steve. ‘Pete complains a lot. And he never quits. You’ll get used to it.’
‘I think this is the first time that a newbie has brought her own personal photographer to filming,’ Pete continues, ignoring Steve. ‘She’s bound to be a bloody nightmare.’
‘Pete, that’s Jasmine’s boss you’re talking about. Stop being such a dick!’
‘It’s okay,’ I reply, thinking that poor Pete doesn’t know the half of it. But as we’ve only just met and I don’t want to sound unprofesh, I steer clear of gossiping about my employer. I busy myself filling our glasses with berry red wine, shovelling the most mouth-watering mushroom tortellini into my chops and trying not to cough every time someone says something super indiscreet about the stars of the show. Like, who knew that there’s a fixer on set whose job it is to deliver whatever the cast members want? Violet is going tolovethat. Although, wait, I might actually do that for her already? I think back to that time she wanted to eat only Lebanese food and sent me out to get some at 11pm because ‘THEY’RE NOT EVEN ON DELIVEROO FFS’. (Her words and also my words as I traipsed across town in the middle of the night.)
