by Carrie Elks
‘That’s such a typical girl thing to say. I wasn’t asking about the colour.’
She rolled her eyes. Was he deliberately trying to bait her? She took a deep breath, there was no way she wanted to start an argument with him while Cristiano was outside. Running the tap, she poured the cold water until the vase was half full. ‘Does it matter? It’s a good car, and I’m about to leave in it. That’s all you need to know.’
‘Is he waiting outside?’ Sam asked, his voice even.
‘Yes . . . no . . . why do you want to know?’
‘I want to see what car he has for myself.’
‘Oh no you don’t.’
His face was the picture of innocence. ‘Do you have a problem with that?’
Cesca sighed. ‘Look, you’re the one who wants to hide away from the world and doesn’t want anybody to know you’re here. And now you want to come out and introduce yourself to my date?’ Her voice was as exasperated as she felt. ‘What are you trying to do here?’
‘I just want to make sure his car’s roadworthy. And that he’s Cesca-worthy.’
‘For goodness sake.’ She shoved the flowers into the vase, not bothering to arrange them. ‘I’m leaving now. Goodbye, Sam.’
It was only when she made it to the hallway that she realised he was following her. Shaking her head, she pretended to ignore him. He shadowed her through the front door and down the steps. From her vantage point on the driveway she could see Cristiano’s look of shock.
‘Are you satisfied?’ she asked Sam through gritted teeth. ‘Is the car good enough for you?’
‘It’s a Ferrari Spider.’ Sam’s voice was so quiet she could barely hear him. ‘Nice.’
Something in his tone made her turn to look at him. The expression on his face was unfathomable. It made her want to reach out, to touch him, to smooth the lines away. It took everything she had to walk away, leaving him standing on the steps.
Too bad he didn’t get the memo. He followed her to the car, walking over to Cristiano and holding out a hand. ‘Hi, I’m Sam Carlton.’
Cristiano stared at him for a moment, before taking Sam’s proffered palm. ‘Cristiano Gatto. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
‘Are you two going anywhere nice tonight?’ Sam had a conversational tone. His mercurial mood swings were driving Cesca crazy.
‘Just a little restaurant I know along the coast.’
Sam’s smile split his face. ‘Cesca has a thing for restaurants along the coast.’ He glanced at her from the side of his eyes. ‘She prefers risotto to pasta, though.’
Cristiano frowned. ‘OK . . . ’
‘If you buy wine, she really likes the Valpolicella. Not a 2002 one though. That was a terrible year.’
‘Cristiano is a restaurateur,’ Cesca told him tartly. ‘I don’t think he needs your advice on food and drink.’
Sam shrugged. ‘Just trying to help. Oh, and she promised to be back by midnight, so I’ll see you before twelve.’
She whipped around to look at him, furious. ‘Sam!’
He threw his hands up in the air. ‘What? I’m just repeating what you already said.’
Cristiano’s frown deepened. ‘Is there a problem with me taking her out? Something I should know about?’
‘Um, excuse me, I’m still here,’ Cesca pointed out. ‘And there’s no problem with taking me out, I’m a free agent.’
‘Of course you are,’ Sam agreed, sounding insanely cheerful. ‘Now go and enjoy yourself. Nice to meet you, Cristiano.’
‘You too.’ Cristiano started to get out of the car, ready to walk around and open her door, Cesca supposed.
‘No need to get out, I can do it.’ Sam flashed another smile before opening the passenger door. He held his hand out for Cesca. She shook her head, ignoring it altogether, settling herself into the low passenger seat.
‘I’ll see you at twelve. Have a good time.’ Before she could stop him, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the side of her face, just below her ear. His breath on her skin made Cesca shiver. After lingering there a moment longer than was polite, he stood up and slapped the side of the car twice.
‘Goodbye then.’
‘Goodbye,’ Cristiano said, the look of confusion still morphing his features. Cesca said nothing. Instead she shot Sam a dirty look, hoping it conveyed everything she was thinking right then.
Cristiano started the engine, expertly turning the car so that they were facing up the driveway, then slowly pressing his foot on the accelerator to cover the distance to the gate. When Cesca looked back, Sam was still standing at the bottom of the steps, arms folded across his chest.
For some reason that gave her no satisfaction at all.
21
Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs
– Romeo and Juliet
A night out with Cristiano was like watching a movie for the second time but seeing all its imperfections. They were driving on the same road, alongside the same lake, yet even the view seemed less magnificent than it did when she was with Sam. Cristiano tried his hardest, of course, and his natural charm did much to distract her from her thoughts. But every time there was silence, they kept going back to the villa.
To Sam.
She’d pretended to be cross when he’d accompanied her down to Cristiano’s car, and if she was really honest part of her was annoyed at his presumption. But that part was dwarfed by the warmth that was licking at her insides, as she remembered just how put out Sam had been earlier.
Cesca had liked that angry glint in his eyes. She’d enjoyed his controlled sarcasm. Most of all she’d loved the way he’d stared at her as Cristiano had navigated the car up the driveway, as if his favourite toy was being stolen by his arch enemy.
Not that she was a toy. But she liked the analogy anyway.
‘The lake is beautiful, is it not?’ Cristiano’s voice broke through her musings. When she turned to look at him he was smiling, his eyes on the road as he steered with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping out a rhythm on the car door. Though he shared a heritage with Sam – and both of them sported the same dark good looks, they had so little else in common. Not in her eyes, anyway. And it was a disappointment to be driving along this beautiful road with a man who wasn’t sparking any feeling in her at all. It felt even worse that she was wishing he was somebody else. Somebody altogether more annoying.
‘It really is. I love the way the boats all light up at night. They look like fireflies dancing on the surface of the water.’
‘The view next to me is beautiful, too.’ This time he turned his smile on her. His teeth glinted in the moonlight. ‘I’m sorry if we upset your friend. He didn’t seem very happy that you were leaving.’
He was the master of the understatement. ‘He’s just being awkward,’ she told him. ‘He likes to wind me up.’
‘Like a clock?’ Cristiano frowned.
‘No, I mean he likes to annoy me. Make me angry. It’s an English expression. Though I guess it could come from winding up a clock. Making things tighter and all that.’
‘Are you angry now?’
Cesca considered his question. She wasn’t exactly angry, but she wasn’t relaxed either. There was an edge to her that made her skin hurt. ‘Not right now,’ she said, aware that she was on a date with another man. ‘But I’ll be having words with him when I get back. There was no need for him to be so . . . ’ She screwed her face up, trying to think of a good word to describe Sam’s behaviour. It hadn’t exactly been rude, but he hadn’t been gracious either.
Possessive. That’s what he’d been. The child and toy analogy came to mind again.
‘Whatever.’ She waved her hand. ‘Let’s not talk about Sam any more. Why don’t you tell me about this restaurant. You’re thinking of buying it, right?’
So the drive continued, with Cristiano happily filling her in on the local restaurant scene, explaining the different cuisines, and how he’d been trying out the local competition. Before she knew it they were co
ming to a stop, parking in a lot right outside a large, modern building.
Inside, it was as different from Sam’s restaurant as night and day, all glitzy and new, full of beautiful people who wanted to be seen.
‘Do you like it?’ Cristiano asked. ‘It’s very similar to my restaurants in Roma. We are so sick of the old-fashioned mama and papa places. It’s all about glamour and modernity.’
‘It’s . . . ’ Cesca took a deep breath. ‘I can see why it’s so successful. Everybody seems to be enjoying themselves.’
‘If I could, I would have flown you to Rome to see my restaurants.’
She could imagine what Sam would have said to that.
‘This is perfect.’ She looked up as what looked like the owner came over to Cristiano and shook his hand. The two exchanged pleasantries for a moment, and though she didn’t understand the words she could tell Cristiano was asking a lot of questions. Eventually, he turned back to her.
‘Would you mind if I join Mario for a quick tour of the kitchens? The head chef is an old friend and it would be good to get his thoughts on this place.’
Cesca gave him a smile, trying to swallow down the feeling of relief. Cristiano was obviously more interested in the restaurant than he was in her. Somehow that put her at her ease. ‘Please, go ahead.’
‘I will ask Dino to take you to your seat,’ Mario said. ‘And get you an aperitivo, of course.’
‘Something non-alcoholic please,’ Cesca said, she wanted a clear head.
As the night progressed she couldn’t help but feel the same way as she had earlier. That this almost-date was like a photocopy; the quality was so much worse than the original. Vibrant colour turned into blurred black and white. Even the food, as beautifully presented as it was, tasted less real to her palate.
After their dessert was cleared away, the waiter brought over a small porcelain cup of espresso, and a glass of something deeply bronze. Cristiano lifted it up, inhaling the flavour, then inclined the glass to her.
‘Just a small brandy,’ he said. ‘To toast our evening together.’
She could smell the alcohol wafting up from the table. Brandy had never been her favourite drink, and the aroma wasn’t changing her mind. Not wanting to be rude, she lifted the glass to her lips, trying not to screw up her nose. ‘Of course.’
A sip of the fiery liquid burned as it slid down her throat. The heat radiated through her stomach, warming her from the inside. Cristiano smiled approvingly at her.
‘You’ve seemed very nervous tonight,’ he observed. ‘As if you aren’t really here with me.’
‘I have? I’m so sorry.’ She felt her cheeks heat up. How rude she must have seemed. ‘I’m just a little tired. It’s been a long week.’ The smile she offered him was genuine. It wasn’t his fault she was a hotbed of contrary emotions; after all, the last time she’d seen him Cesca had hated Sam.
Now . . . not so much.
‘Was it the way I picked you up?’ Cristiano asked. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have brought the flowers. But when I saw them, they reminded me of you. Classical. Beautiful.’
She shook her head. ‘Of course not. The flowers were lovely, and so is the restaurant. I’m so sorry I’ve not been on top form.’ Bloody Sam. Lovely Sam. Gah, either way it was all his fault. And the truth was no matter how good the food, or the company, or anything else here in the restaurant, it was all for nothing. Because Sam wasn’t there.
‘Thank you for taking me out tonight,’ Cesca said to Cristiano as he drove them back home along the lakeside road. ‘I hope you managed to relax with all that talk about work.’ He’d disappeared more than a few times, not just to the kitchen but also to the office where he’d spent at least half an hour talking with the owner. By that time Cesca had moved to the terrace and drunk her espresso alone overlooking the lake. She’d squinted as she gazed to her right, trying to make out which building could be the villa.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Cristiano looked suitably apologetic. ‘Mario confessed he’s already had a lot of interest in this place. I don’t want to lose out on it, but I know how rude I’ve been. He wanted me to see the kitchens and the books, to meet the chef. It was too good an opportunity to turn down.’
‘It’s not a problem.’ She could hardly complain to him when her mind had been elsewhere, too. It had been more than a relief than anything, getting to spend some time on her own. Giving her the space to try and untangle her fevered thoughts.
‘It was very ungallant of me. I apologise.’
‘There’s no need to, honestly. Work comes first, I get that.’ She smiled at him. ‘We had a nice evening, and hopefully you managed to make some decisions about the restaurant.’
Cristiano’s smile was sad. ‘I’ll be returning to Rome next week, to talk to my bank. By the time I close on the restaurant if I decide to buy it, well, you’ll probably be gone.’
Cesca’s stomach dropped. It had nothing to do with the thought of not seeing Cristiano again, though. ‘I probably will.’ Back to dreary London. To her lack of job, her lack of home, her lack of opportunities.
A lack of Sam, too.
When they pulled up to the gates, Cesca didn’t argue with him about driving her right up to the villa. Instead she hopped out of the car, keying the number into the pad, thanking God that Sam hadn’t turned on the evening lockdown code. As the gates creaked open, she climbed back into the car, letting Cristiano pull forward until he came to a stop at the foot of the steps.
‘There’s no need to get out,’ she said, noticing his hand on the door.
‘Not at all.’ Ignoring her protestations, Cristiano got out and walked around to her side of the car, opening the door for her. ‘I may not have given you the best date tonight, but I’m still a man. Let me see you to the door.’
Cesca let him take her hand and lead her up the steps, coming to a stop in front of the large front door. The security light was shining down from the porch, illuminating them both. She looked up, her mouth suddenly dry as she stared up at the handsome Italian.
‘Thank you again.’ Her voice was quiet. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t much of a companion.’
‘I think you had a lot on your mind, too.’ Cristiano’s tone was gentle. ‘Am I right in thinking you’re a little . . . ah . . . confused about your feelings?’
Cesca’s eyes widened. ‘My feelings?’
He laughed. ‘Oh, not for me. From the moment I picked you up tonight I got the impression I’d been, what do you call it, friend-zoned. Is that the right expression?’
The words sounded funny coming from the suave Italian. She couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, knowing how true it was.
‘It’s OK. As I said, I’ll be leaving for Rome soon. I just wanted to spend some time in the company of a beautiful lady, and I got my wish.’
‘I’m glad.’ She really was. For the first time in an age, Cristiano had made her feel attractive. Wanted. But he was also kind enough to see that she wasn’t looking for anything more than a casual friendship. ‘It’s been lovely spending time with you. At the café, on the beach . . . thank you for making me smile again.’
‘At first I wanted to do more than make you smile,’ he confessed. ‘But I’ll settle for that.’
She didn’t tell him that at first she might have wanted more, too. Because that seemed like ages ago now. Before she’d found herself again. Before she’d found her writing. Before Sam had made her feel more confused than she’d ever felt. Instead she gave him another beaming smile, hoping it was enough.
‘Good night, Cristiano. And if I don’t see you again before you leave, have a safe journey.’ She put her hand out for him to shake. Instead he folded it in his own, pulling her towards him. Using his other hand he tipped her head up, pressing his lips to hers. They were warm, full, and softer than she had imagined.
‘Good night, Cesca,’ he whispered against her lips. Then he pulled back, offering her a regretful smile. ‘And at least I got my kiss.’ With that he turn
ed and walked down the steps, offering her a brief wave before he climbed back into his car. She watched as he pulled away, dust and gravel kicking up beneath the rubber as his tyres spun on the driveway.
She let herself in, flipping up the deadlocks behind her to secure the house. Pulling off her heels, she padded through the hallway, the floor cool against her feet as she walked. It was as though the awkwardness of the date had followed her in along with the night-time air, blanketing her, reminding her that she didn’t belong here. Didn’t belong anywhere. And yet she was aching to find somewhere that she fitted into.
When she walked into the kitchen the first thing she saw were the flowers. A large antique vase full of pelargoniums and geraniums. She recognised the blooms. She’d seen them throughout the gardens. Sam must have picked them himself, and arranged them. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in the scent.
But why? That was the question dominating her mind. Why had he done this? She tried to remember his expression when she’d brought Cristiano’s flowers in. His attitude was confusing, almost nonchalant, when she’d put the flowers into a vase. And when he’d walked her out to the car he’d been amused. So what had changed between her leaving the house and coming back again?
He had all the answers and she had none. Somehow that seemed as wrong as her date had. Like walking through a crooked house and slipping to the side of the room every time.
‘Sam?’ She called his name quietly.
There was no response. She could feel her heart pounding against her ribcage.
‘Sam?’ A little louder this time, though her voice was still tremulous. Her hands curled into fists, her nails digging into her palms.
‘Sam?’ Almost a scream. A need to be heard, to find him.
There was a clattering of feet as he ran down the stairs. The drumbeat of his footsteps as he made his way down the hall. Then he was there, standing in front of her. His brow furrowed as he opened his mouth.
‘Are you OK?’ He was breathless. ‘Has something happened?’
She blinked back the tears, not sure why they were there. ‘You picked some flowers.’ She was finding it hard to breathe. As if the air was too thick and viscous to be inhaled.