As twilight gave way to darkness, Charlie began to wonder if her conversation with Delyan that morning had meant anything at all. Would he turn up this evening?

She'd been standing like a mannequin on the fourth step of the grand marble staircase, draped in couture, for what seemed like hours. Clients flitted between pieces of polished 17th-century furniture, pausing with anticipation to inspect the displayed collection of handbags and jewelry. Models, like props in the same play, were dotted around the villa's interior. Charlie glanced surreptitiously at her watch, mindful not to detract from the overall impression. Thank goodness; they were nearly done.

Though grateful Delyan hadn't appeared while she was working, Charlie had spent the entire hour searching for his chiseled face among the onlookers and was starting to worry he wasn't coming. It had been a while since she'd felt so unsure of herself. Objectively, it wasn't surprising she was nervous—she'd just moved into a house with this man! Surely, going on a date with him—even if he had called it a 'non-date'—was unwise?

When at last the event wrapped for the evening and Charlie was able to break pose, a handful of vendors hung back. They politely admired the iconic collection of artworks that adorned the walls, keen to disguise their eagerness to discuss business with the designer.

The presentation had been a success. Strong sales were sure to follow, and Charlie felt positive about that. Though the models weren't paid on commission, it was good press to be part of a successful launch.

When she got back to the changing rooms, Charlie tapped the screen on her phone, only to feel a flush of disappointment. No calls. No messages. She changed into the navy linen mini dress she'd arrived in, and then, because she was starving, made her way to the cafeteria for a salmon focaccia. Enticed by a glimpse of mauve hydrangeas, she moved into the garden, seating herself at a tiny mosaic bistro set. Gazing into the blue waters of the swimming pool, her thoughts unsurprisingly returned to Delyan.

Why would he hint that he'd be there and then just not turn up?

After finishing dinner, she thanked the event organizers, wrapped her coat around herself, and stepped outside. City lights illuminated the night sky, and as she moved toward the street front, there he was, leaning casually against a deep purple Lamborghini in the parking lot.

She smiled and tilted her head at the car. "This better not be yours."

He grinned back at her in the most disarming way. "Not yet, but soon," he replied.

Stepping forward, Delyan greeted her with cheek kisses. The crisp air around him carried the softest trace of a woody perfume.

"You're late," she said. "I already ate."

His eyes glistened. "Didn't want to disturb... shall we walk?"

She nodded. A nearly full moon shone like a silvery ball through wisps of clouds. He took her backpack from her and held out a hand. Clasping his palm, she leaned into him, feeling relieved he'd come. They strolled down a dimly lit walkway through a park and out into a laneway, not saying much.

"If you're tired, I'll take you home," he said. "Otherwise, I'd like to take you somewhere. I think you might like it?"

She glanced sideways at him, intrigued. "I'm not tired."

They kept walking. He seemed to know his way through the maze of streets that spiraled around the city center, though Charlie couldn't tell quite how. She was always at a loss in a new city without Google Maps. When she couldn't hold the silence any longer, she said, "So, tell me about yourself. What brings you to Milan?"

He hesitated. "I'm...here to work."

"Yes, but what's your story?"

Delyan's eyes met hers. "I'm not big on talking about myself..."

"I'd like to get to know you a little?" she urged.

"Hmmm..."

As they walked, Charlie recognized a building on their left. It looked different by night; warm orange lights angled from the pavement transformed the immaculate brickwork and shadowed archways into a work of art.

"Pretty," Delyan said.

"Yes, it is."

Charlie realized then that he wasn't afraid of silence. It might even be his preferred state.

How will I ever cope?

As if he were reading her thoughts, Delyan said, "You get three questions."

She laughed, relieved, and scanned her mind for something to get him talking.

"How did you get into modeling?" she asked lightly. "Was it a lifelong dream of yours?"

He shook his head. "I never thought about it, to be honest." He stepped off the sidewalk and began walking down the middle of a deserted street. She followed, and they found their rhythm, moving in unison side by side, hand in hand.

"I was back home when a man stopped me on the street," he explained. "Call him a scout. He invited me to come into his office and get some pictures taken."

When he let her hand go to adjust the backpack, she felt the loss of his touch, but he continued to talk.

"I was surprised, even skeptical, but he was persuasive... this guy, and I wasn't doing much with my life at the time... so..."

Relieved to be on safe ground, Charlie said, "You must have been a natural."

"Nah... I was terrible at first, like... bad, but he booked me for a few things, and I kept getting called back. I'd started to make a little money out of it, so I thought—why not give it a real go? I went to Singapore for a bit, and it all started to fall into place. That's when I met Nick and... now I'm here."

Charlie felt grateful he was starting to warm to her. "I didn't know people still got scouted."

He laced his fingers with hers and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Trust me, Charlie. Modeling never crossed my mind. What about you? Did you always want to be a model?"

"I guess," she said reluctantly, unprepared for the sudden shift. Like him, she wasn't overly comfortable talking about herself. The truth was her mother had entered her into beauty pageants before she'd formed her own thoughts on the subject. For reasons unclear to her, she didn't want him to know she'd resented her mum for this.

"I've been going to castings since I was a kid. My heart is in acting, though. I've been taking lessons. Right now, I just need to pay the bills. Modeling does that."

Delyan nodded. There was another pause in the conversation. In a rush to fill the silence, Charlie said, "I've got a little girl back home. Her name's Rayna. My mum looks after her."

If he was surprised, Delyan didn't show it. As soon as she'd said the words, she wished she could take them back.

"How old is she?" he asked.

"Almost five. She's my whole world. I miss her so much."

"And you have to be away from her?"

Charlie nodded. "There's not a lot of work in South Africa. I'm supporting more than just her."

"That's tough," he said. "Affirmative action?"

"You know about that?"

"Geopolitics interests me."

"Well...you could say affirmative action has something to do with it, but also my mum has some health problems. Diabetes. Type 1. She hasn't worked in years. But I can't complain. I've done well out of modeling. Lots of South Africans aren't doing so well."

Charlie realized how the focus had turned to her and she'd learned nothing about Delyan. She was intrigued. Had he deliberately avoided talking about anything personal?

She realized that Delyan's reluctance to talk about himself was likely rooted in something painful. He was skilled at steering the conversation to safer topics, a trick she knew well because she'd been doing the same thing for years. Her past was nothing to be proud of. Raised on the scraps afforded to poor white families in post-apartheid South Africa in Gauteng, Charlie had experienced the humiliation of begging for food and living in filth. She never spoke about this to anyone in the modeling world; she doubted they'd believe her even if she did. For some reason, she sensed that Delyan wasn't so different from her. He had the defensive instincts of someone who'd grown up with limited means and protection. She decided to go easy on him tonight and stick to safe questions.

"Enough about me," she said. "What's Australia like?"

"It's a nanny state," he said brusquely.

Charlie hadn't been expecting the voracity of his response. They stopped at some traffic lights and waited for the pedestrian signal.

"Funny. I have friends who've said that—they've been over and come back home to S.A. If you can believe that?"

He brushed against her, and she felt a tingle of nervous excitement.

"I believe it," he said.

"You don't miss it at all? You must. It's your home."

"Is that your third question?"

"No... but answer it?" She encouraged gently, wanting him to know she was a safe person who would keep his secrets if he chose to share them. Desperate for the slightest insight into his life but at the same time, mindful there may be something there she'd not want to know.

"I guess I do. A bit," he said. "The sunshine, not the politics. Friends. Family. I'd move here in a heartbeat if I could though. It was my mum's idea to go to Sydney. I had no choice in the matter; I was young. Sofia feels more like home to me even though I never lived there. To be honest, I'm content wherever I am in Europe. These are my people."

"Milan is kind of great," Charlie agreed. "I'd love for Rayna to see it. When she's older, I'll bring her. She already worships fashion."

"Is she going to follow in your footsteps? Modelling?"

"I wouldn't mind. It's a great income. I'd support her in whatever she wants to do." Charlie was thinking of herself as a child when she answered. She had dreamed of becoming South Africa's next Charlize Theron. In fact, the dream was so old, she thought she might have been born dreaming it. She hoped to inspire similar dreams in Rayna.

"You don't worry about body image in the industry?" Delyan asked. "Like what's happening with Bibiana. It's scary for young girls."

"No, I don't think about that. Bibiana's unwell. You don't have to be a model to have an eating disorder."

"True."

Charlie wanted to add that she had no time for anorexics, but she bit her tongue. The fact was, she'd been so hungry as a child; she couldn't understand anyone who'd voluntarily choose not to eat.

"I meant to say earlier, I love your daughter's name. Rayna." Delyan said. "It means queen in my language. An apt choice."

"Thanks. I'll tell her. She'd like that," Charlie held his gaze for a second. His dark eyes locked with hers and her stomach churned.

"You've got one more question," he said. "Make it an interesting one."

Charlie pulled her eyes from his. She couldn't concentrate with him looking at her like that. She walked in silence for a moment, reflecting on their conversation. When she spoke, she smiled.

"Umm... what language do you dream in?"

Delyan laughed. "Good question," he said. "Lately, it's Bulgarian. It's so weird. I switched from English when I got here. What about you?"

"Afrikaans."

"Always Afrikaans?"

"Yeah, always. In South Africa, I mostly speak Afrikaans, so it makes sense, I guess, that I dream in my language. It's a comfort."

"You're lucky,' he said. "In Australia, I can only speak Bulgarian with my mum. Everyone else, it's English. After a while, you just start to dream in English."

"Are you close with your mum?"

Delyan hesitated. "I see you, Charlie Viljoen," he said. "That's not a first date type of question."

Charlie laughed. "So, this is a date then?"

Delyan took her hand again. His palm was warm and dry. They bumped shoulders. "This is whatever you want it to be."

Happy to have her hand back in his, Charlie said: "Okay, no more personal questions tonight." She stopped walking and looked around. "Do you even know where we are?"

"Of course. I always know where I am." He touched her shoulders and gently turned her around.

"Look up," he said, pointing at a pinkish coloured building. "We're here."

"Where? What is this place?"

"QC Termemilano – it's a late-night spa. I thought we could relax, have some champagne, maybe dessert? Whatever you want."

"A spa?" she felt surprised. "Like the kind that requires a bathing suit?"

Delyan grinned. "Technically ...not. In Europe, most people don't bother with a suit."

Charlie felt her cheeks flush. She shook her head emphatically. "No way. I'm South African, dude. Trust me, I need a bathing suit."

Delyan grinned. "Well, you're in luck because I brought you one."

"No...you didn't!" Charlie had been wondering what he'd been carrying in that little silver bag.

"I did. All you models are the same size, right?"

"I don't believe you," she smiled broadly.

"Come on," he said taking her by the hand and handing her the shopping bag. "You want to go in or not?"

"I'm so happy," she said, peeking into the bag.

"Well, I promised a low-key evening. Just an hour or so relaxing in the spa, maybe a massage or a sauna, and then I'll get you home to bed. I promise. You'll sleep like a baby."