The Mysterious Italian Houseguest

by Scarlet Wilson

  Her cheeks flamed with heat.

  She hadn’t filled Javier in on the rest of the ‘crashed scooter’ story. The fact that she’d never even got around to meeting that guy in the village. She’d thought she was going to get her first kiss. Instead she’d ended up in a ditch. It was fitting really. Her sisters had all managed to squeal about first kisses long before she’d finally been disappointed by hers. As she was the oldest they’d all just naturally believed she’d gone first. She would have hated them to find out she was last.

  She closed the window on the computer in front of her—not even bothering to send a reply email. There was no point. She had nothing to tell. In another week or so she could kiss her job goodbye. She stood up, left some money and walked out of the café.

  A realisation was creeping over her. When she’d been given the ultimatum before she left she could have held her ground and refused to leave. She didn’t believe that Holly had ‘accidentally’ met the latest pin-up. Every part of the situation was contrived. The whole thing was just so Hollywood. Holly had seen an opportunity and taken it—just as Portia had five years earlier. It was just that Portia hadn’t done it in quite so spectacular a fashion.

  She should be in LA. That was where all the stories were. That was where she could find a story that would let her keep her job. So why hadn’t she stayed?

  Her stomach gave a little churn. How could she have missed Miranda’s wedding? It didn’t even bear thinking about.

  The truth was she’d been having second thoughts about her job—she just hadn’t wanted to admit them even to herself. And now she was having third thoughts. Or even final thoughts.

  She’d fallen out of love with her job. She didn’t have the hunger for it any more. She wouldn’t do anything to get a story.

  Her stomach was tied up in knots. This was it. This was when she needed to make a decision once and for all about her job. If it was over, she needed new career plans—rapidly.

  Getting to know Javier had confused her. Discovering he wasn’t the arrogant film star who had a string of false relationships had been news to her. And even though she’d had that tiny fleeting thought about using Javier for a story, the last few days had given her clarity.

  She wasn’t that person. She couldn’t be that person.

  Javier had reasons for being here she didn’t know about.

  But it didn’t matter what they were—if he ever revealed them she already knew she wouldn’t share them with anyone. It was his business. Not hers.

  She couldn’t be underhand. She couldn’t be deceptive around Javier. Maybe he’d been right to distrust the press in the past. But she didn’t ever want him to feel that way about her.

  She was so caught up in her own thoughts that she didn’t even notice Javier striding down the street towards her. He had a strange look in his eye. He looked just as tense and as distracted as she was. The charm that she’d glimpsed earlier had vanished. He held out his hand for a second, and it took a moment for her to realise what he wanted.

  She pulled the key from her pocket. ‘I take it you want to drive?’

  He nodded.

  He swung his leg over and started the engine. ‘Ready?’

  She swallowed the huge lump in her throat. What she really needed right now was someone to talk to. But Javier wasn’t that person.

  Something had upset him. Just as something had upset her.

  And it seemed that neither of them were ready to share.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE NEXT TWO days were awkward.

  It was clear Portia was unhappy about something. She was distracted and tired-looking. Sometimes she even looked as if she could burst into tears.

  He’d love to use her as a sounding board. When it came to work and Hollywood she was completely sensible and, at times, frank. He respected her opinion.

  But he couldn’t tell her why he was reacting in an emotional way. He couldn’t tell her how guilty he still felt about the death of his friend, and why he was so mixed up.

  Because Portia was press. And he couldn’t wipe his past experiences from his head—the press couldn’t be trusted.

  Part of it was pure and utter selfishness. What if she thought badly of him if he told her? There was a definite attraction simmering between them. Nothing like telling her he’d ignored a friend in need to squash it completely.

  It didn’t help that the reason he was shutting her out was because he still felt a pull towards her. Something he didn’t feel as if he had any right to act on.

  In the meantime a plan had formulated in his mind. He now knew what he wanted to do. Money was no problem. But he wanted to make sure that he did things well—not just throw a bunch of money at the project and walk away. He wanted to be involved and that would take business plans and commitment.

  He looked around the painted drawing room. He’d plastered the crack again, skimmed most of the other rooms in the house. The conservatory glass would all be replaced in a matter of days. But he had to be careful and take his time. The frame was delicate. He couldn’t manipulate and replace too many small panes at once. So far he’d completed all the plain glass and added some random red, blue and yellow panes. The green, pink and purple glass panes were sitting in a corner, waiting for their turn to be anchored in place and transform the conservatory into a rainbow of sunlight.

  Up above him he could hear some noise. Portia had disappeared into the attic this morning. Maybe it was time to try and smooth the path between them.

  He walked through to the kitchen and made some coffee, finding some pastries he’d picked up at the baker’s this morning. He knew better than to go empty-handed.

  Portia Marlowe didn’t take her pastries lightly.

  * * *

  She could smell the coffee before she saw him. In fact, a steaming cup of coffee and a delicious-looking pastry laced with chocolate were sitting on top of one of the trunks near the entrance to the attic.

  She crawled forward on her hands and knees, reaching the entrance to the attic and sticking her head out of the door. Javier was sitting on the floor outside, sipping coffee from a huge mug. He was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt that seemed to be smudged with bits of off-white putty. She scanned the floor around him. ‘What—no pastry?’ She wagged her finger at him. ‘Don’t think I’ll give you half of mine. Ask my sisters. I’ve never been very good at sharing.’

  He shook his head as he sipped at his coffee again. ‘I ate mine before I even came upstairs. You forget, I’ve seen you in the bakery before.’

  She sat back on her haunches and sipped her coffee. It was strong—just the way she liked it. ‘This is different. Did you get something new?’

  He smiled. ‘I bought some beans in the village this morning and a cafetière. What I really want is one of those giant silver coffee machines and my own barista.’

  ‘Is my instant coffee not up to your standards?’

  He pulled a face. ‘I don’t think it’s up to yours, either.’

  She nodded as she took a bite of the pastry. It was delicious. The chocolate melted on her tongue.

  ‘I’ll make do. I’m just glad for the sustenance.’

  He nodded towards the attic. ‘You look like you’re having fun in there.’ There was a glint of humour in his eyes.

  ‘I do?’ She looked down. Her pale trousers were covered in grime, as was her pink T-shirt. She put her hand up to her head and brought it back down covered in a large cobweb.

  She was on her feet in an instant, jumping around and shaking her hand furiously. ‘Yeugh. Get it off.’

  Javier started laughing, a deep throaty laugh that seemed to come from deep inside. When she eventually shook off her hitchhiking cobweb and ducked into the bathroom and washed her hands, one glimpse in the mirror made her wince.

  Why
, oh, why didn’t she have the natural look like the female movie stars? Her hair was all over the place and she had a large black smudge on her nose. No wonder he was laughing.

  She wiped her face and went back to the hall. ‘There’s not much point in trying to clean up. I’ve got a million other boxes to go through in there. Trouble is, I’m not sure what I should be dumping and what I should be keeping.’

  ‘Would you like some help?’

  ‘Don’t you have the conservatory to finish?’

  He gave a casual shrug of the shoulders. He had that expression on his face again, the half-smile that made a million women the world over go weak at the knees.

  ‘It’s a delicate operation. The frame is weak. I need to let the glass settle. I’ll do the rest of the panes tomorrow.’

  She gave a nod and folded her arms. ‘So, are you going to be the brains of this operation—or the brawn?’ She sighed. ‘I have to be honest, I’m not quite sure what to do with some of the things—or most of the things—that I’ve found. I don’t know if they’re valuable or just junk. I think I’ve spent the last hour just moving things around.’

  Javier took another drink of his coffee then set the cup down. ‘Then let’s get to work. I asked around. The waste-disposal trucks come tomorrow. If there’s anything that we think could be disposed of, we can bag it.’

  He pushed himself off the floor. She tried not to stare at his muscled biceps clearly defined by his white T-shirt. He walked towards her, stopping only a few inches away. She frowned and reached out and picked at the dried smudges on his T-shirt. ‘What are these?’

  He looked down. ‘You’re not the only one that needs a clean-up.’ He pulled the T-shirt out from his chest. ‘Some of it’s silicone...some of it putty. Working with Uncle Vinnie taught me some bad habits. I tend to wipe my fingers on my shirt instead of on a rag.’ He let his T-shirt flop back against his chest and her hand fell back on his warm chest. The heat was instant. She hadn’t really meant to get so up close and personal. Her eyes connected with his.

  It was like being hit by a blast. The smouldering heat in his grey eyes could never be mistaken for anything else. It took her by surprise as the blood instantly raced around her system. This hadn’t been in her head. It wasn’t her imagination.

  She pulled her hand back as if she’d been stung. She wasn’t quite sure how to deal with all this.

  Javier didn’t move. It seemed like the longest time but it must have only been a few seconds before he finally spoke. ‘Let’s get started. We can always go freshen up at the beach later.’

  He brushed against her as he moved inside the attic. Her brain was spinning. The beach. The place where they’d drunk wine and he’d touched her cheek. The place she’d first felt a real connection with Javier Russo. Her lips tingled in nervous anticipation as she gulped and followed him into the attic.

  There were two tiny windows in the roof of the attic that let a little murky light filter through. Javier had to crouch down in the roof space to try and get inside. He glanced over his shoulder at Portia and gave her a smile. The place was stacked with boxes, trunks, plastic bags and cases, there was hardly any floor space visible and he had to pick his way over and around them to get even a little inside. ‘Did you know Sofia was a hoarder?’

  Portia shook her head. ‘Honestly? I didn’t have a clue. And from what I can see, nothing has a label. I’ve only checked a few bags at the front and one case at the door. It’s full of china all wrapped in tissue paper.’

  Javier held out his hands. ‘Where do you want to start in here?’

  Portia shook her head. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. Why don’t you take one side and I’ll take the other? It’s probably best if we keep to near the front—that way, if we find anything that can be dumped, we can take it downstairs.’

  He nodded and moved over to the nearest trunk. ‘Okay, then, let’s get started.’

  Portia got back down on her hands and knees. There was no point standing—this was going to take a long time. The first few bags were easy. They were mainly filled with ancient household appliances. Kettles, toasters, scales, all singed or with bits missing. Portia pushed them towards the attic door, along with the next bag that was full of similar items.

  Next was a large leather trunk. She flipped open the lid and tried to ignore the cloud of dust that puffed into the air around her. ‘Oh, wow,’ she gasped.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Javier.

  The trunk was full of clothes, all in individual clear garment bags. She lifted out the first. A long red evening gown. The next dress was black, the next green and so on and so on. Portia smiled. ‘I knew that Sofia had a lot of clothes but I guess I didn’t realise quite how many. I thought the wardrobes downstairs held all her dresses. I hadn’t figured on her having more up here.’ She pulled the neck of the garment bag down a little to feel the red dress. ‘Oh, it’s gorgeous. These are probably worth a fortune.’

  Javier was smiling at her.

  ‘What? What is it?’

  ‘You,’ he said. ‘You look like you just won the star prize.’

  She sighed and held the dress against her chest. ‘That’s what it feels like. If we push this trunk outside I can take the dresses downstairs and find somewhere to hang them.’ The smell of lavender was drifting up around her. ‘They all look in perfect condition. Posy will need to decide what to do with them.’

  ‘Posy—that’s the ballerina, isn’t it? Will she be interested in a whole load of extra dresses?’

  Portia smiled. ‘Oh, yes. Posy and I have similar tastes. She’ll love these.’ She met his gaze. ‘It’s strange. Posy and I are very close. When I was young and the twins came along, it was almost like they had their own secret language. They didn’t really need me. They were so close. They didn’t seem to want anyone else around. When Posy came along it was such a relief. Finally, a partner in crime.’ She sighed. ‘I love my sisters. I do. But even in adulthood Posy and I are much more similar. Immi and Miranda both went into the family business and Posy and I, in some way, both went into show business—albeit very different aspects.’

  He was watching her and smiling. ‘Do you talk often?’

  Portia licked her lips before she answered. ‘Andie and I spoke a few times when she was contemplating the whole Cleve thing.’ She smiled. ‘Posy—I’m a bit worried about her. She seems a little distant right now. And Immi?’ She pressed her lips together. ‘We’ve not really talked in the last few days. I think something’s going on but I don’t know what.’ She shook her head. ‘I always worry about her—always. I can’t help it.’

  ‘Why?’

  She bit her lip. Immi’s condition hadn’t exactly been a secret, she just wasn’t sure how much to share. ‘Immi was unwell. She had an eating disorder when she was younger.’ She paused then added, ‘Then she had some mental health issues and ended up in rehab. It didn’t just affect her. It affected the whole family. In a way I’m glad she’s in the family business. It means there is always someone to keep an eye on her.’

  She felt exposed. She’d just told him about her sister. It was private. It was personal. She’d got so used to the Hollywood lifestyle of everything just being on the surface that she’d forgotten how tough it was to share.

  It left her feeling vulnerable. Something she hated.

  His hand brushed against hers. It seemed accidental, but then it stopped and his warm hand covered hers, giving it a gentle but reassuring squeeze.

  He hadn’t said anything out loud to acknowledge her words, but the squeeze sent a little shockwave through her system. The more time she spent around this man, the more he crept under her defences.

  Javier stared at her for a few seconds. Then he lifted up a black and white photo in the trunk. It was a picture of his mother and Sofia laughing. They had their arms around each other and looked as if they’d j
ust been caught sharing a private joke.

  He looked into the trunk. ‘Hey, what’s this?’ He pulled out something that was down the side of the trunk.

  It looked like papers, but as he fanned them out she realised they were black and white photographs—all of Sofia. She picked up one after the other. ‘Oh, look at her, isn’t she so beautiful?’ She kept flicking through in wonder. ‘I never really remembered her like this. It’s sad but you end up remembering someone the way they were the last time you’ve seen them.’ Something about the pictures was familiar and it took her a moment to realise what it was. ‘It’s these! It’s these dresses. Look, there’s the black one. And this one is the red one—look how figure-hugging it is on her. And there’s the green satin one all covered in sequins—look at the way it catches the light in the photograph.’

  The pictures were fantastic. A little moment in time. Sofia was spectacular in them, so elegant and refined-looking. And while she’d always looked immaculate in real life, she also had a wicked sense of humour and raucous laugh that took those that didn’t know her by surprise.

  Javier’s hand closed over hers again. Reaching for the photographs and looking at them slowly, one after the other. He gave a sad smile. ‘You’re right. You do remember people the last time you saw them. And Sofia faded a little, didn’t she?’

  Portia looked at his sincere expression. Sofia had faded. She hadn’t taken well to growing old. She’d hated the fact she had wrinkles on her face, or that her hair had thinned. She would never let anyone take photographs of her in the last few years. Javier had found a way to say it nicely. It was obvious he had the same affection for her that Portia and her sisters did.

  Javier ran his fingers over one of the photos. ‘These capture Sofia in all her crowning glory.’ Then he burst out laughing. ‘No, I think that might have been an unfortunate choice of words.’ He shook his head. ‘She never got her crown, did she? I wonder if she ever actually thought that she would.’

  Portia bit her lip. ‘I don’t know. She would never have discussed anything like that with us. But she might have with your mother.’ She looked into the distance. ‘I always thought of her as fiercely independent. I never really knew that Ludano had gifted her the house. I didn’t find that out until I was much older.’