by Annie West
Angela had been such a fool. Worse, she’d been a coward, running away instead of confronting Matteo straight away. It was no good telling herself discretion rather than valour had been a necessary survival skill, growing up under her father’s bullying control.
She was an adult now. She should act like one.
The look on Matteo’s face… His tone of voice as he’d declared he’d been with no other woman since they met, had wanted no other woman…
Matteo was a consummate actor but Angela had read his pain and surprise, and his outrage at what she’d revealed. She had no doubt he’d told the truth about that scene in his caravan. It was just the sort of malicious thing Vittoria would do if rejected, especially as she’d made it clear several times that she considered Angela to be under par when it came to femininity and attractiveness. Learning Angela’s husband preferred his dowdy wife to her own abundant charms must have sliced at her pride.
Angela was still shocked by the discovery. The certainty she’d built her life around for twelve months shifted like crumbling foundations in an earthquake, revealing a whole new, unfamiliar landscape.
It was hard to get her bearings, difficult to know what to do. She’d never felt so out of her depth, with Matteo, her Matteo, so close, yet so distant. She longed for him, ached for him. But the thought of going to him and trying to bridge the gap she’d created between them terrified her. For she was afraid of what the final outcome might be.
Matteo’s words had rung with all the force of a pledge in the still air between them.
I loved and trusted you, Angela.
Those words haunted her days, and worse, her lonely nights as she woke again and again from fitful sleep, wracked by memories of their exchange.
I loved you, Angela.
Past tense.
Had she destroyed his feelings for her? Had her too-ready acceptance of his guilt killed what they’d once shared?
Of course it had. There was nothing like love in Matteo’s attitude now. Instead he acted as if being with her was a necessary chore. Like brushing his teeth or paying his tax.
‘Earth to Angela! Are you with us?’ The deep rasp of his voice was a rough caress on the sensitive skin of her nape.
Her head jerked up and she saw Matteo’s frown had become a scowl. There were shadows under his eyes and his cheeks looked more hollow than usual, but then they’d only just stopped shooting. It must be the screen makeup making him look…haunted.
‘Sorry, I was—’
‘Angela was concentrating on the same section you were, Matteo. Now you’ve interrupted her train of thought.’ Gina’s tone was smooth.
Angela flashed a sideways glance at her. Was the actress covering for her? It was impossible to tell.
Gina continued. ‘You’re drinking too much coffee, Matteo. It makes you snappy.’
He mumbled something that might have been an apology and pushed aside his espresso. Gina was right, every time Angela saw him these days he seemed to be sipping coffee.
Angela stole another quick glance at him, wondering if it was exhaustion or stress she’d read in his features. After all, the film was a huge gamble. Branching out into directing as well as acting was an enormous risk. Knowing Matteo, he’d be utterly driven to ensure the film’s investors as well as the cast and crew, were rewarded with a success.
Having his almost ex-wife on site might be the straw that broke the camel’s back.
‘This section.’ His eyes locked on hers and Angela felt that old, familiar frisson of connection. If she wasn’t careful she’d lose herself in that dark blue gaze, like one of his adoring fans.
Or like a wife who’d tried for twelve months to eradicate him from her heart and failed. Failed phenomenally if the misery sucking her down was any measure.
‘Which one?’ Angela looked down at his script and back to hers. ‘Okay. Yes?’
‘It needs more.’
She waited but he didn’t elaborate. She was forced to look up again and meet that waiting gaze.
What was going through his mind? When he looked at her so intently it felt as if Gina wasn’t at the table, as if it were just Angela and Matteo. As if it wasn’t the script they discussed, but something far more profound.
Did she imagine a charge in the air? A fizz and crackle of awareness?
‘We need more sexual tension.’
Angela blinked, her mind slow to process his terse words. Finally, like an oxygen-starved diver coming up to the surface, she rallied. ‘The script?’
One black eyebrow rose in haughty astonishment. ‘What else?’
Of course. The script. The only reason she was here.
Ruthlessly Angela squashed the hurt welling within, that Matteo could look at her so coldly.
It was her own doing. She’d wrecked their marriage with her lack of trust. Because she couldn’t believe a man like Matteo could genuinely care for her.
Well, she didn’t have to worry about that now. His demeanour made it clear she was here under sufferance. There’d be no more words of love. Ever.
Angela swallowed and tilted her chin higher. ‘You want a sex scene?’ Stoically she refused to think of Matteo and Gina, naked and entwined.
‘No. Not sex. Sexual tension. A sex scene would decrease the tension between them.’
Angela bit her lip. Of course. She wasn’t thinking. Well, not about the script. Her mind kept straying to the tension between her and Matteo. To the tug of sexual attraction that grew stronger not less, every second they were together. Or was she the only one to feel it now?
‘Matteo,’ Gina leaned across the table. ‘It’s been a long day and I think—’
Angela cast her a grateful smile. The actress was trying to run interference. But she’d deal with this herself.
‘It’s okay, Gina. I see what Matteo means. I’m sure I can produce something more that will fit the bill. Something to make us question the hero’s motivations even further.’
‘You don’t think he’s dark enough?’ the other woman said.
Angela sat back in her chair and met Matteo’s stare head on. ‘He’s an ambivalent character, but we could make that stronger. There’s already a question mark over his morals. If we ramp up suspicion that he, as the detective assigned to protect the heroine, could be the one stalking her, trying to kill her…’ She spread her hands and shrugged. ‘We want to use the tipping point between trust and fear, to have the audience unsure which way the story will go.’
Something flickered in Matteo’s expression, making Angela press on. ‘That seed of doubt is what sells the story. Can she believe him, despite the evidence? Or is she being blinded by sexual attraction? Can she really trust her heart to a man she barely knows? And if she does, will she survive unscathed, or will the man she loves destroy her? Will he protect her or betray her?’
It was ironic that her final project with Matteo mirrored so closely the emotional dilemma she’d faced last year.
Even more telling was the fact she’d written it in that heady period when she’d met Matteo and fallen for him like a ton of bricks. Had it been her subconscious warning her she didn’t belong in his world? Or was it mere coincidence?
‘I’ll work on increasing her distrust and the possibility of his betrayal. You’ll have it this afternoon.’
‘Well, if anyone’s up for the challenge of writing that, you are, Angela.’ Matteo’s tone was terse, bordering on accusation. He shoved his chair back from the table with a shriek of wood on wood. ‘Gina, let’s have another try at that last scene. I still don’t feel we did it justice.’
Angela stared down at the text blurring before her eyes, not even looking up when Gina gave her clenched hands a sympathetic squeeze and hurried off.
Angela had wanted to know how things stood with Matteo and now she knew. He hadn’t forgiven her. That jibe about her being the expert to write about distrust and betrayal proved it.
So that was that.
Since learning the truth about what had
happened a year ago, she’d harboured stupid, optimistic hopes. Hopes that he might one day forgive her and they could try again to build on the love they’d once shared.
Now she knew better. She’d bruised his pride, questioned his honour and proved herself a coward. There was no going back.
She’d completely destroyed the single most beautiful thing in her life.
CHAPTER SIX
* * *
‘You want me to walk you back, Angela?’ Davide swayed a little as he shepherded her out the door of the tiny bar.
For four days Angela had avoided him, remembering Matteo’s insinuation that Davide might harbour a hope to become more than a friend. But finally, today, she’d run out of excuses. Or maybe she just hadn’t been able to face the prospect of another evening alone, shut up in her lonely hotel room with only her thoughts for company.
She was annoyed at herself too for letting Matteo’s sneering remark about Davide stop her from catching up with her old acquaintance.
‘I’m fine, Davide. We’re in opposite directions.’ For a second she wondered if she should offer to see him to his hotel. He’d drunk more than she remembered from the old days, but then he was nursing a broken heart too, since his long-term girlfriend had dumped him.
‘You’re a good friend, Angela.’ He wrapped a long arm around her shoulders, giving her a quick squeeze. ‘But you should have shut me up so I didn’t spend the whole time talking about my problems.’
‘I didn’t mind.’ She smiled and gently extricated herself from his hold. Davide hadn’t come on to her, but she didn’t want there to be any misunderstanding between them. ‘I value your friendship too.’
She peered at her watch in the gloom of the narrow alley. She wished there was more light.
‘Okay, then. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ With a wave he turned, lurching slightly and veered down a tiny side street.
Angela spun on her heel, ready to step out in the opposite direction, then wished she hadn’t when her foot skidded on the wet cobbles. Damn her pride. She should have worn her comfortable flat shoes with their excellent grip. Except the one defence she’d had against Matteo’s narrowed judgemental gaze these days was to act, and dress, as if his dark mood didn’t get to her. As if her heart wasn’t breaking all over again.
Instead she put on a show of emotionless professionalism.
So each day she’d worn something from the new wardrobe her sister Sonia had gathered for her in Australia. Something bright and funky, fun and fashionable. Even if her new, electric-blue ankle boots with their high, narrow heels weren’t made for Venetian back alleys.
She might no longer be the woman Matteo wanted, but she refused to blend into the background as if ashamed of herself. Her soul-searching had convinced her she’d spent too long trying to melt into the shadows, as if she wasn’t good enough to warrant notice. It would be convenient to blame her father’s overbearing ways for that, but it was time to move on. Angela was no longer a timid teenager. She’d put on a confident face and hopefully one day be as brave as she pretended.
Angela stepped forward, consciously reducing her usual stride to a careful gait. She passed a bar, bright and cheerful, then entered a section that seemed gloomier than before.
Her nape prickled as if tickled by an icy draught and she remembered, with a sudden unwelcome flash, that while Calle dei Assassini might be a quaint little street now, its name derived from its ancient reputation as a site for murder. She shivered. Clearly she’d spent too much time immersed in the brooding thriller plot of this screenplay. She needed—
Her thoughts stalled as a dark figure peeled away from the inky blackness near an unlit doorway.
Angela’s pulse leapt and her heart slammed up as if trying to escape her body. She was just debating whether to turn back to the brightly lit bar when she registered the familiarity of that loose-hipped walk and those straight shoulders.
‘Matteo? What are you doing here?’ She wished her voice didn’t sound so fragile. So hopeful.
Angela cleared her throat and firmed her lips, wishing she’d remained silent. It was none of her business what he was doing here. Or who he was meeting.
He stopped before her, his face in shadow. ‘It’s late. You shouldn’t be wandering about on your own.’ There was no mistaking the steel in his tone. It was like the caress of a sword tip across sensitive flesh, brutally sharp yet with a quality that sent a shudder of stark awareness through her.
Angela blinked, horrified by her reaction. ‘I don’t need your commentary on my life, Matteo. I get enough judgement from you on my work.’
*
Angela side-stepped and made to walk past. Instantly his hand snapped out, fingers encircling her wrist.
Sparks ignited, heating his palm and sending shockwaves up his arm.
He hadn’t meant to touch her. Physical contact was the last thing he’d planned, even if his brain persisted in torturing him with memories of their bodies sliding together, slick with arousal and eager with excitement.
‘Don’t you know how dangerous it is for a woman to prowl the streets of a city alone so late at night?’
Where was her sense? She was asking for trouble.
‘I’m not prowling. I’m going to my hotel, to bed.’
The mention of her bed predictably made his body tighten. Days fuming over her distrust, and her insult to his character, hadn’t stopped his physical desire for her.
If anything, working with Angela every day, sleeping just down the corridor from her, and not having her, merely intensified his craving.
In the first shocked instant after hearing why she’d deserted him, Matteo had genuinely believed she’d destroyed his feelings for her. But he’d been mistaken. He existed on a knife’s edge, torn between pride, lust and something that might have been sympathy. Except he refused to let himself examine that softer feeling lest it undercut his determination to keep his distance.
Who was he kidding? He could no more keep his distance from Angela than he could fly.
She’d buried herself deep in his heart and he couldn’t excise her, even if he tried. He didn’t want to excise her, he realised.
Angela yanked her arm back and reluctantly he let her go. His fingers closed on air and he made himself drop his arm to his side.
‘Davide should have seen you to the hotel.’
Her chin notched up. ‘Davide? You know who I was with?’
Matteo shrugged. Of course he knew who she was with. He’d made it his business. They might be estranged but Angela was still his wife. The thought stirred heat through his cramped belly.
‘How long have you been here?’
Matteo ignored the question. ‘Come on.’ He spun on his heel and began walking. ‘I’ll see you safely back.’
One step and she didn’t move. A second step and nothing. On the third he heard the soft thud of her boot and released the pent-up air caught in his chest.
Once upon a time Angela would have done anything he asked, ever eager to please him. Strangely, needing to win her compliance was somehow more satisfying than having her agree to everything he suggested.
Their tussles over the script, sometimes with a common purpose and at others arguing from opposing positions, had proven stimulating.
Now, there was a word. Matteo felt so stimulated in Angela’s presence, it was dangerous.
They walked silently down the lane, turned and soon found themselves passing through a deserted square. They crossed an arched bridge, another turn and another deserted street. As they walked, close but never touching, Matteo felt his ire dissipate. Competing forces battled within him but anger wasn’t one of them.
‘Matteo?’ Her voice had lost that aggressive edge.
‘Yes?’ He led the way through another narrow alley.
‘What were you doing back there?’
It would be easy to lie and say coincidence had led him to the spot just as she emerged from the bar with Davide. But he’d never lied to Angela.
‘Waiting for you.’
He swung round when he discovered she’d stopped. A light on the corner of a building illuminated her face. Her eyes were wide and her mouth sagged. Her forehead twitched, puckering into a frown.
‘You are my wife. I promised to protect you.’
Her hand rose to her throat in a nervous gesture. ‘But you don’t like me. You’re furious with me.’
‘Am I?’ Matteo didn’t know for sure what he felt anymore. Being patient, giving Angela space and time to come to terms with the truth, was driving him insane.
‘You’ve been stomping around the set for days like a bear with toothache.’
His lips twitched. ‘Just because I’ve been exacting?’
‘Exacting?’ Her voice rose half an octave and she shook her head, her blonde hair sliding around her shoulders. ‘You’ve turned into a perfectionist.’
He spread his hands, lifting his shoulders. ‘I want this film to be the best we can make. Surely we all want that.’
Her jaw tilted higher. ‘Then perhaps you should be a bit more patient. You’ll get more out of the crew that way.’
Matteo’s amusement faded. ‘Any member of the crew in particular? Your friend, Davide, perhaps?’
She stepped closer, her hands clasped before her. ‘He’s just a friend, Matteo. That’s all he’s ever been.’ She paused then went on in a voice so soft he needed to incline his head to hear. ‘There’s never been anyone but you.’
Matteo stared into her earnest, beautiful eyes and knew an urge to pump his fist in the air. Or to wrap his arms around her and haul her close to kiss that ripe mouth.
His pulse hammered. She’d told him that before, just days ago, but he’d been so shocked by the revelation that she’d believed him unfaithful, he hadn’t known what to believe. He’d been eaten up with jealousy when he saw her with her precious cameraman.