Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Girl, please. Let me introduce you to my cheating fiancé. In another life, maybe missing DDL Con would be the biggest tragedy going. After all, I’ve seen a lot of Daniel De Luca’s movies. When I was a teenager, Mom and I would spend hours watching his films, looking up facts about him, and researching his movie locations. But my mom is dead, I’m not a teenager anymore, and I’m in London to save my career. I’m not here to gush over a movie star.
The receptionist slaps a booklet on the sleek white counter between us. “This is a schedule of events,” she says. “You have to be part of the convention for most of them, but you can book some of the tours even if you’re not. Oh, and . . .” She reaches under the counter and produces what looks like a tourist map. “There’s a Daniel De Luca map. It sets out all the filming locations for his movies in London. There are even some outside of London, too, if you fancy a trip into the countryside.”
What my fifteen-year-old self would have given to be here. Come to think of it, my forty-year-old mother would have sold every last one of her collector’s-edition holiday snow globes to attend this conference. My heart clenches a little at the memory of her face when she opened the last Christmas present I gave her: the first and only Daniel De Luca snow globe I ever managed to find.
The edges of my grief for my mother have worn and softened since the sharp pangs of the first couple of years, but the pain of her not being here never goes away. It sits and waits under my skin, ready to surface at the mention of her favorite movie or whenever the first chill of fall means I slip on a jacket. Autumn was her favorite season.
“Oh, goodness,” the receptionist says, typing away on her computer keyboard. “You’re booked in for thirty-six nights. You’ll be like family by the time you leave.” She clicks the mouse. “There. I’ve upgraded you to one of my favorite rooms.” She hands me my key. “Welcome to London. I hope you run into Daniel De Luca himself.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Thank you. I hope so too.” If nothing else, my dad would get a kick out of me meeting the man my mom and I were borderline obsessed with during my teen years.
When the elevator doors slide open, they reveal the walls of the interior, which have been decorated with stills from every Daniel De Luca film ever made. It’s almost like stepping into a time capsule. I’m surrounded not just by Daniel De Luca but also by my memories of watching his movies and how it felt to be a teenager snuggled up with my mom on the couch, eating popcorn and talking about the future as if it were a magical dreamworld filled with love and romance and happily-ever-afters.
When the elevator arrives at the seventh floor, the doors ping open, revealing a blank wall, low lighting, and a distinct lack of signage. Much more like the real-life future I actually encountered, rather than the one I’d dreamed up with my mom.
After first going in the wrong direction, I find my room, which is all cream and pale blues. The beachy theme and sun coming through the window make me almost feel like I’m on vacation. I dial my best friend, Melanie, before I’ve even kicked off my shoes.
“You’ve landed?” she asks.
“I’m at the hotel. I just got here, and you’re not going to believe where they’ve got me staying.”
“Buckingham Palace?” she asks.
“How did you guess? Kate Middleton and I are going for mani-pedis later. No, this hotel is hosting a Daniel De Luca convention. Isn’t that . . . weird or funny or something?”
“Oh, Tuesday.”
I skim right over the sympathetic tone to her voice. “Funny, right? They gave me a map to all his movie locations.”
I put the phone on speaker, unfold the map, and move the fruit bowl on the small table by the window so I can spread the entire city of London out in front of me. “Hang on; let me switch to video. You gotta see this.”
I switch the camera around so she’s seeing what I am.
“Oh, God. There are hundreds,” she says.
Different-colored lines starting at locations on the map lead out to the edge of the paper where there’s an image of the scene shot there.
“Which movie is that one on the top left, where he’s wearing the hat?” she asks.
I know even before I’ve found the image which scene she’s talking about. “Never on a Sunday, where he borrows the kid’s hat to make the mom laugh.”
I trace my finger along the top of the map, trailing through stills from his movie catalog before landing on the one from Never on a Sunday. It was always one of my mom’s favorites. I often wonder if she considered whether Dad would remarry if she ever died, like Daniel De Luca ended up doing in that film. Not that she knew she was going to die. And not that Dad ever did remarry.