by Carrie Elks
His smile grew. ‘That does sound beautiful. Tell me, Cesca, why is a girl like you here alone? In a house big enough to accommodate a huge family?’
Her cheeks turned pink at his flirtation. ‘It’s not exactly a vacation. I’m taking care of the villa for the summer. It’s my job.’
Cristiano tipped his head to the side. ‘So we are both on a working vacation, then? That’s something else we have in common. Maybe at the end of our busy days we should come down here and share a glass of wine, put our feet up and talk about our work.’
Her throat tightened. She wasn’t sure he’d be that interested in how she’d instructed the gardeners, or dusted the library. It wasn’t exactly a high-powered position she was filling here. ‘That sounds interesting.’
There was that easy smile again. ‘Then it’s a date. I’ll bring the red wine, you bring your beautiful self. Shall we say Friday at eight o’clock?’
‘This Friday?’ Cesca looked at him, surprised. She’d thought he was just being nice.
‘Why not? Unless you don’t want to, of course.’
‘Friday at eight sounds perfect.’ She felt breathless. ‘I’ll bring us some food. Otherwise I’ll end up getting drunk and talking too much.’
The skin around his eyes crinkled. ‘I like the sound of that.’
Her blush deepened. ‘You wouldn’t if you saw me tipsy. Some bread and cheese will be all that stands between you and the utter twaddle that escapes my mouth.’
‘Utter twaddle?’ Cristiano questioned. ‘That’s a new one on me.’
‘It means I’ll be talking drivel if I drink wine without eating something,’ Cesca explained. ‘Believe me, you don’t want to hear that.’
‘Believe me, I do.’ He was still leaning on the dividing fence, but it felt as though he’d moved closer. Her body felt suddenly warm. ‘And I look forward to hearing your, how do you say it, utter twaddle. But now I must go and have my boring meetings, and somehow get through the hours until Friday comes. Ciao, bella.’ He winked, then turned around, his shiny black leather shoes crunching on the gravelled beach as he made his way towards the steps that led up to his villa. Cesca watched him go, still flushed and breathless, wondering what on earth she’d just agreed to.
It wasn’t like her at all. But then, nothing right now was like the Cesca she’d been only a few weeks ago. From a waitress dodging cats, she’d somehow transformed into a girl who was asked on dates by gorgeous Italian men, who asked her to share a bottle of wine with her as the sun went down. Her sisters wouldn’t recognise her if they could see her now. Hell, she barely recognised herself.
It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling.
Sam pressed his head against the cool glass of the window, staring out at the dazzling blue sky. Letting his eyes close for a moment, the sun turning his lids orange, he let out a sigh. This was nothing like he’d expected. When he left Hollywood, the villa in Italy had seemed like a haven, a bright beam of light that he wanted to steer his ship towards. He hadn’t considered what he’d do once he got here, in this house so full of history yet so empty of connections, with only his dark thoughts and a crazy girl to keep him company.
And, let’s face it, even she had abandoned him.
He’d managed to corner Carlito, who had been tending their garden for years, asking him if he knew how to contact Gabi and Sandro. To his dismay, Carlito had only confirmed Cesca’s story, explaining that Sandro’s sister was days away from giving birth. Even at his lowest, there was no way Sam could bring himself to demand them back, not after the way they’d taken care of his family for the past few years. They were friends as well as employees, always happy to see him, delighted to make him comfortable, he couldn’t take them away from their family.
The breeze wafting up from the lake brought the sound of voices. Carlito’s team of workers had left half an hour ago, and the villa was empty of life apart from Sam. As weird as Cesca was, he couldn’t believe she was laughing at nothing, not unless she’d finally lost her tenuous hold on sanity. His eyelids flew open and he blinked rapidly, having to get used to the glare of the sun once again. As his pupils dilated enough for him to be able to focus, he could see her distant form, standing out on the small beach that ran into the lake. She was facing something – or someone – her hands gesturing wildly.
On the other side of the dividing fence he saw the form of a man, leaning on the wood. It was impossible to tell much more from here, neither his age nor his appearance was discernible from Sam’s position at the window. He narrowed his eyes anyway, dry lips pursing as he tried to make the man out, but could only see the outline of his clothes.
His first thought was that he’d been discovered. Sam’s heart started to beat rapidly as he continued to watch. A gust of wind from the lake lifted Cesca’s skirt, revealing her bikini-clad body and glowing skin. She was surprisingly lithe, even from this distance. He wondered what she looked like a little closer up.
The conversation between her and the stranger was coming to an end, as far as Sam could tell. She was half turned away from the man, her left leg poised to walk forward. From the split in her skirt Sam realised it was a sarong, tied around her waist in an attempt at modesty. A pang of envy scratched at his stomach; she was free to go where she wanted, to do whatever the hell she liked without the scrutiny of a million eyes following her. If he’d been out on the lake you could guarantee there’d be boats circling, with photographers leaning off the side, their cameras equipped with long-distance lenses. But Cesca could wander around half-naked, without a care in the world.
It irritated him that she was doing so in front of the unknown man by the lake.
Not wanting to watch any more, Sam pushed himself off the glass, turning to walk back into the library. This had normally been his father’s domain, and whenever the family were here Foster would hole himself up in the room, reading play scripts and flicking through books. As well as the book-lined walls there were two large leather chesterfields in the centre of the room, facing each other with an old wooden coffee table in between. In the corner was Foster’s computer desk, usually tidy, but currently littered with paper and books. Sam grabbed one of them – a Stanislavski – and opened it. Within minutes he was so absorbed by the famous actor’s words, he didn’t even hear the door open.
‘What are you doing in here?’ Cesca walked into the library, her head held high as if she was discovering a thief. She stalked past him, her arm bumping into his, as she laid her work down on the corner of the desk.
Sam put the book back where he’d found it. ‘Last time I looked I still live here.’
She sighed. ‘Not this again. I mean what are you doing in the library? I’ve been using it since I arrived. I’d like to be able to write here in peace, if you don’t mind. It’s hard enough trying to beat writer’s block without having you standing in here putting me off.’
Sam frowned. ‘Why would I put you off?’
Cesca’s eyes rolled up to the ceiling. ‘Because your mere existence is telling me the universe hates me. And it would be nice to be able to write my play without having to acknowledge that.’
For some reason her dramatics amused him. He could feel his lips twitch as he watched her sigh again. It was simply the boredom that made her interesting, he told himself.
‘Who were you talking to on the beach?’ he asked.
She lifted her eyebrows, shocked. ‘What do you mean?’ Her arms wrapped around her waist. He’d noticed her do it a few times now as a defence mechanism, but this time her actions drew his scrutiny to her body. She was still wearing that bikini and her pink and black sarong. He tried not to look at the way the bikini top covered the swell of her breasts, or how tight and toned her stomach was as it disappeared beneath the knotted fabric.
He didn’t know why her sexiness surprised him. Her body was curvy yet supple, and he found himself wanting to touch her.
‘I’m up here you know.’ Cesca gesticulated at her face. ‘If you want to talk to me, I�
�d suggest you don’t address my tits.’
‘Are you changing the subject?’
‘From what?’ Cesca asked.
‘From the man you were talking to earlier on the beach. I asked you who he was and you’ve not bothered answering.’
‘I don’t have to answer if I don’t want to.’
It was Sam’s turn to sigh. ‘I know you don’t have to answer, but I’m here for a reason, and that’s to get some peace and quiet away from all the fans and the reporters. I want to know who he is and if you told him I was here.’
Her face took on an expression of disgust. ‘Oh my God, could you be any more self-centred? Why on earth would Cristiano be interested in you? Have you thought about seeing a shrink?’
Sam didn’t bother telling her he’d been seeing a shrink for years. ‘His name’s Cristiano?’ he prompted. For some reason it annoyed him that Cesca and the man were on first-name terms.
‘Yes it is, if you must know. It’s Cristiano Gatto. He’s renting the villa next door for the summer while he takes a break from Rome. He’s a restaurateur.’
‘You learned a lot from him in a few minutes.’ Sam knew he was giving himself away, exposing his interest to her when he shouldn’t.
She shook her head. ‘Oh for goodness sake. It was the second time we’ve talked. I’ve met him before, at the café.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘And for what it’s worth I haven’t even mentioned you. You’re just not that interesting.’
Sam pretended to reel back at her words, noting her irritated expression with a dark amusement.
‘I’m going out,’ she told him. ‘You know, out into the town where I can wander around and look in the shops. And maybe I’ll stop at the gelaterie and buy an ice cream, and lick all the creamy goodness until I’m shaking from the cold.’ She was taunting him now. ‘If you’re really lucky I might take a photo.’
‘I don’t need a photo of you. I know I’m going to see you in my nightmares every evening.’
She stuck her tongue out again, her face screwed up with disgust.
‘And don’t forget to buy the stuff I need,’ he reminded her. ‘I left the list in the kitchen.’
Cesca said nothing, but another roll of her eyes told him all he needed to know. He’d managed to annoy her thoroughly; they were like two kids in the playground, winding each other up until poised to pounce, in a fight to the death.
He should hate it, he knew, but there was part of him that tingled at the deliciousness of their constant sniping. Each time he made her eyes flash with anger it made him feel more alive. Boredom, that’s all it was. Just as soon as he was back in Hollywood he wouldn’t even think about her.
But for now, baiting Cesca was becoming his favourite kind of sport.
Cesca watched him leave the library, her teeth aching from being ground against each other in frustration. The man was insufferable. It was as though some scientist had sat in a laboratory, trying to work out the best combination of sarcasm and wit designed to make Cesca want to snap and snarl. And after much experimentation and honing of their work, they’d managed to come up with Sam Carlton. Her own, personal bête noire. Lucky her.
Unclenching her fists, she wiggled her fingers to get some blood back into the white flesh. How strange it was, in spite of all her dread and worry, that when she finally saw him again it made her feel more alive than she had in six years.
She couldn’t deny she liked that feeling.
9
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is wing’d Cupid painted blind
– A Midsummer Night’s Dream
The supermarket in Varenna was one of her favourite places. Cesca marvelled at the cured meats that hung from the ceiling on ropes, and the cheeses that were stacked so high she could barely reach the ones at the top. Unlike in London, where a trip to buy food meant little more than trying to eke out whatever money she had left in her moth-eaten wallet, here in Italy Cesca let her stomach rule her purchases. She filled her basket with prosciutto and pancetta, and pastas of various shapes and colours. Then she added cheeses wrapped with pale waxed paper: dusty parmesan and rich blue gorgonzola, along with an amazing casorette that Gabi and Sandro had introduced her to. A still-warm loaf of floury bread was her final choice, the perfect accompaniment to the cheese tonight on the beach. Along with whatever wine Cristiano was planning to bring, the thought of the food was already making her stomach rumble.
Pulling Sam’s crumpled shopping list from where she’d shoved it into her pocket, she smoothed the wrinkled paper and began to look for his goods, taking much less care in selecting them than she had for her own food. He hadn’t asked for a lot this time, just some beer, toiletries, some crisps and cookies. She passed the newspaper stand, wondering for a moment if she should pick him up a magazine to help him pass away his boredom, but then turned her back, deciding she wasn’t going to buy him anything he hadn’t specifically requested.
That way madness lay.
The walk back to the villa was decidedly less carefree than her walk to town had been. Perhaps it was the weight of her bags, with Sam’s food in there as well as her own. Her muscles were cramping in complaint at the extra effort they had to expend. Or maybe it was the heat of the afternoon, as the sun beat down from her nook in the sky, causing rivulets of sweat to pour down Cesca’s neck. Either way, by the time she reached the iron gates and keyed in the access code, she was breathless and exhausted, looking forward to putting her feet up for a while.
Luckily for her, Sam was nowhere to be seen when she carried the bags into the kitchen and unloaded them into the big, stainless steel refrigerator in the corner of the room. Grabbing an already chilled can from its depths, she pressed the misty metal against her forehead in an attempt to cool herself, before opening it and pouring it into a glass. Taking it into the living room, she sank down onto the sofa. Another wave of exhaustion washed over her as she drifted off to sleep.
Her muscles were still aching when a noise alerted her back to wakefulness, her eyes flickering as she attempted to open them. The evening had already arrived, the sky painted with dark blues and pinks as the sun made her long dusky slide into the lake. Across the water, lights twinkled from the lakeside houses.
Somebody cleared their throat. She blinked again, seeing a shadow standing in the corner of the room. For a short moment her heart began to race.
‘Sam?’
‘I see you’re keeping busy,’ he said. ‘I must congratulate my parents on finding such a hard worker.’
‘You know you’re just as charming as all the gossip sites say you are. When did you graduate from charisma school?’
His face fell. In the gloom of the evening, he looked like the little boy who stared out of the photographs on the wall. Lost, hopeful, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. ‘What have you been reading on there?’ he asked, his voice low. ‘What are they saying now?’
There was a tremor to his voice that made him sound almost human.
‘Do I look like I’ve spent my afternoon Googling you?’ she asked. ‘Seriously, I have better things to do than read all the gossip about you. As scintillating as I’m sure it is.’
‘Gossip’s never scintillating,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s wrong and it’s embarrassing and it hurts people.’
Startled, Cesca stared over at him. Could there really be a chink in his armour? Something that exposed the human he actually was beneath?
‘I’d agree with that,’ she said slowly, not quite believing they could have anything in common. ‘I’ve suffered from enough gossip in my time.’ Especially after her play had folded. So many people took some sort of sick satisfaction at her fast demise.
‘Me too.’ Sam cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, um, thanks for the food. It was just what I needed.’
She blinked again, unaccustomed to hearing him say a sentence without it dripping with sarcasm. Cesca wasn’t quite sure how to respond.
Luckily Sam spoke for her, not noticing
she was struck dumb with shock at his softer side. ‘I was wondering if you’d like to join me for dinner. We could maybe cook some pasta, open a bottle of my parents’ wine. I’ll even let you do the dishes if you insist.’ A half smile played around his lips.
Gah, he really was handsome when he smiled. Not for the first time she could see why he was plastered across so many magazines and posters, the Instagram darling of a million teenage girls. ‘Wine does sound nice . . . ’ Her voice trailed off as her words struck a memory. ‘Wait, what time is it?’ She looked around in vain for a clock. ‘I’m meant to be somewhere.’
Sam flicked his wrist up to look at his watch. ‘It’s just past eight.’
‘I’m late!’ Cesca sat up, panicking. She’d promised to meet Cristiano down at the beach at eight, along with warm, ripe cheese and a cut up loaf. She hadn’t prepared any of it. With the best will in the world it would take her at least ten minutes to get down there. Would he wait for her? Cesca wasn’t sure. She hadn’t even been in Italy long enough to know what was acceptable here in terms of lateness.
‘Whoa!’ Sam stepped back as Cesca rushed past him. He reached out for her, to steady himself, she presumed. His fingers curled around her arm, but rather than regain his equilibrium, he managed to pull her against his chest.
Alarmed, Cesca put her hands against him, planning to push herself away. Then she felt the warmth of his skin beneath her palms, and the steady pump of his heart against his ribcage. Surprised, she hesitated.
‘I need to go,’ she said again, not sure if she was talking to Sam or to herself.
Sam moved his hands down, his fingers now circling her wrists. When she tried to move away his hold stopped her progress. ‘Where are you going?’
Her mouth was dry at their unexpected contact. She wasn’t sure why it was affecting her so much. ‘I’m meeting Cristiano at the beach for some supper. We have a . . . a date.’