Summer's Lease: Escape to paradise with this swoony summer romance: (Shakespeare Sisters)

by Carrie Elks

  ‘They wouldn’t let you have another,’ Sam told her. A smile was still playing around his lips. ‘Next they’ll be plying you with different wines to accompany each course.’

  Her eyes widened with alarm. ‘How many courses?’

  ‘Usually six or seven.’ He was grinning now.

  ‘I can’t drink six or seven glasses of wine. I’ll collapse at your feet.’ Her cheeks were starting to heat up.

  ‘I know. I remember the last time you drank red wine. I had to carry you to bed.’

  Oh God, the mortification. She’d hoped he’d forgotten about that.

  ‘Well I won’t be drinking that much again. Especially if you’re driving. It’s no fun drinking on your own.’

  ‘It’s fun for me.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ she said drily. ‘Hefting me up some stairs while I mutter unintelligibly must have been a whole barrel of laughs.’

  ‘You weren’t muttering unintelligibly,’ Sam told her. ‘You were quite clear.’

  Now her face was flaming. How had this conversation even come up? ‘I was?’

  He nodded slowly. ‘Oh yes. You wanted me to know how much of a bastard I was.’

  Cesca grimaced, burying her face in her hands. ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I said that.’ A small lie. Of course she’d said it. It was nothing more than she’d been thinking since he arrived at the villa.

  From the tone of his voice, Sam was enjoying making her blush. ‘Yep, to quote you, I’m a “mojo-stealing, house-invading, good-looking bastard”’.

  Cesca couldn’t look at him, not when mortification was stealing over her like a shroud. Had she really described him that way? It sounded like something she would say.

  Pushing her half-full glass of negroni away from her, she sighed. ‘I’m never drinking again.’

  ‘But you’re cute when you drink.’ He reached out, gently taking her hands in his. ‘And you’re truthful, too. I like that.’

  ‘You like being called a bastard?’

  He shrugged. ‘At least I’m a good-looking bastard.’

  She groaned again. ‘I need to be gagged. Or have a nil by mouth sign tattooed on my forehead.’

  ‘If it makes you feel any better I’ve been called much worse.’ He was still holding her hands.

  ‘If it makes you feel any better I’m sure I’ve called you much worse, too.’

  ‘I’ll bet you have.’

  But not any more though. She couldn’t think of a single bad word to describe him. Not with his amusement at her verbal diarrhoea, and his kindness at her embarrassment.

  ‘Either way, I think I’d better stay off the wine.’

  Sam rubbed the pads of his thumbs across her palms, making her jump. ‘I won’t let you get drunk,’ he said softly. ‘But the wine here really is good. Just have a mouthful or two.’

  When their first course came out, the ‘primo’ as Alfredo described it, Cesca accepted a small glass of white wine to accompany the small plate of seafood risotto. Raising the glass to her lips, she swallowed a mouthful of the cool Frascati, letting the crisp, dry flavour cut through the richness of the food. Sam was watching her with interest. His own food was untouched.

  ‘Is it good?’ he asked, gesturing at the wine.

  ‘Delicious. Too good to be ignored, really. This must be costing a fortune.’

  Sam shrugged. ‘It’s on me, you should enjoy it.’

  That brought her back to earth. It must be so obvious to Sam that she’d never eaten anywhere as decadent as this before. Even on the rare occasion she allowed Hugh to treat her to lunch, they would end up in a small, reasonably priced restaurant, where she’d take great pains to choose the cheapest thing on the menu. Somehow she’d let herself be carried away by the beauty of the night, and the magnificence of the setting. The realisation she was eating a meal that would probably cost more than she earned in a month was shocking.

  ‘I’ll never be able to repay you. The menu didn’t even have a price on it. I’m sorry, I should have thought before we ordered.’

  Sam looked affronted. ‘I told you I was taking you out for dinner, didn’t I? That means I get to pay. There’s no way I’d accept your money.’

  An awkward silence followed. The risotto that had been nectar to her lips only moments ago turned to ash inside her mouth. She pushed the rice around her plate with her fork, watching it slide, torn between her sudden lack of appetite and her frugal ways. The old Cesca never would leave anything on her plate. Not when she didn’t know where her next meal was coming from.

  Sam still said nothing. He finished his risotto and laid the cutlery onto the fine china, picking up his glass of water to cleanse his palate. When he leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat, Cesca found herself brought out of her thoughts.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Her voice was quiet. ‘I’m not used to this sort of thing. Back in London a trip out to McDonald’s would have been a treat. And even then I probably wouldn’t have been able to go Dutch.’

  Sam winced. ‘What happened to you back then?’ Concern pulled at his brow. ‘The last time I saw you, you were riding high. I know I left and I . . . ’ He stumbled on his words, ‘I fucked everything up, but that doesn’t usually make someone give up on life. You were so young, you had everything in front of you.’ He looked at her, tipping his head to the side. ‘Why did you give up on writing?’

  When the tears stung at her eyes, she squeezed them shut, willing the salty water to disappear. ‘I don’t know, it just felt as though I’d lost everything. And every time I tried to pull myself out of the hole I’d fallen into, it just seemed to get deeper.’

  ‘But the play was excellent. And so is the one you’re writing now. It’s clear you were never a one-hit wonder.’

  A sharp retort lingered at the tip of her tongue. She swallowed it down, trying to ignore the bitter taste. ‘I couldn’t write any more. I tried and I tried, but I could barely type a sentence. Even those I did manage to write I ended up deleting. They were complete tripe.’ That was back in the early days, when her sisters had urged her to get back into the saddle. When hope wasn’t simply a four-letter word. ‘I stopped trying in the end. Every time I failed I just got more and more depressed, it was exhausting. And on top of that I was trying to hold down a job, and that didn’t work out any better.’

  ‘What sort of job did you have?’

  ‘How long have you got? There were too many to list.’

  Sam started to laugh. ‘I’m sorry, I know it’s not funny. I just can’t imagine you flitting from job to job. Not when the girl I knew was so intent on being a playwright.’

  ‘That’s what my uncle Hugh says. He reckons the reason I kept getting sacked was because I was born to do one thing. As though my subconscious was sabotaging me or something.’

  As they talked, the waiters cleared the table in front of them. Without a word, Cesca’s wine was taken away, to be replaced by another when their second course came out.

  ‘It all sounds very dramatic,’ Sam observed.

  ‘Well, I’m a writer. As you know, drama’s kind of my thing. And anyway, you can’t tell me that you’ve not had a similar experience, unable to play a role well because you just can’t get into it.’

  He shrugged, gesturing at her wine. ‘That one’s my favourite. You should drink it all.’ Then, going back to the subject, he said, ‘Some roles are easier than others, that’s true. But I can usually find a way to climb into the skin. It’s a matter of empathy, trying to put yourself in their position. Seeing the world through their eyes for a while.’

  Cesca smiled tightly. ‘I think I stopped seeing much of anything at all. The only thing I could think of was how much I’d failed and let everybody down. The producers, the actors, my godfather, my mother . . . ’ Her voice broke on her final word.

  ‘But you didn’t let them down. I did. I’m the one who left you all in the lurch. I’m the one who got on a plane and flew thousands of miles without looking back. It wasn’t your
fault.’

  The second glass of wine was a Chianti, accompanying their secondo of succulent lamb with vegetables. When Cesca lifted the glass she could smell the aroma of cherries, and as the wine passed over her tongue it tasted heavenly. ‘This is so good,’ she told him, offering a smile as if it was an olive branch. ‘You should at least have a taste.’

  ‘I’m enjoying watching you.’

  The way he said it made Cesca’s chest feel tight. As though she was being squeezed right across her ribcage. She took another sip, aware of his scrutiny. Enjoying it, even.

  ‘It doesn’t really matter whose fault it was that the play folded,’ she said, all too aware of the atmosphere growing between them. ‘What happened afterwards was all my fault.’

  ‘What did happen afterwards?’ His brows knitted together as he frowned.

  ‘I let myself wallow,’ she admitted. ‘It’s understandable at first, allowing yourself to mourn the success you thought you’d have. But not for as long as I did. I’d wanted to be part of the theatre for so long, that when it was taken away from me I just gave up. I had no Plan B.’

  ‘What about your family? Didn’t they try to help?’

  ‘They didn’t know. They just think I’m a bit flighty, a bit weird. None of them have seen where I live or know how many different jobs I’ve done. And they definitely didn’t know how poor I was.’

  ‘How could they not know? You’re close to them, aren’t you? I hardly see my family, but they seem to know everything about me. I can’t get them out of my business.’

  ‘For a start, my life isn’t splashed across a dozen gossip websites.’ She noticed Sam grimace when she said that. ‘And though we’re close, none of my sisters live in London any more. My dad wouldn’t know what day it is, let alone begin to wonder how I can afford to live in London when I barely have a penny to my name.’

  ‘You’ve got three sisters, right? There’s four of you, like in your play?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Cesca told him. ‘Two older, one younger.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘I thought two sisters were bad enough.’

  ‘Yours are both younger, right?’ Cesca’s smile was genuine. It was a relief to turn the subject away from her own woes.

  ‘Yes. I was nine when Izzy was born, then Sienna came two years later. I’d been an only child for so long, it was a relief to finally have some company.’

  ‘You get on well with them, then?’

  She loved the way Sam’s face turned softer as he thought of his siblings. ‘They’re great. And for some reason they think the sun shines out of my ass. Though I have to admit I think the same about them.’

  ‘I hero-worshipped my older sisters, too. Still do, really. Lucy was more of a mother than a sister when we were growing up, after our own mum died. And Juliet – she’s the second oldest – well, she was always the beautiful and glamorous one.’

  ‘What about your younger sister?’

  ‘Kitty? She’s a bit like me. Everybody says we look similar, at least, though she’s never shown any interest in writing. She lives in LA now, you might even have passed her in the street.’ She winked.

  ‘I think I’d remember bumping into someone who was as beautiful as you are.’

  His words took her breath away. They seemed to slide off his tongue so naturally, yet their impact was like a shot of adrenalin, making the blood speed through her veins.

  ‘So is Kitty an actress?’ Sam carried on, as if he hadn’t just given her the sweetest compliment.

  ‘No, she’s a student and a nanny. She loves children and she loves LA. She’s living the dream.’

  Sam grinned at her. ‘You look very happy about that.’

  ‘Well it’s not often you hear about somebody getting what they wish for, is it? Kitty’s always been searching for something more. I just hope it all works out for her.’

  Sam scooped a forkful of lamb from his plate. ‘So do I.’

  By the time the meal was over, Cesca was uncomfortably full. After the lamb they’d eaten a salad, and then a delicious plate of local cheese and fruit, followed by dessert. With each course she’d tried a different wine, and though she’d tried to limit herself, her head was feeling fuzzy, her body relaxed and soft. Even the pungent cup of espresso Alfredo brought out to end the meal did nothing to sober her up. So when Sam pulled out her chair and offered her his hand, she took it gratefully, letting him lead her back around the edges of the restaurant.

  It was only when they reached the car that she realised that at some point he’d put his arm around her waist, his hand resting lightly on her hip. She leaned into him, liking the way he felt so strong, so sturdy, trying not to notice the warm aroma of cologne that made him smell so masculine.

  ‘Thank you for such a lovely meal,’ she told him, still resting against his chest. Sam tightened his hold on her, fingers digging into her skin.

  ‘It was a pleasure.’

  ‘I definitely had a bit too much wine.’

  ‘You hardly drank at all,’ Sam told her. ‘I promised I’d keep an eye on you. In all you’ve had the equivalent of two glasses.’

  ‘Oh, I was sure I’d had more than that.’

  ‘Not unless you were downing it under the table.’ He sounded amused. ‘I’d say you drank the perfect amount.’

  ‘What is the perfect amount?’

  ‘Enough to relax you without losing all control of your faculties.’ She could see his mouth twitch. ‘Somewhere in between lucid and being carried up to bed.’

  ‘I thought we’d agreed not to mention that again?’

  ‘I don’t remember agreeing to anything of the sort. I kind of like mentioning it, because it makes you blush. And you’re very pretty when you blush.’

  There he was again with the compliments, and of course they made her cheeks redden even more. She searched in vain for the perfect retort. ‘Well, you’re so much more handsome when you call me pretty.’

  He laughed loudly. ‘In that case I’ll call you pretty more often.’

  ‘You should.’

  ‘All the time.’

  ‘Steady on, nobody can be pretty all the time. Or handsome, for that matter.’

  ‘That’s true. You were singularly unpretty the morning after I carried you to bed.’

  ‘It’s hard to look pretty with your head halfway down the toilet.’ It was so easy, this back and forth banter. She marvelled at how comfortable she felt talking to him.

  ‘Well, if anybody can pull it off, you can.’

  ‘It was a once in a lifetime show, I’m afraid.’ She looked up at him, smiling. God, he really was handsome, even when he wasn’t shooting compliments at her. Not that she intended to tell him that. ‘You’ll have to be content with the memories.’

  Sam inclined his head, pressing his lips to her ear. ‘Don’t get big-headed, but you’re also easy on the eye when you’re not throwing up.’

  The way his breath fanned against her skin sent a thrill straight through her. Her toes curled up in delight.

  ‘You have a wonderful way of complimenting a woman.’ She raised a single eyebrow. ‘I don’t think anybody’s ever told me that before.’

  He smirked. ‘Glad to be of service.’

  Staring up at him, Cesca wondered if he was going to kiss her. She tried to imagine how his lips would feel against hers, if they would feel as silky soft as they looked. Whether he would push his hands through her hair, coiling it around his fingers. There was a hint of hair growth on his jaw, dark and shadowy. Would it scrape her skin as they embraced? Her own lips opened, a soft breath escaping, and Sam lowered his face until it was inches from hers.

  That’s when the flash went off, transforming the air around them from a mellow darkness to a bright white flood. Sam moved back, dropping his arms from her waist, and the warm night air flooded between them. Cesca’s eyes flew open and she looked to her left, where a young girl was holding a cellphone in front of her, a wide-eyed look of wonder on her face. The next minute s
he was joined by three others, all pointing at Sam and staring, saying his name over and over again as if he could ever forget it.

  ‘You should get in the car.’ The way he said it, low and short, invited no conversation. He almost pushed her inside, closing the passenger door behind her. Walking towards the girls holding their phones, he began to talk in rapid Italian.

  The first girl – a pretty teenager – nodded rapidly, and grabbed something from her bag. Was it a magazine? Cesca couldn’t tell from there. Whatever it was, Sam was frowning at it.

  The next minute he was talking to the girls again, flashing that smile she’d seen before. Beating his eyelashes and flirting like crazy. Cesca felt her stomach contract, all that food she’d eaten making her feel bloated.

  Sam took the first girl’s phone and stepped between the four of them, letting them wrap their arms around his waist as he took a selfie of them all. Then he kissed them on the cheek, leading to high-pitched giggles, waving as he walked away.

  As soon as he climbed back into the car, his flirty façade crumbled. His face looked like thunder.

  ‘They deleted the photos of us,’ he said shortly. ‘So you don’t have to worry about being seen with me.’

  ‘I wasn’t worried.’ She was more concerned about his mood. It had spun on a dime.

  ‘Well you should be. The last thing you need is your face all over the tabloids.’

  Cesca swallowed, though her mouth was dry. His expression of anger was enough to silence her for the whole of the journey home.

  Back at the villa, Sam parked the car in the garage as Cesca opened up the house, and the two of them walked into the hallway. Cesca opened her mouth, wanting to ask him why he’d reacted so strangely. Why a fan taking a photograph had soured his mood so much. But before she could form the words, Sam was already halfway towards the staircase.

  ‘Good night, Cesca,’ he said quietly, then turning until his back was to her, he climbed the stairs.

  ‘Good night, Sam.’ She stared at his retreating body. It had been a good night, right until that girl took the photograph. The way he’d looked at her had been exhilarating, and she’d been so sure he was about to kiss her. Even stranger, she’d wanted him to.