by Carrie Elks
‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ Sam pointed out. Not yet, anyway. And possibly never, if the way she left Italy reflected her feelings for him.
‘Well, keep my team updated, OK? Let’s schedule another meeting for, say, two weeks’ time. Then we can make some concrete plans.’
He nodded. ‘I’m not sure I’ll be in town, but we can Skype, right?’
‘Of course. Oh, and just to let you know, Serena Sloane’s publicist has emailed me. Serena isn’t at all happy about the backlash she’s had. She’s planning to set the story straight, to admit there was a lot of fabrication. This should be good for us.’
Sam raised his eyebrows. Even thinking about Serena left a bad taste in his mouth. That’s why he paid a publicist – to deal with the people he didn’t want to. ‘I’ll leave it with you, then.’
The sun was beating down on the sidewalk when he emerged into the street. A late heatwave had descended on the city, and the warmth radiated from the pavement as he crossed the road to find the parking lot. As he reached his car, he flicked on his phone, and it rang almost straight away.
There were only a few people he answered immediately. His mother was one of them.
‘Hey, Mom.’
‘Sam? I just saw your interview, who’s this girl you were talking about?’
‘Nobody.’ Sam’s reply was terse. He wasn’t quite ready to start talking about his personal life with his mother. Not yet. They were slowly building bridges back towards each other, but he couldn’t help but feel a shot of anger at her wanting to know his business when she’d lied about hers for so long.
‘Thank you so much for not mentioning your father.’ She sounded conciliatory, as though she understood his emotions. ‘I really appreciate it.’
He waited for the usual panic to descend at the mention of Foster, but shockingly it didn’t. ‘I promised you I wouldn’t say anything, and luckily she didn’t ask. Though I’m not willing to keep it a secret for ever, I’ll wait until things have calmed down, OK?’ After six years of living a lie, he was ready to climb out of that particular prison. ‘How are Izzy and Sienna doing?’ Two of the main reasons he was keeping quiet about his parentage – they were still coming to terms with the lies they’d been told for their entire lives. They all were. It was going to take some time for them all to get over it.
‘Surprisingly well,’ his mother said. ‘Though of course neither of them are talking to Foster. Nor am I, come to that.’
‘Is he bothering you?’ Sam asked, climbing into his car. ‘If he’s still being an asshole you need to tell me, OK? I’ll speak to him if you want.’
‘Not really, my darling. He’s got his tail between his legs for now. He’s still in Paris at the moment, finishing things up there. I guess when he comes home we will talk, but until then I’m quite happy giving him the silent treatment. It’s a lot less than he deserves, after everything he did to you. I’m still not sure I can forgive him for that.’
Sam swallowed. He hadn’t told her everything, but then she didn’t need to know it all. It was in the past. Foster couldn’t hurt him any more.
The same day Sam had left Varenna to return to LA, Lucia and her daughters had caught a flight to London. They had left a very hung-over and sheepish Foster to return alone to Paris, where he’d committed to seeing out the season at a theatre there.
He heard whispering coming down the line, followed by a strange scuffling noise. Then silence for a moment, as some kind of argument continued.
‘Izzy, let go of the telephone.’ His mom sounded fainter now. ‘Sam, your sister insists on talking to you,’ she managed to say, before the excited voice came on the phone.
‘Sam, who’s this girl you were talking about?’ Izzy was breathless, from wrestling the phone away from her mother, no doubt. ‘You never told me about a new girlfriend?’
‘What girl?’ He was stalling for time.
‘That writer you talked about, the one from London. Why didn’t you invite her to the party? Was it because of Dad? You know the party would have been so much better if he wasn’t there, the miserable git.’ Izzy barely took a breath. ‘You’re coming over here to see her, right? When are you coming? Will you bring her over then? Sam, does this mean you might move back to London after all? Oh God I hope so.’
He laughed. ‘Izz, calm down, take a breath, OK? I’m not going to talk to you about my love life right now. But yes, I’m planning on coming to London soon, to check if you guys are OK more than anything.’
‘Oh, that’s fantastic, make sure you come for a long time. We’ve got a lot to catch up on.’
‘You start at university next month,’ he pointed out.
‘Then you can drive me there, can’t you? My friends would love to meet you.’
He tried to picture himself turning up at her college, surrounded by paparazzi. It wasn’t a pretty image. ‘I’ve got to come back to film the Summer Breeze movie,’ he reminded her. ‘But I promise I’ll see you before then.’ He was keeping secrets again, but this time with a purpose. He had plans to go to London, but his family would have to wait. There were other things to attend to first.
‘OK.’ He could almost hear the pout in her voice. ‘I guess that will have to do.’
He was still smiling when he said goodbye and rang off, flinging his phone on the passenger seat as he fired the engine up. Switching on the satnav he scrolled through the favourites, coming to LAX in the list. It seemed like he spent half his life in that airport, either departing or arriving, but never before had it sent a pulse of excitement through his veins as soon as he tapped on it.
It was time to go home. To his real home. And it wasn’t a city or a town, or even a house on the edge of a lake. Home was where she was, wherever that would be. London . . . Varenna . . . it didn’t matter. Because what he’d learned over the past few months was that home was a feeling. It was the thing that relaxed your muscles, that made you breathe a little easier. It was the place that you looked forward to being all through the day.
Home was Cesca Shakespeare. Even if she didn’t know it yet.
The rain had been pouring all day without letting up. Every time a customer walked into the restaurant, they left a puddle in front of the doorway, a hazard-in-waiting that Cesca dried with a mop as soon as possible. It was nearing the end of the tourist season, but even that didn’t account for the drop in business. Half the tables in Cereal were empty, looking forlorn with their clean china crockery and sparkling glasses all neatly laid out. The novelty was obviously wearing off. Cesca wondered if Simon could keep the place going for much longer.
‘Can I have the bill, please?’ a man called over to her from the corner. He was sitting opposite two teenage children. They’d barely looked away from their phones for the entire time they’d been there. A single father, Cesca had presumed, taking his kids out for the obligatory Saturday dinner. It didn’t look as though any of them were enjoying it much.
A huge flash of lightning lit up the glass front of the restaurant, and Cesca’s eyes blinked in protest. She waited for the clash of thunder to follow – the storm had to be close to be that bright – but her anticipation was in vain. Only silence followed.
Another flash. This time the door to the restaurant opened, and more flashes lit up the outside street. Cesca blinked again, her eyes attempting to adjust to the shock of the light, and refusing to focus on the doorway in front of her. It took a moment to realise the flashes were coming from cameras, not the storm.
The door slammed shut, a dark figure leaning his back on it, his chest hitching as though he were trying to catch his breath. He was dripping with rain, puddles forming at his feet, and Cesca almost turned around to grab her mop and bucket once again.
But then she worked out who it was.
For a moment she was frozen on the spot. Her mouth was ajar, her eyes wide open, but when she tried to talk no words came out. The few patrons still in the café turned around to stare at the newcomer, whispered words of excitement hi
ssing out as soon as they realised who he was. She heard his name, over and over again, like a record on repeat.
‘Sam. Sam Carlton. The one from all those films. You know, the one who broke that girl’s heart, oh, I don’t remember her name.’
If this was a movie, she would be running towards him, throwing herself into his arms and letting him kiss her, as the water from his clothes seeped into her own. She could almost picture it, damn, she could have written it, but somehow, she still couldn’t get her feet to move.
‘The bill?’ the man at the table next to her said. ‘Can you get it for us?’
‘Shut up, Dad.’ The eldest teenager, a girl, finally dragged her eyes away from her phone. ‘That’s Sam Carlton.’ A blush stole over her face, and Cesca wondered if her own cheeks were just as crimson.
She was starting to shake. Staring at this man, this glorious, soaking wet, beautiful man, standing only ten feet in front of her. It was unmistakably Sam – her Sam – the boy who could make her laugh and cry almost at the same time.
‘Cesca?’ He took a step towards her, still dripping wet from the rain. If she cared at all, she might have told him it was a health and safety hazard.
‘I think so.’
He smiled. ‘Hey.’ His voice was soft, low. Beyond him, through the frosted glass, she could see a crowd of people gathering. An audience of a kind, watching the story play out in front of them as the rain poured down. The people in the cheap seats.
‘I see you brought your friends with you.’
This time he laughed. Twisting his neck he looked out at the paparazzi and fans who were clustered in front of the window. Some of them were practically pasted to the glass. ‘They told me to say hi.’
She lifted a hand up. ‘Hi.’
Was this what it was like to be Sam? Living a life bleached by a dozen photographers, your movements feeling like a stop-motion video every time they went off? She felt a fresh flood of sympathy for him. No wonder the villa in Varenna had seemed like a haven to him.
Sam came to a stop in front of her, catching her waving hand in his. He folded his palm around it, his skin warm and wet where he held her.
‘Hi,’ he said again.
‘Hi.’ Her voice was soft. ‘This is a long way to come for dinner. Even if you like cereal.’
He bit down a smile. ‘I’m a big fan of cereal, but that’s not why I’m here.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘It’s not?’
Sam shook his head. He was still holding her hand. It felt nice . . . natural. ‘I’ve heard they’ve got a gorgeous new waitress. I came to check her out.’
She was aware of the silence in the restaurant. Of the intense scrutiny of everybody in the room. Yet somehow it didn’t matter, because standing in front of her was the man she’d spent all night thinking about, the one who had pretty much anchored her thoughts for the past six years. He’d been the villain of her life for so long, yet now he was every inch the hero.
‘I saw you on the TV,’ she said. ‘Something about falling for some English girl?’
‘You did?’ He looked surprised.
‘And I called you.’
Sam frowned, grabbing his phone from his pocket. The screen was black. ‘I forgot to turn it back on when I landed,’ he said. ‘I was too busy thinking about finding you.’
‘How did you find me?’ she asked. ‘Or has word of Cereal spread far and wide?’
He smirked. ‘I got my mom to call your godfather.’
Good old Hugh. He might have been her godfather, but he was also a sucker for a good story. She could only imagine the grilling he’d give her when she next saw him.
‘And here you are.’
‘Yes, I am.’ There were only inches between them, but the gap still felt too big. It was overwhelming having him so close. The dampness of his clothes magnified his fragrance, until it felt as though the whole room smelled as good as him.
‘You left without saying goodbye,’ he said.
She took a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm her down. Her senses were too full of him. ‘You were a bit busy. I waited for you that night, but you didn’t come.’
‘Why didn’t you come and find me?’ A flash of pain crossed his features.
‘I tried,’ she told him. ‘But you were with your sister, and she sounded so upset. Then she asked you to come to London and . . . ’ She trailed off. Was she really strong enough to have this conversation in front of all these people? God, what the hell would everybody say? She wasn’t used to being the centre of attention. She liked to write the action, not star in it.
‘And you thought I didn’t want you.’
She nodded, too shaken up to form words.
Sam closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. She watched as his full lips parted, the bottom trembling as the air rushed in. She swallowed, remembering the way they’d felt against her mouth every time he’d kissed her. Soft and hard, gentle and deep. It was only the knowledge they were being watched that kept her from tasting him again.
When he opened his eyes, his stare was hot and intense. It took her breath away. ‘You were wrong.’
‘I was?’
‘I wanted to see you more than anything. I wanted to tell you what a stupid asshole I’d been. That I want to kick myself for refusing to open up to you. That what I felt for you – what I feel for you – was so strong, it scared the hell out of me.’
‘It scares me, too.’ It was all she could do to whisper.
Sam leaned closer. She could feel the warmth of his exhalations. ‘I can’t go back and make up for what I did, but I can fight for you. I’ll do whatever it takes, Cesca, to show you how much I care for you. I nearly ruined everything once, because I was scared of being real with you. I won’t ruin it again. Please say you’ll forgive me?’
The vehemence of his words took her breath away.
‘I forgive you,’ she whispered. ‘How could I not? Your words are so beautiful.’
‘They’re true. The only thing I want in life is standing right in front of me.’
‘But your work is in LA, and I’m thousands of miles away.’
This time he smiled. ‘We have the best jobs for being flexible on location. I’m an actor, you’re a writer, we can be wherever the hell we want to be. When we’re working, of course we’ll need to be on set, or in the theatre or wherever. But when we’re on a break – and I intend for us to take lots of those – we can be wherever we want to. And I don’t care where that is as long as we’re together.’
‘I don’t care, either. You can even bring your friends if you like,’ she said, pointing to the ever-growing crowd.
‘He really should kiss her now,’ the teenage girl next to her whispered. ‘Otherwise this is going to get pretty boring.’
They both laughed, the girl’s words somehow managing to cut through the tension. ‘The director has spoken,’ Sam whispered.
Was she ready for her close-up? Cesca had no idea, but she was pretty sure it was going to happen whether she was ready or not. And when Sam took her in his arms, pulling her body tightly against his, she was overwhelmed by the sensations pulsing their way through her body. There was lust there, of course – how could she feel anything else when he was pressing his sinfully gorgeous hips into hers? But there was something else there, too, something deeper and more cerebral. It heated her from the inside out, as the man she’d fallen for pressed his lips against hers. And when she closed her eyes, the camera flashes around them reminded her of the fireworks exploding that last night on Lake Como.
In the screenplay of her life, it felt as though every scene had been working up to this. The rejection, the fall, the long, hard climb back up again. And now she was almost at the summit, only to find the man who had broken her standing up there already, reaching out a hand to help her up the final few feet.
Sam’s tongue slid against hers as he pushed his hands into her hair, angling her head to give him better access. She looped her arms around his neck
, fingers brushing against his neck, as their bodies pressed closer still.
‘We’d better get out of here,’ Sam whispered in her ear, as they caught their breath, ‘before this becomes something that’s definitely not a spectator sport.’
Cesca laughed, then buried her head in his shoulder, wondering what on earth she was doing in front of quite so many people. ‘I should ask my boss . . . ’
‘Yeah, no need.’ Simon was only a few feet away from them. ‘I think you’ve probably given us enough publicity for one night.’
‘She might need a few days off,’ Sam told him, while Cesca pressed her lips against his neck. ‘Maybe even a week.’
‘No problem at all,’ Simon said. ‘Take as much time as you need.’ When Cesca finally looked up she could see a big smile on his face. He was probably already counting the customers that this free publicity would bring in. ‘Let me know when you’re coming back, OK?’
She nodded, though deep inside she suspected she might never be back. Sam tugged on her hand, pulling her outside into the pouring rain, and across the road to a waiting taxi. In their haste to leave, she’d forgotten her coat, and her blouse and skirt were soaked by the time they climbed inside. The fabric clung to her body, and the cold air inside the cab made her shiver.
Noticing her discomfort, Sam pulled her close, then leaned forward and tapped on the glass between the back seats and the driver. ‘Could you turn the heating up, please?’
‘Sure.’ The driver turned the dial on the dashboard.
They were alone at last – well almost – and it gave Cesca a chance to really look at Sam. Of course, he was beautiful. All the world knew that. But it was what lay underneath the skin she cared about the most. The man, the one who had left behind the boy she once knew, the one who made her feel as if she was the most treasured prize.
‘You look tired.’ She traced the dark shadows beneath his eyes. His skin was soft to the touch.