Sitting in Dylan’s massive living room, waiting for him to get out of bed, I can’t help but notice that – while this room is stunning and beautifully decorated – there’s not much personality to it. It just looks like every other perfect celebrity living room you saw on Cribs – gorgeous, but soulless, like no one has ever really lived in it. I’ve only seen a few rooms of his massive house, but I get those vibes everywhere. He’s clearly spent a lot of money here, but not a lot of time.
‘Morning, Mia,’ he says as he makes his entrance.
Dylan walks into the living room meaningfully chugging a cup of coffee. He’s wearing a black silk robe that’s… oh God.
‘Erm, Dylan,’ I say, averting my eyes, staring at the ceiling instead.
‘What?’ he asks.
‘Erm, your robe is open.’
And he’s entirely naked underneath it.
‘Sorry,’ he laughs.
I give him a few seconds to close it before switching my attention from his ceiling back to his person.
‘Hey, don’t be embarrassed,’ he insists, which probably means I’m blushing. ‘Do you know how many people would do anything to see Little Dylan?’
‘Yes, I imagine I’m part of a very small club of about six thousand women now,’ I reply sarcastically.
Dylan chuckles, sitting down on the sofa, carefully making sure he doesn’t flash me again.
‘Yeah, but I call very few of them back,’ he tells me with a wink, swinging the belt of his robe in faux seduction.
I don’t struggle to understand what women see in Dylan. He’s gorgeous, charming and he just oozes sex. If he were a poster on my wall, I’d definitely have a crush on him. Maybe he’d even be my relationship ‘free pass’, who knows? But now that I know him, and can see the kind of person he is, I don’t fancy him. Instead, I feel like we’re friends, and that means so much more. To sleep with a person like Dylan would be easy, but to befriend him feels like something to be proud of. I have to admit, though, I do feel a rush of something when he flirts with me, even though I know he’s just joking. It just feels nice to be desired, after months of feeling like I’d slipped back into unremarkable territory. I feel like LA Mia again, who once shard a tipsy nightclub kiss with arguably the second most attractive professional male dancer from Dancing with the Stars.
‘So, what’s happening?’ he asks.
‘I was just admiring your house,’ I tell him. ‘Well, what I’ve seen of it. Nice décor.’
‘Oh shit, is it showing again?’ he jokes, placing a hand between his legs. ‘Oh, décor. Got you. Thanks.’
‘Did you have much involvement in it?’
‘Zero,’ he laughs. ‘You want a tour?’
‘Of your house?’
‘No, of my body. Yes, of course of my house. Come on…’ he insists, jumping to his feet. ‘So you’ve seen the living room, the kitchen, the office, the hallway. Want to come upstairs?’
‘I’m not sure if you’re asking out of some sort of muscle memory because I’m female, or if it’s part of the tour,’ I joke as we linger at the bottom of the massive staircase.
Dylan’s hallway is huge. Looking up from the bottom of the wooden staircase, you can see all the way to the ceiling. The stairs lead up to the mezzanine, which boasts views of both the hallway and the front garden, which can be admired through the massive window above the front door.
‘You could have one hell of a Christmas tree in here,’ I tell him.
‘Who would see it?’
‘You. Me. Mitch – you could even have a Christmas party.’
Dylan ponders my words for a moment.
‘A Christmas party could be pretty cool,’ he says thoughtfully. ‘Maybe over the next couple of days?’
‘You can organise a big party in a couple of days? Oh, of course, you’re Dylan King, you’ll have your minions do it.’
Dylan laughs.
‘I’ll think about it. On with the tour.’
I follow Dylan upstairs and admire the different rooms of his house one at a time, from his luxurious bathroom to his games room, which not only has a pool table and large cinema screen, but also boasts pretty much every games console from the past 25 years.
The tour doesn’t last long and I can’t help but notice he’s skipped a few rooms.
‘And that concludes our tour,’ Dylan says with a loud clap of his hands, which echoes around the upstairs hallway.
‘So, I notice you didn’t show me your bedroom,’ I point out first of all.
‘Well, I could, but there’s a girl in there, and you’ve already seen one person naked today,’ Dylan laughs.
‘Fair enough,’ I reply quickly. I definitely don’t want to see any more naked people. ‘I also noticed you were very quick to steer me away from that room over there.’
I nod in the direction of another door that remained closed through the tour.
‘Yeah, I mean no, I mean… there’s nothing in there. Just junk.’
I raise my eyebrows in disbelief.
‘Suuure,’ I reply.
‘Come on, let’s go back downstairs,’ he insists.
I’m about to persist when my phone rings.
‘Ergh, it’s my wedding planner,’ I whine, like I’m a teenager whose mum is calling to tell her she has to be home by nine because it’s a school night.
‘Don’t answer,’ he advises.
‘I don’t,’ I reply. ‘She just keeps calling.’
‘Give it to me,’ Dylan says, swiping my phone from my hand.
‘Dylan, no,’ I protest, but it’s too late.
‘Hello,’ he answers. ‘Ahh, Debbie, hello… today?… unfortunately we’re in London today… oh, I see… well, we can’t argue with that, can we?… OK, see you then… bye.’
‘See you then?’ I repeat back to him once he hangs up.
‘I think she thought I was your fella,’ he laughs.
‘You sound nothing like each other,’ I tell him. They really couldn’t sound more different. Leo is Orlando Bloom and Dylan is Danny Dyer – that different.
‘Anyway, she wants us to go to taste some cakes. I told her we were in London but she’s got your number. Said she knew you’d be here, so she’s organised a cake tasting in London.’
‘She doesn’t want us to go taste cakes, Dylan – she wants Leo and me. But he’s working today. I’ll have to call her to cancel.’
‘Ahh, I could go for some cake, though, babe. I’ll go with you, save your fella a job.’
‘That’s weird,’ I tell him. ‘You can’t come to my cake tasting because you fancy some cake.’
Dylan thinks for a second.
‘OK, I’ll make a deal with you…’ he starts – he must really want some cake. ‘If you let me come with you today I’ll have a big Christmas party tomorrow night.’
I remain expressionless. He’s going to have to do better than that.
‘You drive a hard bargain, Valentina. OK, fine. After the party we can talk about the shit I don’t wanna talk about, that you keep nagging me to talk about. We got a fucking deal or what?’
‘Deal,’ I reply, offering my hand for him to shake. He does, so hopefully that’s binding now.
‘You’re on party-planning duty, though,’ he tells me. ‘And you’d better not avoid it like you’re avoiding planning your wedding.’
‘I’m not avoiding planning my wedding,’ I reply, offended.
‘OK, OK,’ he laughs. ‘Then you’ll be gagging for this cake tasting as much as I am.’
‘I am. Let’s do this. And then we’re going to have a sick party, and then you’re going answer any question I ask you.’
‘This cake better be worth it,’ he replies.