by Ella Hayes
He looked tired, she thought, strained around the eyes in spite of his smile. ‘That’s so nice of you, Zach, thank you.’ She looked at the tray. It was filled with a selection of delicious-looking dishes from the wedding buffet, and a bowl of fat green pitted olives. All at once, she felt ravenous. She popped an olive into her mouth, then offered the dish to him. ‘Will you join me?’
‘I can’t. I need to get back—Besides, I’m sure you could do with some peace and quiet.’ She could see tension in his eyes and suddenly she really wanted him to stay, wanted to see him relax.
‘Actually, I’m feeling a bit wired and I could use some company. I’m downloading today’s pictures—if you stay you could look at them...’
His eyes darted to the computer. She could see he was tempted. She pushed a little harder. ‘Look, I don’t want to drink alone. Please, stay for a little while. I’m sure the wedding planner can cope without you and, to be honest, you look like you need a break.’
For a moment his expression clouded and she wondered if she’d crossed a line, but then slowly he smiled. ‘I would like to see your pictures, and you’re right! A glass of wine would really hit the spot right now. Is there a corkscrew in the kitchen?’
‘Second drawer on the left.’ He lifted an eyebrow and she laughed. ‘The garden isn’t the only place I recced thoroughly.’
* * *
He loved the photos and she was relieved; he’d brought her here to do this job after all. He liked the ceremony shots taken from the new angles, and he raved about the way she’d captured the atmosphere of the wedding—tiny details and big, happy smiles. He’d looked a little wistful when they got to the last photos of the couple in the garden at sunset and she wondered if he was thinking about Isabella.
Now she was curled up on the sofa with a second glass of wine, a little mellow buzz thrumming through her, and he was sitting in an armchair with his legs stretched out. He’d taken off his jacket and loosened his tie. She tried not to notice the dark hair at the base of his throat, the little hollow that she wanted to touch with her fingers and her lips. She imagined pulling his tie right off, reaching for the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one, feeling the delicious heat of his skin, the scent of him as she pressed her lips...
What was she doing? Zach Merrill didn’t fit the profile of her ideal man. It didn’t matter that his eyes seemed to run right through her, that she couldn’t look at him without wondering what it would be like to touch him, but he could never be hers. He was still in love with his wife and he was her employer and he had a daughter and she was living under his roof alongside his mother-in-law. She forced herself to concentrate on his face.
He was looking around as if he was noticing the room for the first time. ‘I haven’t spent a lot of time in this part of the house. It’s nice in here—like a little sanctuary.’
‘That’s it exactly! When I come in here and close the door, I forget I’m in a great big house. I love it!’
‘What else do you love?’ Smiling blue eyes. ‘I’m curious.’
She felt herself blushing. ‘You mean raindrops on roses, whiskers on kittens... That kind of thing?’
‘It’d be a start!’ He sipped his wine and suddenly his eyes grew more serious. ‘What I mean is, here you are, helping me out, doing a fantastic job too, and I’ve suddenly realised that I don’t know anything about you.’
She felt the breeze from the open window rippling over her bare arms, goosebumps prickling her skin. She didn’t like talking about herself. With a camera around her neck she knew who she was, but without it, when the lens was focused on her, her instinct was to hide. She rubbed at her lower lip with her thumb, tried to sound casual. ‘What do you want to know?’
He laughed. ‘Don’t look so terrified. We’ve both spent the day looking after people, being polite...careful about what we say. I just want to have a normal conversation, like, I don’t know... Did you always want to be a wedding photographer?’
An image slipped into her head: herself clambering over a stile with her dad, big binoculars swinging from her neck. Suddenly she was laughing. ‘No—for a while I wanted to be David Attenborough.’
His eyebrows lifted. ‘You’re a nature-lover?’
‘I guess...’ She smiled. ‘My dad was—is—an ecologist. We used to go out a lot when I was little—birdwatching, deer-stalking. Lots of hiking! I had this huge pair of binoculars and I used to love looking through them, seeing things so close. It was like watching my own little wildlife film.’
‘And now you spend your time looking through a camera lens. I can see a pattern.’
‘Maybe I like spying on people—or maybe I like controlling the view...’ She sipped her drink, lost herself for a moment. ‘You can make things look perfect when you control the view.’
‘So, you’re either a spy or a control freak and your father is responsible?’
She shrugged. ‘Well, you know what they say about formative influences—maybe I just like taking pictures.’ He was looking at her, gently inquisitive, but she didn’t want to talk about her dad. She remembered what she’d been thinking earlier, about Alessia. Perhaps she could steer the conversation in a different direction.
‘Fathers and daughters—it’s a special bond, don’t you think?’ She searched his eyes, wondering if he was hearing what she was saying to him. ‘I see it at every wedding... Who giveth this woman? The little private looks, all that emotion.’
He looked down at his glass. Perhaps she’d struck a nerve. He got to his feet, retrieved the wine bottle from the table and topped up their glasses. ‘I suppose so—but weddings are emotional events from start to finish. I can see you love it all.’
‘Why wouldn’t I? Weddings are very photogenic, especially in a venue like this.’
‘So, you’re all about the photo opportunities then?’ He grinned. ‘No misty eyes during the vows...?’
She felt a blush creeping over her cheeks. ‘You were watching me during the vows?’
He was laughing now. ‘I might have noticed you dabbing your eyes.’
She liked the way his face shone when he laughed, as if someone had switched a light on. She couldn’t help smiling too. ‘Okay, so I’ll admit I get caught up in the ceremony. I find it moving, the idea of pledging yourself to another person for ever, being so sure that you’ve found the right one.’ She sighed. ‘Doesn’t it get to you too?’ His eyes darkened and instantly she regretted her question. ‘I’m sorry—that was thoughtless—’
‘It’s okay.’ He ran a hand through his hair, looked down at his glass. ‘I don’t usually watch the ceremony—but I do know this. When I saw Izzy walking towards me on our wedding day I felt...emotional...joyful. When you find the one you want to spend the rest of your life with, getting married feels like the most natural thing in the world. It was for me—I didn’t have to think twice.’ He looked up and suddenly his eyes were full of concern. ‘Hey! You mustn’t get upset.’
She hadn’t noticed her eyes welling. The purity of his feelings had touched her, stirred an ache deep within her. It was as if he’d read out loud the script of her private fantasy. She wiped her tears away with her fingers and laughed to hide her embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry...’ She shook her head. ‘How did we even start talking about this?’
‘Binoculars, camera lenses, weddings...’
She shifted her position on the sofa and sipped her drink. ‘Okay, change of subject. When you’re not working, which is hardly ever, I’ve noticed, what do you like to do?’
He settled back in his chair and smiled slowly. ‘I like playing the guitar.’
‘You’re a musician?’
He nodded, smiled sheepishly. ‘A failed one. A million years ago I was in a band, but then I grew up.’ He sipped his wine. ‘I still dabble though. There’s a bar in Ravello—I play most Thursday evenings—keeping my hand in.’
So, there was another side to Zach, something that was just him, something that wasn’t connected to Casa Isabella. She felt as if she’d found a pearl in an oyster. ‘That’s amazing! What kind of music do you play?’
‘Mostly classical these days, but sometimes I play with other guys, sort of improvised folksy stuff.’
‘Could I come to watch you play?’
‘Sure—if you want.’ He looked shy suddenly. ‘It’s low-key, not very rock and roll.’
She smiled. ‘I like low-key.’
He drained his glass and stood up. ‘Okay then. It’s a date—so to speak.’
She felt a blush warming her cheeks. Had she been too forward, inviting herself along? She hoped he was okay with it. Maybe he wouldn’t want her there, invading his private world. If only she could see inside his head, know what he was thinking.
He was doing up his tie. ‘I better get back.’
She rose to her feet, reached for his jacket just as he did. For a long moment she felt trapped in his gaze, felt the heat from his hands radiating through the fabric, and then somehow she made her feet move. She stepped back quickly, busied herself with tidying the used plates and glasses onto the tray. ‘I’ll wash these and bring them back tomorrow.’ When she looked up again, she had to pretend that her heart wasn’t beating like a drum. ‘Thanks for the food and the wine—and the company.’
He seemed preoccupied as he shrugged into his jacket and walked to the door, but when he turned and smiled there was something in his eyes that made the breath catch in her throat. ‘It was a pleasure. Goodnight, Liv.’
* * *
Zach walked slowly towards the reception hall. From the grand sitting rooms he could hear the hum of voices, the occasional burst of laughter—wedding guests enjoying time away from the dance floor. He envied Olivia, tucked away in her little suite. How peaceful it had felt there. It had been hard to make himself leave. That moment with the jacket, the way she’d been looking at him and the warmth of her hands so close to his, the sweet curve of her mouth. He’d felt a momentary madness, a desire to step closer and touch her lips with his own, and now he couldn’t figure out if wanting to kiss someone who wasn’t his wife was reprehensible or not. In two years he’d never so much as looked at another woman, but then there she’d been, at Lucas’s wedding, Olivia Gardner! And he’d borrowed her pen and forgotten to give it back, and Michele had had his terrible accident and she’d stopped working for Holdsworth, and now she was here, under his roof, as if fate had somehow...
‘Zach!’
Lucia was walking towards him, a look of slight consternation on her face. ‘Alessia said you didn’t read all of the story—’
‘She fell asleep before the end.’
‘Well, she must have woken up again.’ Lucia sighed. ‘The little monkey told me she was cross with you.’
He pictured his daughter’s face, her cheeky smile, the way she frowned at him sometimes. ‘She’s always cross with me.’
Lucia’s eyes grew serious. ‘You need to spend more time with her, Zach.’
He pushed a hand through his hair and waited for two giggling guests go by. ‘I know. Maybe tomorrow I’ll take her somewhere.’ He touched Lucia’s arm. ‘I’m sorry. I know you could do with a day off.’
‘I don’t mind looking after Alessia, you know that, but she needs you, Zach. You don’t have to take her anywhere. Just give her some of your time. That’s all she wants.’
* * *
What had Olivia said? ‘Fathers and daughters—it’s a special bond, don’t you think?’ In the glow of the nightlight, he watched Alessia sleeping. Such thick dark lashes, just like Izzy’s. He smoothed one of the little eyebrows with a gentle finger and she stirred for a moment before falling back into her dreams. He leaned in, kissed her forehead then quietly slipped from the room.
Lucia was right; he needed to spend more time with Alessia. He loved Alessia with all his heart, had never intended to step back, but in the months after Izzy’s death, finishing the renovations and bringing her dream to life was all he could think about. If Alessia couldn’t see her mother, he’d made up his mind that she would feel Izzy’s presence everywhere: in the house, in the garden, all around. And then Casa Isabella had taken off and he’d been consumed by the demands of the business. Making it better. Making it even more perfect, always striving. Work had turned into a habit he couldn’t shake because his feelings for Izzy were tangled up inside it.
He kept telling himself he’d get a manager, but it hadn’t happened yet. Perhaps if Lucia hadn’t been a widow—perhaps if she hadn’t been willing and able to step into the breach so completely—he would have been forced to balance his time better—would have been a better father.
He knew that it was time to cross that bridge, time to cultivate a special bond with Alessia before it was too late. She was growing up fast, becoming a proper little girl now. Soon she’d be laying down memories which she would take into adulthood, like Olivia’s recollections of nature walks with her dad—big binoculars, little adventures. It was time for him to create adventures for Alessia.
He felt tired. He knew he ought to crash but instead he lifted his guitar off its stand and dropped onto the sofa. He tuned it by ear, little plucks of the strings until it sounded right, then absently he strummed a melody he’d been working on. He’d enjoyed being in Liv’s apartment. She hadn’t brought much with her, yet somehow she’d made the space her own... Flowers from the garden arranged in a jug on the mantelpiece, a scarf draped over a chair back, a small pile of books on a side table. And it had been nice just talking... He could tell that she found it hard to talk about her father and he was curious about that, but he hadn’t wanted to ask...and then there’d been all that stuff about marriage and finding the perfect person, Liv almost in tears. But he hadn’t minded talking about marrying Izzy. She’d been the love of his life.
He changed key, started playing the melody again. But it was confusing, the way he felt when Olivia looked at him, how he’d wanted to kiss her. Did it mean he was healing? Most days it didn’t feel like that, but lately... He stilled his fingers, picturing Olivia earlier in the day, darting about with her cameras, so lively, so lovely in her summer dress. So off-limits.
His fingers started moving again. No matter how much he wanted to, he could never kiss her. She was here to work for him. Kissing her would be crossing a line—and what would he say afterwards? It was clear that she had romantic notions in her head, clear that she was looking for the kind of commitment he couldn’t see himself giving again. Izzy had been the one and she was gone. He strummed a final chord then put the guitar back on its stand. He and Olivia would just be friends. That was as far as he would ever let it go.
CHAPTER FOUR
OLIVIA BLINKED AND pushed back her chair. She needed to take a break from the computer screen, stretch her legs. She supposed the wedding guests had all checked out by now. From mid-morning, through the open windows, she’d heard the sound of cars drawing up, the rise and fall of voices, doors sliding, tailgates banging and then it had gone quiet. Once again, clear as a bell, she could hear the tinkle and gush of the fountain in the garden, the chatter of birds in the trees.
She pushed her bare feet into her sandals and stepped through the French windows into the warmth of the afternoon sun. The informal garden at this side of the house was laid out in a series of shady rooms, like secret gardens, and she wandered from one to another until she came to a stone bench positioned to make the best of the sea view. She pressed her hand to the stone. It felt cool and inviting so she stretched out along its length and stared up at the infinite blue sky. For the hundredth time she thought about the night before, the way Zach had looked at her as they’d both held onto his jacket. He’d glanced at her mouth, a flicker of something in his eyes which had caused her heart to bang like a drum. Had he been thinking about kissing her?
She threw an arm over her f
ace and closed her eyes. She’d thought about kissing him plenty of times, imagined what his lips would feel like on hers, but if it came to it, would she let it happen? ‘I didn’t have to think twice.’ That was what he’d said last night about marrying Isabella; it was obvious that he was still in love with his wife.
Suddenly the stone beneath her felt too hard and she pulled herself upright. He might have thought about kissing her, but it didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything because of Isabella. So...it must have been a reflex...because they’d been standing so close and because they’d had a glass or two of wine. The thrill of the moment tingled through her again. His eyes on her mouth, the ache in her veins...
She had to stop thinking about it! A casual fling with Zach, even if she was into that kind of thing, could only end in disaster. He was her employer and she needed this job, needed the portfolio she was going to create by working here. Jeopardising that would be madness.
She got to her feet, brushed herself down then paused. Even if Zach did like her, even if he wanted a proper relationship, would she dive in? As she turned it over in her mind, she was seized by an uncomfortable realisation. She couldn’t help it—she wanted the fairy tale—the thrill of starting out together with everything ahead. Like that Carpenters’ song about white lace and promises, new horizons...
Zach had had his beginning with Isabella. He had a daughter, a living, breathing part of Isabella who looked just like her mother he’d said... Olivia sighed. She couldn’t see herself fitting in with a child, with Zach’s readymade life. She’d always see ghosts in the shadows, so no matter how much she liked him, no matter how much she fantasied about kissing him, she could never let anything happen. Being his friend would have to be enough.