The Mysterious Italian Houseguest

by Scarlet Wilson

  Javier gave her another grin. ‘Do you want to see what I’ve found?’

  She tried to glance over his shoulder. ‘Why? Is it something good?’

  ‘I think you might recognise it.’

  She put the photographs back on top of the trunk, trying to remember she’d need to email Posy about them, then crawled on her hands and knees over to where Javier had another large case opened.

  He pulled out one of the items at the top. It was an old Italian Monopoly game. Portia gave a little shriek. ‘Really? That’s what you found?’

  She couldn’t help herself; she immediately started scrambling through the case, finding a whole host of other childhood games she used to play with her sisters. She pressed the well-worn box to her chest. ‘We couldn’t understand parts of it. We loved the names of the Italian streets, but when it came to the Chance and Community Chest questions we just had to guess what they meant. I’m sure that Immi used to cheat. Every time she got one, she said it was her birthday and we all owed her money.’

  She looked in the case. It was packed full of things she remembered. She pointed at a few. ‘We had a huge fight over that chess set. Miranda and I both wanted to be black—the knight especially in the shape of a horse was really fierce and we ended up stomping off to other parts of the house rather than play each other.’

  Javier was looking at her thoughtfully. ‘You have lots of good memories here, don’t you?’

  She nodded. ‘We had the best times here.’ She tilted her head to the side. There was something about the way that he’d said that. ‘You must have had too?’

  He opened his mouth and then hesitated. ‘Well, yes, and no.’

  She set the board game back down. ‘What do you mean?’

  She watched as he sucked in a deep breath. ‘My mother wasn’t always at her best when she was here. And I’m not sure Sofia knew how to relate to a young boy. She was kind. I was never neglected but—’

  ‘But, what?’

  He gave a tiny head-shake. ‘I’m quite sure she had no idea how to entertain an eight-year-old boy. Then a nine-year-old, then a ten-year-old...’

  He let his voice trail off then took a deep breath and spoke softly. ‘My mother has bipolar disorder. At times in her life she’s been quite unwell. In those days most people called it—what was it—“highly strung”. But it was much more serious than that—particularly if she went off her meds. Sofia was good for her when she was like that. She would encourage her to take her meds and start eating again. Sometimes it took days, sometimes it took weeks.’

  Her breath caught in her throat. It was the first time he’d ever really shared something so personal with her.

  It was almost as if a wave of acknowledgement swept over her. ‘How often was your mother unwell?’

  It was the first time she’d seen him look kind of sheepish. ‘She was at the height of her fame then. She was under a lot of pressure.’

  He was making excuses for his mother. Even all these years on, as an adult he was still doing his best to protect her. She liked that about him, but it also made her ache for what he’d been put through.

  She reached over and put her hand on his arm. ‘And you were a young boy.’

  He nodded. ‘I was. But for some reason, even though my mother wasn’t well, I still liked being here. This place. It’s warm. And my mother always got better, and as she did she had more time for me. We walked on the beach. We took trips on the boats at the port.’

  ‘What did she think of you being friends with the Princes?’

  He laughed. ‘Believe it or not, my mother wasn’t too happy. She didn’t like Ludano. She didn’t think he was good for Sofia.’

  Portia smiled. ‘He probably wasn’t. But it was different times then. There wasn’t the same news reporting or social media that there is today. Sometimes I wish we could go back in time.’

  ‘So do I.’ His voice was wistful. He shook his head. ‘Things were better here. On the mainland in Italy, my mother was hounded by the press. I can hardly remember a time when I could look out into the gardens and there wasn’t a photographer hiding in bushes somewhere. Times were changing—even then.’ He held up his hands. ‘But here? Here was a little piece of paradise. A little bit of sanctuary for us all.’

  She gave him a warm smile. ‘It seems that Villa Rosa has lots of memories for us.’ She looked around the cramped attic and held up her hands. ‘This place. It’s full of Sofia. Everything I see, everything I touch reminds me of her. How is Posy supposed to decide what she should get rid of? The other morning I woke up, and for a second, just for the tiniest second, I forgot that Sofia was gone. Then, in the blink of an eye I remembered again. It was like getting that phone call all over again. I know it sounds strange. I know it’s ridiculous. But I wanted to sit in that split second—just for a while.’

  She knew he didn’t realise it—but it wasn’t just Sofia she was talking about. It was everything. It was back to a few years ago when everything in her life had just seemed too good to be true. It had taken her until now to realise it had been.

  Reality sucked.

  Or did it?

  The glamour had been fun. Some of the personalities had been fun too. She’d met a few of her all-time heroes. Some had disappointed. Some had lived up to and beyond her expectations. But times were changing for her too. She didn’t feel the same fire, the same excitement about her job. She certainly didn’t like the direction her boss had been pushing her in lately. She was spending longer and longer playing around with her writing. The words came easily—they just flowed. In a way she was glad that Javier was here. He was a welcome distraction. If she’d been here alone, her resolve might have crashed and she could have been back on a flight to LA by now.

  She looked over at Javier. Something was wrong. He looked almost grey. As if he were unwell. He was staring blankly at the wall as if he were lost in his thoughts.

  She sat up on her knees and cupped his cheek with her hand. ‘Javier? Are you okay?’

  He blinked. There was a sheen in his eyes. Was Javier going to cry? What on earth had she said?

  He put his hand up over hers, sending little shots down her arm. His head gave the briefest of nods. ‘Yeah, I’m okay. Or, I will be.’ He paused for a second. ‘Portia, how do you feel if we take a break? Cool off down at the beach for a while?’

  Her stomach curled up. He was sad. She’d done something that made him sad. And right now she would do anything to change that. ‘Sure, if that’s what you want.’

  He nodded. ‘I do.’ He put his hand into hers. ‘Let’s go.’

  * * *

  Things were starting to fall into place in his head. He was starting to almost find a way that he could feel as if he were doing something.

  Some of the things that Portia had said today had really hit home. She didn’t even realise how many of his buttons she’d pressed. But as he’d watched the sincerity on her face, he’d known she was talking from the heart. It didn’t matter she was relating it all to Sofia.

  Her feelings were true. Just as his were.

  The walls of the attic had felt claustrophobic, as if they were closing in around him. He’d had to get out of there. But he knew exactly who he wanted to get out of there with. She’d revealed a little of the heartache about her sister. As he got to know her just a little more it was clear that Portia Marlowe had just as many chinks in her armour as he had.

  For him it was a relief. Portia might be press. But slowly but surely the press walls around her were fading away.

  She’d taken less than five minutes to get ready for the beach. He loved that about her. He’d spent days on set waiting six hours for his female co-star to get ready. This was a revelation.

  He’d just pulled a different T-shirt on and grabbed a pair of swimming shorts that he’d purchased on one of his
trips into the village. He might be Italian—but he didn’t do trunks. As far as Javier was concerned they were for competitive swimmers and multimillion-dollar advertisements.

  Portia came out with her hair around her shoulders and wearing a hot-pink bikini and matching coverall. It made his heart zing. She looked amazing, and it was clear she was completely unaware of this.

  She patted her stomach. ‘This is when I’m especially glad we’re not in LA right now. A few weeks here, with all the pastries and coffees, makes me lazy. I never want to exercise again.’

  ‘What do you do back home?’

  ‘For exercise?’

  He nodded.

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Same as everyone else. I have a personal trainer. I try not to obsess. You’ll know, there’s too much of that in Hollywood. Anyone who’s bigger than a size two over there is considered overweight. And let’s face it—there’s history in my family that makes me not go down that road.’ She looked sideways at him as he grabbed some water and a few beers from the fridge. ‘What do you do?’

  He pulled a face. ‘Depends entirely on the movie. For the action movie they wanted me to be pure muscle. I’ll not pretend. It was hard. Training six hours a day for two months before filming began, and eating six weird tiny meals a day. I was quite irritable. It didn’t suit me.’

  She smiled. ‘Did your co-stars complain about you?’

  ‘Who knows? If I was tense, I took myself out of the way. Filming is full of coffee and donuts and if I wanted to keep my physique on set I had to steer clear of all that. When it’s sixteen hours a day it’s hard.’

  They walked out onto the terrace then down the narrow path. Javier walking ahead and taking her hand down the steep bits. He glanced back as they walked down the path. She’d mentioned something back in the kitchen that made him curious. ‘Your sister—Immi—is she well now?’

  Portia nodded. ‘She is. It took a few years. And I have to admit we all still have the signs tucked away in the back of our minds. Seeing your sister unwell is tough. We all felt as if we’d failed her—especially Mum and Dad. But Miranda, Andie, her twin, took it really badly too.’

  Javier looked thoughtful. ‘How did she get well again?’

  Portia was watching her steps down the steep path. ‘She had to be ready. She had to want to get better—and she had to have the right help. Some place that was a good fit for her. My mum and dad tried different therapists, different support groups and doctors. Finally, they found somewhere that specialised entirely on her condition. They were perfect for Immi because that’s where all the expertise was.’

  Something about her words made him smile. He’d made the right decision. The charity he wanted to start would focus entirely on bipolar disorder. There were various mental health charities and helplines in Italy. There were other helplines for those who were feeling suicidal. But he wanted his charity to specialise and focus entirely on the one disorder that had affected his friend, and still affected his mother. Portia’s words just reinforced his decision even more.

  The sandy beach was beautiful. Like a forgotten hidden private hideaway. Javier laid their towels on the beach and looked out over the clear azure-blue sea, rippling with tiny peaks of white. In the far, far distance there was a white yacht that looked as if it were moored for fishing.

  Portia sagged down onto the beach and put her hands above her head and stretched out. He couldn’t help but watch, appreciating her long legs and the look of pure and utter relief on her face. Once she’d finished stretching she turned on her side to face him.

  She had no make-up on, there was still a tiny trace of grime in her hair and it made him reach out to wipe it away. He leaned closer. ‘Hey, I never told you what my favourite type of exercise is,’ he said softly.

  She blinked and right before his eyes her pupils widened.

  All of a sudden he realised what he’d said. He almost laughed. But he just couldn’t do it. Not while he was here with her.

  Portia was gradually sneaking her way under all the layers of armour that he had. She asked questions. But not like a reporter. She asked questions like a normal interested human being. He’d kind of forgotten what that felt like.

  He knew what he had to do next. He’d finalised his ideas last night and his next steps would take him back to the mainland. But there was still time. Still time to tease out where this connection could take them.

  He’d been making plans in his head. Some would need to be firmed up in person, and for that he’d need to go somewhere else. And he knew the perfect person to take with him.

  ‘Is it a secret, or are you going to tell me?’ she asked, then lowered her voice to a whisper, ‘And is it exercise for one, or for two?’

  So she hadn’t missed the unintentional innuendo in his words. He actually wished it had been intended. He sat up and stretched his hand out towards her, inviting her to take it.

  ‘My favourite kind of exercise is the entirely natural kind.’

  She raised her eyebrows and slid her hand into his. ‘Oh?’

  He pulled her up towards him, letting her body collide with his, so he could slide his hand down her back to the small hollow where it seemed to fit perfectly.

  She snaked her hands around his neck. ‘Why do I think that you’re teasing me right now?’

  ‘Me?’

  She tapped her hands at the backs of his shoulders. ‘Yes, you.’

  He laughed and lowered his lips so they brushed against her ear. ‘Okay, then. My favourite form of exercise—at least, until we’re better acquainted—is swimming. How about a race to the buoy out there? You wouldn’t come swimming with me the other day.’

  It was like two different people in his arms. Her cheeks flushed a little at his hint of something else, then paled instantly at the second suggestion.

  She kept her arms tightly around his neck. He turned so they were chest to chest instead of sideways on. She stared out at the distant buoy in sheer unhidden terror. ‘That? You want to swim out to that?’

  Every muscle in her body had tensed against him.

  He couldn’t understand. ‘Of course, it’s maybe half a mile? It’s an easy swim. We can do it together.’

  She shook her head fiercely. ‘Oh, no. No way. Not me.’ Then she glanced at him. ‘And not you either. You’re not going out there.’

  He started laughing. ‘Portia, what on earth is wrong?’

  She looked at him incredulously. ‘What’s wrong?’ She swept her arm out towards the ocean. ‘Look at it. All beautiful and blue. All tempting. All come-and-swim-in-me.’

  ‘Exactly. Let’s do it.’

  She screwed up her face. ‘Not a chance. Do you have any idea what could be out there?’

  He pulled back to get a good look at her whole horrified expression. ‘No. What?’

  She stared back at him. ‘Sharks,’ she whispered fiercely.

  He shook his head. ‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’ He couldn’t believe it.

  ‘Of course I’m not joking. Every time I see someone swimming in the ocean I hear the Jaws theme tune playing in my head. I like the sea. From a distance.’

  ‘But just after we met you were in the sea with me.’

  She gulped. ‘I wasn’t in the sea. Not properly anyway. I’ll paddle. But that’s it.’

  Javier didn’t hesitate. He swept Portia up into his arms and started striding towards the ocean.

  ‘Don’t you dare! Stop!’ she yelled as she thudded her fists on his chest.

  He laughed as he walked ankle deep into the waves. ‘What about here? Is this where you want me to stop?’

  She stopped panicking for a second and looked down. The water was barely around his ankles. ‘Don’t go any further.’

  He smiled and took a few strides further. ‘No!’ she shrieked.

&
nbsp; He stopped again. ‘Watch out,’ he said. ‘If you keep struggling, I might drop you.’

  She sucked in a breath and froze.

  ‘How far would you actually go in the water?’

  She still looked scared. ‘Maybe my knees. Definitely not the chest.’

  ‘Why not?’ He couldn’t help but be curious.

  ‘Stop laughing at me. I’d never get in the ocean back home. Sharks are all over LA. I’ve no idea if there are sharks around here.’

  She did look panicked. He shook his head. ‘I’m sure there are basking sharks, but none could come this close to shore. And they’re quite harmless.’

  She squinted at him as the sun’s glare fell over her face. ‘Do you really swim in LA?’

  He nodded. ‘Every day. Have done for years.’

  She glanced down again warily. ‘Well, I’ll never go deeper than my knees. I’ve had a recurring nightmare about sharks for years. I heard that if you punch a shark on the nose it stuns it, and it goes away. And they can come quite close to shore. That’s why I’d never wade out to chest height—too dangerous.’

  He loved this. He loved that when he stripped back all the parts Portia Marlowe just made him laugh. She made him comfortable. She was fun to be around.

  It didn’t help that he also loved the way she screwed up her nose and squinted at him in the sun. He loved the way she wasn’t obsessed about her weight.

  ‘Would you feel safer if I held you? I thought you wanted to wash the cobwebs out of your hair?’

  Her eyes opened wide. ‘Oh, yes. That’s right. I did.’ She pulled a little closer to him as she looked at the clear sea surrounding them.

  ‘Okay, you can take a few more steps, then that’s it. You’ve got to stop.’

  ‘Okay, then.’ He couldn’t stop smiling as he strode up to his waist. ‘How about I just lean you back a little?’