by Carrie Elks
‘Nothing,’ she replied. ‘I expect nothing at all. And that’s what I usually get. You didn’t promise me anything, and I didn’t expect anything. Just some fun in the sun.’
‘Fun in the sun . . . ’ Sam repeated.
‘That’s right.’
‘That’s all it was to you?’
‘To us,’ she said. ‘We distracted each other. You took me away from my loneliness, and I took your mind off Serena Sloane.’ Was it his imagination, or did Cesca spit out that name? ‘And now it’s time to leave and we can go home without any regrets. You to LA, and me to London.’
‘Is that what you want?’ He narrowed his eyes. Maybe he’d been wrong about her after all. Weren’t all women the same?
‘It’s what you want, isn’t it?’ she asked him. ‘You’ve made it perfectly clear you don’t want to introduce me to your family.’
He shifted on her bed. ‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘Then what did you mean?’
Sighing, he ran a hand through his wavy hair. ‘I don’t know . . . it’s not the right time. There’s a lot going on in my life right now. You want me to explain exactly what we are to my parents, but I don’t even know myself.’ He frowned, staring at her. ‘What do you want me to say?’
‘How about Mom, Dad, this is my girlfriend?’
He blanched. ‘Jesus, Cesca.’
Her eyes looked watery in the moonlight. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, biting her lip. ‘You’ve made your position perfectly clear.’
‘I have?’
‘Yes. I’m perfectly good enough to lie in your bed every night, but not good enough to bring home to your mum. I guess we both know where we stand.’
A surge of anger washed through him. ‘That’s not fucking true and you know it. I like you, Cesca. And I thought you liked me. It’s just . . . complicated. You know that.’
‘It’s always going to be complicated,’ she told him. ‘This is meant to be the easy bit. Every time I try to get closer to you, you cut me off. You don’t want anything more than a surface relationship.’
‘So what do you want?’ he asked.
She blinked a couple of times. Was that a tear in the corner of her eye? ‘More. I want more.’ She sounded almost torn by her admission.
‘I can’t give you more.’
‘I know.’
He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, seeing stars beneath his lids. ‘You deserve more,’ he told her. ‘You deserve everything.’
‘Don’t go there, Sam,’ she warned him. ‘Don’t say it’s not me, it’s you. Don’t tell me you don’t deserve me. Spare me all the crap, I’ve heard it before.’
He leaned closer, until their faces were almost touching. ‘So that’s it? I can’t give you everything you want, so it’s over?’
‘It is. So I’d like you to leave now.’
‘Leave where?’
‘My bedroom. I’m tired and I need to sleep. We’ve got a party to get ready for.’
Ah, the party. Another wonderful Foster idea. Sam grimaced at the thought of being surrounded by his stepfather’s friends, but he’d promised his mother he’d stay for it. The delighted expression on her face had been almost worth it.
‘I guess I’ll go then.’ He was half expecting her to start laughing, to tell him it was a joke. And maybe if he had a little less pride, he would have begged her to let him stay. But after a day filled with emotions, followed by a night hearing exactly what his stepfather thought of him, Sam was exhausted. He was all out of energy.
‘Good night.’ He didn’t wait for her to reply. Instead he simply walked out of her room, making sure the corridor was clear, and then tiptoed to his own room, collapsing on his bed.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to ignore the incessant voice in his head, telling him he was fucking everything up all over again.
It had been a hell of a day.
*
‘Good night, Sam.’ She was aware she was talking to the darkness, and that he had long since gone out of earshot. It seemed important to say it anyway, if only to remind her own heart that he was gone.
Gone.
At least she’d done it on her terms this time. She hadn’t woken up to find out that Sam had left for LA and turned her world upside down. After all the progress she’d made – on herself as well as her play – she couldn’t let him sabotage it for her again.
Curling up on her bed, she pushed her notepad to the floor, hearing the thud as it dropped onto the wooden boards. She wrapped her arms around her legs, hugging them to her chest, trying to ignore the pain that was emanating from deep inside.
She’d done the right thing, she told herself again. And of course it was going to hurt. But she’d get through it, she always had. She was a survivor, wasn’t she?
27
Doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love
– Hamlet
Cesca took one last look in the mirror before heading downstairs. Her hair was perfectly coiled into a French plait, her white shirt pristinely ironed. It was tucked into the tight black skirt that Gabi had loaned her. One size too small but what choice did she have? It stopped high above her knees, revealing her toned, tanned thighs.
‘You’ll have to do,’ she whispered at her reflection. Just one more day, and she could leave this all behind. She was booked on an early flight to London the following morning, which meant she and Sandro would have to leave for the airport at the crack of dawn. But it was necessary – she clearly wasn’t needed here any more, now that Sandro and Gabi had come back. There was no point in her staying for Sam, either.
As soon as she made her way downstairs, she was hit by the frantic commotion. The staff had spent most of the day preparing for this – after they’d risen at the ungodly hour of six to take delivery of the food and drink – but it didn’t cease to amaze her how much work there was to do for one little party.
No, not even a party. Lucia was insisting on calling it a soirée. Not that Cesca understood the difference.
She found Gabi in the kitchen, talking rapidly to the chef and cooking staff who’d been brought in for the occasion. They’d already split the duties, agreeing that Gabi would supervise the kitchen, while Cesca and Sandro took control of the waiting staff. He would be in charge of the drinks, while Cesca would direct the food. With her experience in waitressing – as sketchy as it was – it seemed like the best idea.
‘Everything on track?’ Cesca was breathless with nervous anticipation. ‘Do you need me to do anything?’
Gabi shook her head. ‘It is, as you call it, the calm before the storm. The waiting staff are ready for you, as soon as the guests start to arrive.’
‘OK then.’ Cesca straightened her shoulders, rolling her neck from side to side to loosen the muscles. ‘Good luck in the kitchen.’
‘Ah, this is my happy place. More importantly, good luck to you out there.’
She’d probably need all the luck she could get. Cesca rounded up the waiting staff – comprised of local students looking for some extra cash – and tried to give them some orders using a mixture of English and pidgin Italian. Luckily one of the older boys took pity on her and started to translate, leading to the others nodding in agreement.
‘Thank you,’ Cesca whispered.
‘You’re very welcome.’
The next hour passed in a blur of final preparations, as she sent the staff in and out of the kitchen with trays of food. They were dispersed throughout the public rooms of the villa, ready to provide canapés along with the glasses of Prosecco and Chianti being readied by Sandro’s team. There was no sign of the family, thankfully, apart from a brief glimpse of Foster as he emerged from the library to grab a glass of red wine, but then he was gone again, ensconced in his office.
Just before eight, the guests started to arrive. Impossibly glamorous and expensively clothed, Cesca felt dull and dowdy in comparison to them. They didn’t notice her, any way, too intent on gossiping and drinking glasses of win
e to see who was handing the food and the drink out. It was amazing how invisible you could be when dressed in black and white.
The chatter silenced for a moment, before the furious whispering began. The guests were all looking out on the terrace, pointing and nodding at each other. Cesca followed their gazes, already knowing what she was going to see. And there he was, in glorious, beautiful splendour. Not her Sam, though. No, this was definitely Hollywood Sam who was standing before them, drawing everybody’s gaze in a way that was as natural as breathing.
She tried to see him as they would. As a famous actor, one whose presence commanded every stage, even the one on his family’s terrace. He was almost too beautiful to look at, his face freshly shaved, revealing the strong jaw she liked to run her lips across. Then there was the hair, falling over his eyes, so he had to brush it away, as she had done so many times.
He was wearing a pair of grey suit trousers and a blue shirt, open at the collar to reveal a dusting of chest hair. The material was thin enough for her to make out the muscles beneath, and she could feel her hands twitch as she remembered what it felt like to touch him there.
‘Shall we refill the trays?’ one of the waiters asked, tearing her concentration from the scene on the terrace. Flustered, Cesca turned to him. ‘Yes, please. Gabi should have some more antipasti in there for you.’
He must have heard her voice cutting through the living room, because the next moment Sam was turning to look at her. Cesca caught his gaze, standing glued to the spot, feeling goose pimples breaking out on her skin in spite of the evening warmth.
Her breath caught in her throat. She wasn’t sure if she was imagining the longing she could see on his face. She was sure it was on hers anyway. The visceral need to touch him, to be held, to feel safe within the confines of his muscled arms.
Stop it, she told herself. Stop it right now. He’s not yours.
Before she could turn around, Sam broke her gaze, laughing at something somebody had said. She watched as a woman leaned up to whisper in his ear. Cesca’s stomach lurched like a drunk man when he laughed again. That flirtatious bastard. She was doing the right thing leaving tomorrow. There was no way she could take much more of that.
Tomorrow. She just needed to make it through until tomorrow. Then perhaps the mess in her head might somehow disappear.
By ten the party was in full swing. Cesca’s staff had less to do, as Sandro’s staff bore the brunt of the work, with the guests more interested in drinking wine than eating the delicacies Gabi had prepared. So she filled their trays with drinks, directing them through the crowds of people mingling on the terrace. The air was warm and fragrant out here, from the scented candles burning on every counter and table top. Cesca was just making her way back into the house, her tray empty of glasses, when she felt a hand encircle her wrist.
Her heart sped when she looked up to the see the owner of it. Then disappointment suffused her when she saw who it was. She quickly bit the feeling down, trying to hide it with a welcoming smile. ‘Cristiano,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realise you were back.’
‘I’m only here for two nights,’ he told her. ‘I’ve come to sign the papers for that restaurant we visited. The Carltons were kind enough to invite me to their party.’
Cristiano looked at home among this crowd. As comfortable as she was awkward. What was it with Italian men, how were they able to own any room or terrace they walked into?
‘Well it’s lovely to see you. I’m afraid I’m working so I should go back in.’
His grip tightened. ‘Please stay with me. I don’t know anybody here. I was about to run down to the beach and climb over the fence to get back home.’
His wide-eyed expression made her laugh. ‘Let’s hope you have more luck than I did.’ She blushed when she remembered falling over, when she drank too much wine with him by the lake.
Cristiano laughed. ‘Oh I was very lucky that night. I got to spend time with a beautiful lady. Plus she was kind enough to flash me her knickers.’
Now her cheeks were burning. ‘That was an accident.’
His laughter was louder than before. ‘I know, that’s why I enjoyed it so much.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I’m so sorry about the night at the restaurant. It was too good an opportunity to turn down. I promise I didn’t take you there with ulterior motives. I really did want to take you on a date.’
She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter, really it doesn’t. We had a nice time anyway.’
‘Yes we did,’ he said. ‘But still, it was a terrible way to treat such a beautiful lady. I would like to make it up to you.’
‘There’s no need. And even if there was, you couldn’t. I’m flying back to London tomorrow.’
His face fell. ‘Such a shame. You’ll always remember me as the Italian who ignored you on a date.’
‘Of course I won’t. I’ll remember you as the kind person who took pity on a poor English girl and made her laugh. Plus you bought me lots of coffee in the piazza.’
She smiled at him, and he returned her grin. Cesca was starting to get that end-of-a-holiday feeling. The one where you felt sad to say goodbye to things, knowing you wouldn’t be seeing them again.
With his lips still curled up, Cristiano reached out to stroke her cheek. ‘You really are very lovely, tesoro. It’s been a pleasure meeting you.’
He was going to kiss her. Cesca could see it in his eyes, as heavy lidded as they were. She opened her mouth to say something, but then his lips were soft and warm against hers.
‘Can I have a word, please?’ Someone grabbed her by the shoulder, pulling her away from Cristiano’s grasp. Shocked, Cesca turned to Sam, surprised by the look of anger on his face.
‘Sam. It’s a pleasure to see you again,’ Cristiano said.
Sam completely ignored him, pulling Cesca through the crowd. As they made it to the corner of the house, the fireworks began to explode over the lake, turning the sky a myriad of colours. Cesca tried to shout at him, to tell him he was hurting her, to ask him where they were going. But it wasn’t until they’d made it past the secluded garden beyond Foster’s wine cave that he even slowed down.
‘Sam, what is it?’
He stood for a moment to catch his breath. She watched him close his eyes, squeezing the muscles as though he was trying to get control of himself. ‘You were kissing another guy.’
‘I wasn’t.’
‘In front of me. You were flirting and laughing and kissing him, and I wanted to knock his fucking teeth out.’
‘It’s none of your business.’
He threw his hands up. ‘Of course it’s my goddamned business. You’re mine, Cesca.’
She shook her head violently. ‘No I’m not.’
‘Are you his then?’ Sam’s voice was incredulous. ‘You want to be with that asshole?’
There was something about his jealousy that made her feel afraid and turned on in equal measure.
‘No, I’m not his and I’m not yours. I’m mine, Sam, mine. Nobody owns me.’
‘I can see that.’
Cesca frowned. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ The fireworks overhead were turning Sam’s face from vermilion to a golden colour.
‘I’ve been watching you all night.’
The way he said it sent a shiver down her spine. ‘That must have been very boring for you.’
It was his turn to shake his head. ‘It was fascinating. And enraging. Do you know how many men were checking out your legs? I had to watch them leering every time you walked past. I wanted to kill every last one of them.’
‘Sam.’ Her voice was gentler, more cajoling. ‘I can’t stop people from doing whatever they want to.’
‘That fucking skirt though . . . ’
‘It isn’t even mine,’ she protested. ‘I had to borrow it from Gabi. I didn’t bring any waitressing clothes out with me.’
He tugged his hair impatiently out of his eyes. ‘I can’t stand looking at you and not being able to touch you. I can’t st
and hearing your voice and knowing you’re not talking to me. I can’t stand seeing you laugh and know that it isn’t me who made you happy. I can’t fucking stand any of it, Cesca.’ His voice lowered to a whisper. ‘It’s killing me.’
‘I’m leaving tomorrow,’ she told him. ‘Then you won’t have to see me at all.’ It was obvious he didn’t like her the way she liked him. Why would he? He was so far out of her league it wasn’t funny. No, it wasn’t funny at all. It was heartbreaking.
‘You’re not leaving.’
‘Yes I am.’
He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The shock of his touch made her jump. But he didn’t let go. Instead he moved his fingers down her cheek, along her jawbone, drawing a line of heat hotter than any of the fireworks exploding above them.
He leaned down, pressing his lips where his fingers were only moments ago. ‘Tell me this doesn’t feel right, Cesca. Tell me this doesn’t feel good.’
She opened her mouth but nothing came out. It couldn’t, because to deny his words would have been a lie. Instead she let him kiss her throat, his hands brushing up and down her sides, until he moved his lips up, sliding them back towards her mouth.
Then she was kissing him back, her lips greedy and demanding. He circled his hands around her waist, pulling her closer, and it felt so right she thought she might explode.
‘Cesca,’ he murmured against her mouth. ‘Tell me you want me.’
He slid his hand beneath her blouse, trailing his fingers up her spine.
‘Of course I want you,’ she sighed.
‘Then why are you fighting me? Babe, something that feels this right can’t be wrong, can it?’ He was kissing her again, deeply, passionately. She closed her eyes, the explosions in the sky turning her lids different colours. Every part of her wanted to hold him, to be held. It was the first time in days she’d felt happiness.
‘Sam!’ A female voice called from around the corner. ‘Sam, we need you.’
He took a step back from Cesca. ‘That’s Izz,’ he told her, his expression turning to confusion. ‘What the hell?’
Then his sister was running around the corner, her blonde hair swinging out behind her. ‘Sam, Mum needs you. Dad’s fallen on the beach and she can’t pick him up.’