For a second he paused, then he shook his head and disappeared down the stairs.
She wanted to slide right down the wall onto the floor. But she couldn’t. She had to see this through. She had to fight for what she wanted and who she believed in. Her heart was crumpling in her chest. The guy she’d lain next to only the day before. The guy who could make her skin tingle just by looking at her. The man she’d actually dared to picture a future with. The man she loved with her whole heart and she hadn’t even had the chance to tell him.
It couldn’t end like this. It just couldn’t.
She pushed herself back from the wall and started down the corridor. There was a noise outside and every part of her body clenched.
No. Her feet moved faster, down the stairs and across the hallway to the main door, which was still lying wide open.
She reached the door just in time to see the taxi pull out of the driveway onto the road back to the village. He’d jumped in the taxi she’d just left. She started to run, shouting at the taxi to stop. But either the driver didn’t see her, or Javier told him to ignore her.
One glance at her watch told her everything she needed to know. The next ferry left in ten minutes. The taxi would make it there just in time.
She—would not.
Her legs crumpled beneath her and she started to sob.
The job she used to love had just snatched away the life she was about to lead.
And she had no idea how to put it right.
CHAPTER NINE
NOTHING ABOUT THIS felt right. Everything about this felt wrong.
From the second he’d hit the mainland on his way to Naples airport his phone had pinged non-stop. His friends, relatives, newspaper reporters, showbiz contacts, acting contemporaries and...his agent.
He only replied to one message from Aldo’s sister. His reply was simple.
On my way.
He had the luxury of being rushed through security and boarding the private jet he’d hired in under an hour.
But from the second the plane took off he had only one thing on his mind.
Portia.
When he’d seen the newspaper he’d been shocked. The pictures were intrusive. But they also made him feel like a fool. Over the last few years he’d got used to people snapping photos wherever he went. It seemed that every person in the world these days had a phone in their hand.
But L’Isola dei Fiori had felt different. He’d been more relaxed, let his guard down, and in doing so he’d inadvertently exposed Portia to something she might not have wanted to make front-page news with.
Or so he’d thought.
When one of the shopkeepers had gestured him in to look at his computer and watch the video clip of Portia’s producer he’d felt physically sick. But more than that he’d felt betrayed.
He’d always been wary of reporters but he’d never contemplated the fact their relationship was contrived or false. It had never entered his head—the connection had just seemed so real. He felt like such a fool. She’d hardly mentioned work at all—and when she had she’d been a little evasive. Now he knew why. He’d trusted her with a secret that had kept him awake at night for the last few months and she’d revealed it to the world.
He’d known not to trust reporters. He’d known to keep them always at arm’s length. To control how he appeared, and what he revealed.
But around Portia? His walls had been chipped away, until they’d finally tumbled down.
He’d trusted her. Trust wasn’t something that came easily to Javier. And she’d betrayed him—just when he’d thought about taking their relationship to the next level.
He’d finally come to terms with how to move forward. And it had felt good. It had felt as if he could actually do something that might make a difference.
And it was freeing. Because he’d been able to recognise how he actually felt about Portia.
He loved her. Her English accent. Her dark brown eyes. The way she said his name. The way her clothes hugged her curves, and the way her smile could reach from ear to ear.
He was just glad he hadn’t been fool enough to tell her.
That would have been an even bigger disaster than the one he faced now.
He absolutely didn’t care what the newspapers and social media said about him.
What he cared about was the impact on Aldo’s family. That was his priority. They were the people he had to sit down with, look in the eye and tell the truth to.
This was never the way he’d wanted this to happen.
He was trying to ignore the fact his heart felt as if it had been speared clean from his chest. He was trying to ignore the fact that he still couldn’t really believe what had gone around about him.
His phone beeped. His agent and publicist were having a meltdown.
It seemed now that Portia’s temporary replacement on Entertainment Buzz TV was being very uncomplimentary about her. Some of his fellow celebs were commenting on what a good match Javier and Portia were, and how they looked so happy together.
He was getting interview requests by the second.
His phone beeped again. This time it was the head of the film company for the action movie he was due to start promoting. The message was short and to the point.
Good work.
The irony made him shake his head. David McCurrie always said that all publicity was good publicity. Javier hitting the headlines a few weeks before the film premiere would be right up his street.
His heart weighed heavily in his chest. The betrayal was the hardest sting. He’d let Portia get under his guard. He’d believed what she’d said.
He closed his eyes for a second and leaned back against the leather seat. Yesterday he’d been planning out his whole life in his head. A whole life that included Portia.
Today, he just felt empty. Empty, sad and betrayed.
The more he thought about those photos, the more confused he felt. There had been no one on the beach. He had no idea how someone had got the photo on the balcony in Naples. How sensible had it really been to walk out on a balcony overlooking the Bay of Naples? Was there really no privacy anywhere in the world?
But the thing that annoyed him most of all was still the news about Aldo’s phone call. The only person he’d ever told about that was Portia. She was the only person that knew Aldo had told him he really needed to talk. Guilt washed over him again.
And now that was front-page news.
Was he really such a poor judge of character? Every cell in his body told him Portia would never do something like that. But it was front-page news. Along with the fact that she’d been given a deadline to find a story.
It didn’t matter how he looked at it—in every version of this story, Javier Russo had been played.
CHAPTER TEN
GETTING A FLIGHT home from Italy was tougher than she’d thought. As soon as she’d hit the mainland her phone had pinged non-stop.
It was her sisters. It seemed it didn’t matter where they were in the world—they’d seen the headlines too.
Naples airport was busy. And Portia was now in the unfortunate position of being recognised. Thank goodness her Italian was awful. She had no idea what the few reporters that were there were saying to her, and the girl at the check-in desk gave her a gracious nod, upgraded her and swept her up to the private lounge.
Portia was embarrassed. ‘I’m not really famous,’ she muttered.
The girl turned towards her—her English impeccable. ‘No, but you’re being harassed by the press and I won’t leave you with those vultures.’
Those few words had been enough to let the tears that were brimming beneath the surface come flooding out. She’d been ushered into the lounge, then onto the plane. Eighteen hours later, after a touchdown in Munich, she fina
lly arrived in Los Angeles.
She hadn’t slept. Once she’d picked herself up from the driveway of Villa Rosa she’d contemplated opening a bottle of wine and losing herself in it.
Instead, a fire had burned inside her and she’d started to plot.
She’d emailed her boss. It had taken less than a minute to send her ‘I quit’ email. The press of a button had never felt so good.
LAX was notorious for paparazzi—but Portia had insider information. She knew a way to duck out avoiding most of the places the press would be waiting. At least her job had been good for something.
Her empty apartment had a stillness about it she wasn’t ready for. She dumped her bag at the door and crossed the floor of her lounge. Her footsteps echoed on the wooden floor. A sob caught in her throat. She looked around.
She’d always loved this place. Loved being in the heart of Hollywood and only a short walk from Griffith Park. But all of a sudden it felt like a million miles from everyone and everything she loved.
Most of her friends were connected with work.
Her family seemed like a lifetime away.
She’d quit her job. She probably had enough savings to pay the next four or five months’ rent and then she’d be out.
Her phone beeped again and she lifted it up. Immi.
Portia sagged down onto the sofa. She was sure something was going on with her sister—the last thing Immi needed was to listen to Portia’s problems. But it was almost as if her sister had a sixth sense. As soon as the pictures had hit the press she’d kept texting, asking Portia to get in touch.
And it wasn’t high-five texts like those she’d got from some Hollywood friends. Immi wasn’t dazzled by the thought of her sister dating a film star.
Portia took a deep breath and pressed ‘Call’.
Immi answered instantly. ‘Tell me you’re okay.’
It didn’t matter that Immi sounded anxious; for Portia the familiarity of her voice was like a snuggly blanket. Comfort. That was what she needed right now.
‘Tell me you’re okay,’ she replied quickly. ‘Is something going on? I feel as if there’s something you aren’t telling me.’
There was a long sigh at the end of the phone. ‘Deflection, deflection, deflection, Portia. And it isn’t going to work. To answer your questions, I’m fine. We can talk about me later. Just know that I have everything under control. Now, tell me what’s really going on.’
A tear snaked down Portia’s cheek. She was so used to being the big sister. She was so used to being the one that had stuck plasters on her sisters’ knees and stopped their squabbles.
‘Portia? Are you crying? Talk to me. Tell me about Javier Russo. I don’t need to ask what you’ve been doing because I’ve seen it. But I want to know how you are. I want to know what’s happened.’
Portia licked her dry lips. Her case was still bulging by the door. She had half a mind to pick it straight back up and find another flight to somewhere else in the world.
Immi kept talking. ‘I know he was in Italy this morning. I know he visited the family of the friend people are talking about. And if I believe what I hear on the news, he’s currently on his way back to LA.’
Portia’s heart nearly stopped. Javier was coming back here? Why? What for?
‘Portia. Talk to me now. If you don’t start talking I’m going to climb on a plane and shake you until you do.’
The words stuck part way in her throat. ‘I... I don’t know what to say...’
It was clear Immi was getting exasperated. ‘Well, say something!’
The tears just started to flow. ‘I’ve made such a mess of things. I’ve quit my job—’
‘What?’
‘And Javier thinks I’ve betrayed him. He thinks I lied to him. He thinks I broke the story about what happened with his friend. I would never do that. Never.’
‘Well, of course you wouldn’t. And why on earth would he think that?’
Portia sniffed. ‘Because he hadn’t told anyone else. Just me. Next thing it was plastered all over the news. He thinks it was me.’
She could hear the change in Immi’s voice. ‘What kind of a man is this Javier Russo? Doesn’t he know you at all?’
Portia’s voice broke. ‘But I hadn’t told him. I hadn’t told him that my boss had given me an ultimatum to find a story.’
Immi’s voice softened. ‘Why not?’
‘Because I didn’t want him to think badly of me. He hated the press. They harassed his mother when he was a young boy. He didn’t trust anyone in the press.’
‘But he must have trusted you. I’m assuming from the way you were wrapped around him you got up close and personal?’ Portia closed her eyes. She could picture Immi right now with her eyebrows arched as she asked the question.
She sagged a little further on the sofa. ‘Yes.’
‘And now—you’ve fought?’
‘Yes.’ It was all she could get out.
‘Tell me what you think of him. Tell me what you really think of Javier Russo. And no holding back. Is this man really worth your tears? He’s a film star, after all—aren’t they all just smoke and mirrors?’
Portia blinked back her tears. It was a reasonable question. She’d moaned often enough to her sisters about the lies and betrayals in Hollywood.
She squeezed her eyes shut again and took a deep breath. ‘I know that the man I met on L’Isola dei Fiori has the biggest heart on the planet. He’s nothing like the arrogant man I’ve met on the red carpet. Most people watch Javier on a movie screen and just see the sexy Italian star with a twinkle in his eye. There’s so much more to him than that. He’s caring. He’s hard-working. He wants to do his absolute best. I was lucky to spend time with him. I was lucky to connect with him in a way I’ve never connected with anyone before. He made me feel confident. He made me feel sure. He made me want to do better in this life.’ She couldn’t believe she’d actually just said all that out loud.
‘Oh, no.’
‘What do you mean—oh, no?’
Immi spoke in a voice that sounded so much older than her years. ‘I mean, oh, no. You’ve fallen for him. You’re in love. You never speak like this about anyone. Never. He’s broken your heart—hasn’t he? Right, that’s it. Get me an address. Javier Russo is going to meet the Marlowe sisters in a way he could never even imagine.’
Portia choked out a laugh. She could only imagine her sisters stampeding Javier and letting him witness the full extent of the Marlowe sisters’ ire.
She shook her head. ‘Stop it, Immi. You can’t do that. I don’t know his address.’ Those words made her heart squeeze. She hadn’t asked Javier for his address. They hadn’t got around to it.
‘Why?’ asked Immi, her voice wavering slightly. ‘You’d do the same for me.’ Her voice softened. ‘What else are sisters for?’
Portia smiled. She wiped away her tears. ‘Thank you, honey. It’s good to talk. I need to take some time to decide what to do next.’
Immi was quiet for a second. ‘Okay. You’ll call me if you need me?’
‘Only if you call me if you need me.’ Immi gave a little sigh. ‘Let’s talk in a few days.’
‘Done.’
Portia rang off, pushed herself off the sofa and walked over to the window. Hollywood wasn’t for her any more. Not like this.
But there was some place she still wanted to go.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HIS PHONE STARTED buzzing as soon as he landed. Text after text after text.
His visit with Aldo’s parents and sister had been short and sweet. Aldo’s mother and father were upset by the press intrusion but the local polizia had moved them on. They’d known Aldo’s last call had been to Javier. They’d known Javier hadn’t got it. They hadn’t known about the message.
&
nbsp; But they’d handled it well. They didn’t blame Javier. They knew he’d been filming in the middle of nowhere and working long hours. They’d been heartened by the news of his plans for the charity and the helpline. Their reaction had given him new vigour.
The paparazzi were waiting at the airport. Swarming around him. A private security firm kept them at a distance as their cameras snapped and their shouted questions all just merged into noise.
A car was waiting for him. He climbed into the back and leaned back against the cool leather seats. He was tired. He hadn’t slept at all.
He ignored the texts and the messages on his phone, instead pulling up his browser, his fingers poised over the keys. He knew better than to do this. He did. But his fingers worked automatically.
The first hit surprised him.
Holly Payne lands Entertainment Buzz TV’s top job after Portia Marlowe quits.
It was only a few hours old.
He straightened up in the seat. Why would Portia quit?
The horrible nagging feeling that had been in his stomach since he’d left Villa Rosa intensified.
His mind started to swirl. Portia had quit. That wasn’t the sign of someone chasing a story. That wasn’t the actions of a woman that was trying to entice someone into revealing details of their life.
He groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. It didn’t matter that the car was air-conditioned, sweat started to break out on his skin.
He searched on his phone. There. A picture of the journalist that had broken the story. An Italian journalist. His mouth was dry. He recognised the guy.
The man from the next balcony in the hotel in Naples.
He’d heard every word.
Every part of Javier’s body cringed. It was obviously intentional. The man had deliberately booked into the next suite to his. Hoping to find a story. And he’d got it.
He could feel his heart thud against his chest. Everything he’d hoped. All the plans he’d had in his head. Plans for him and Portia.
The Mysterious Italian Houseguest Page 15