Runaway Love

by Nicole W. Lee

  Sort of.

  Of course, her friends will have a field day when they learn about him. They’ll add their own details to the story to make it a spicy tale worth passing on. With each telling, the story will escalate beyond all recognition. Lorenzo’s farm will become a searingly hot love nest. She wouldn’t be surprised to discover the story ending up in “Celebs” magazine.

  That's okay too.

  Another little scandal to feed dinner parties and the wider social scene. She could hear the buzz now. “Have you heard about that Genie Hamilton - you know, that heiress with all that money?”

  She will have to put up with silences when she walks into a room; the sidelong looks; the sniggers.

  “I can deal with all that,” she said. “Isn't that what friends are for?”

  Friends.

  She wondered if that's what they really were.

  Genie doubted at times. She was “The Heiress with the Mostess” after all, and that alone made her worth knowing. Who could tell what the benefits would be having such a friend? Even if the sole perk was a free pass to parties, and other events where admission would be otherwise impossible, that would be enough.

  In her heart of hearts, Genie knew this already. However, she had lived with it. What other way could there be, given her circumstances? As long as she knew the score, she had been able to let go and enjoy herself - and their company.

  How different it was here in San Rafaele. True, she was seen as an extension of Lorenzo, but as far as she could tell, San Rafaelians simply accepted her as she was.

  She looked around. The bright, clean ski slopes, cluttered with bodies in motion; the air filled with the babble and laughter of people. The glassy ice in the rink where skaters floated here and there, holding onto each other, or skating alone to the rhythm of the music. Logic told her that what she saw wasn't the full picture of life in San Rafaele. As with all other communities, it must have its dark side. But now, the overwhelming image was one of happiness and fun.

  “Why am I running away from all this?”

  Could she even feel comfortable again walking the streets of London, surrounded by people crushing...pushing...rushing like a raging river? Images of her old haunts in the city, now, overwhelmed her - smothering her as efficiently as entombment by avalanche.

  As the comparisons swished back and forth through Genie's mind, she felt the emptiness of the life she had led. Even her photography had not shielded her. After all, most of her assignments were recording the eternal round of useless parties and events for the rich and famous

  Her kind.

  Food for the Glossies.

  Insular.

  No one really cared - unless they featured in the photographs. Their images served as evidence of the circles in which they moved and the 'right people' with whom they were seen.

  She had been too close to this lifestyle to see it for what it was. Now, on the point of escaping from her snow-bound experience, the nature of her former life was thrown into sharp relief. By contrast, here she'd experienced the open friendliness of the San Rafaelians. Here, she'd been living the relatively simple life surrounded by magnificent natural beauty. It invigorated her. Made her feel alive.

  Made her feel...at home.

  Home.

  What a thought.

  Home - here in San Rafaele.

  “I could live here.”

  She wrinkled her forehead and took another scan of the scene before her. “I really could live here,” she said. “This is where I can just be me - Genie Hamilton.”

  She twisted in her seat and stared up at Lorenzo's house standing proudly on the edge of the steep escarpment. A dark-blue ache swelled inside her, sweeping up from the pit of her stomach and filling her chest. Her breathing became shallow and fast.

  That could have been home.

  Genie quickly dropped her gaze to her untouched cappuccino. But, the image of Lorenzo's house remained. She began to explore her memories. She saw Lorenzo working through his regular chores and Domino lumbering around doing his own thing.

  She saw herself working beside Lorenzo.

  She saw his dark eyes glinting in the sun, his laughter, felt his kiss...

  Tears welled up. She had a hole in her heart where Lorenzo should be. Her fault. She'd blown it. She could have stayed. He would have been okay with it.

  Maybe more than okay.

  She was sure.

  But, what about Anna? Would Lorenzo have accepted her as Genie Hamilton, or just as a bodily replacement for the ghost of Anna Calderone?

  And his painting - was that a totally lost cause to Anna's memory?

  Did he know about the "Heiress with the Mostess' anyway?

  A thump in her chest jolted a startling epiphany into life.

  “I don't care.”

  She lingered on those words to see how she really felt about them. They felt good.

  “I don't care,” she repeated to confirm the reality.

  It really was real.

  “None of that stuff matters. It's Lorenzo. He's the only thing that matters.”

  Genie's mind raced ahead of the pace of her heartbeat.

  “He can have Anna's memory. He doesn't have to paint if he doesn't want to. And, if he knows about me, so what?”

  “I don't care.”

  Then, something else mushroomed from within her that gave her heart a thorough workout.

  “I think I love that man”

  She paused, testing her words one by one in her thoughts. Every one of them filled her with a mixture of fear and excitement. She could trust herself to love and be loved. There were no conditions - just stepping out and venturing into unknown territory of real love.

  “This is real. Really real,” she said. “I do love that man - that Lorenzo Calderone. Really.”

  Saying it felt even better that time.

  She wanted to shout it out so everybody in the world knew - well, everybody in San Rafaele, anyway. But, the music and the babble of voices would probably prevent the sound of her confession from leaping past the edge of her table.

  For a few moments, she basked in this realization. It was a good feeling. Her paranoia about men seems to have melted away.

  “I'm in love.” She stared at her cappuccino for a few seconds and then drank it in celebration. Wiping away her frothy moustache, she repeated, for effect, “I am in love.”

  Then reality crept back in.

  “Am I crazy, or what? Did I have to run away from him to find out...to know?”

  True, there were moments when she felt a connection. But most often, she pushed such thoughts aside. Lorenzo is sure to have picked up those signals. The avalanche episode made her intention abundantly clear.

  The darkness, spawned by the fact that once again she'd run away, enveloped her. Was that all she knew how to deal with romantic situations? Did they frighten her so much? Her breathing became laboured as she felt the lost hope pressing down on her chest. Closing her eyes, she could easily imagine that she was still buried under an avalanche.

  She looked up at Lorenzo's house, willing him to come and rescue her once again.

  No chance. He expected her to be half way to Switzerland by now. No way was he about come searching for her and dig her out in the land of the cuckoo clock.

  Not even Domino could find her there.

  “I've really messed up this time - big time.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “I don't want to run anymore.”

  Genie closed her eyes and inclined her head in despair. And yet, what else could she do? She'd left it too late.

  What if she went back and pretended she’d forgotten something.

  No. Too obvious.

  Opening her eyes, she addressed her empty cup. “I could ask if there's a position open for a milkmaid.”

  Oh sure. That'll do the trick.

  “Why don't I just go back? If he really wants me to stay, I'll know.”

  She brushed away a nudge on her knee.

/>   What if he doesn't?

  Then what? Refuse to leave until he comes to his senses?

  A second, more determined nudge, accompanied by a familiar snuffle, wrenched her out of her reverie and returned her to the reality of the Rink Cafe.

  “Domino,” she said, slipping out of the chair, and crouching down to hug him. “What are you doing here?” She released her grip and rubbed behind his ear. “Did you follow me? Lorenzo'll be angry.”

  Genie was sure a light bulb suddenly manifested itself above her head. In fact, she could swear that it bounced off the centre of her skull.

  Of course. This was an opportunity.

  No. More than that. It was a sign.

  “Domino, you naughty boy. Now I'm going to have to take you all the way home again.”

  “That sounds like a good idea.”

  Genie jerked her head round to seek out the owner of the voice. It belonged to a familiar silhouette standing over her.

  “Lorenzo,” she breathed. “How did you..?”

  “Bernardo!” they said in unison and laughed.

  Genie stood up. “Whatever did he tell you?”

  “He said I'd be a fool if I let you get away from me.”

  “What do you say?” Genie held her breath.

  “I said...I say - I'd be a fool if I let you get away from me.”

  Genie clasped at her throat.

  “So, on his advice - command, really,” he continued, “I thought I'd ask if it's really, assolutomente, without a shadow of a doubt, necessary for you to go back to England today?”

  Genie shook her head. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

  “Or tomorrow?” He stepped closer.

  She shook her head.

  “Or any time?” Another step closer.

  Genie shook her head.

  He flicked his eyebrows. “That's settled then.”

  “Assolutamente. Without a shadow of a doubt,” Genie said.

  A Sneak Peek from Nicole W. Lee’s next novel.

  For more information: http://www.writingwithnicole.com

  Kate & the Scriptwriter

  By

  Nicole W. Lee

  Chapter One

  Sunday

  "Hey!" Kate Lanagan shouted as a steel rod masquerading as a male arm brushed hers aside. She missed the handle of her powder blue suitcase and was forced to watch it trundle off on another circuit of Malta International Airport's Baggage Reclaim carousel.

  The meddlesome arm grabbed hold of its travel bag. However, since it had the dimensions of King Tot’s sarcophagus - and, no doubt the weight - the fierce drag of the carousel just didn't want to let it go.

  Kate turned to throw the owner of the offending arm her best serves-you-right glower. But it missed its mark. The male upper chest it hit was not impressed. Sweeping her gaze upwards, she found the face that belonged to the arm some six feet something from the floor.

  Instantly, her revenge tactic burned up in the fire that ignited in her cheeks, only to be partially brought under control by cooler air filling her gaping mouth.

  She took a deep breath and managed to re-connect her jaw.

  “It's you,” she said.

  “Yep,” he said, still concentrating on trying to free his bag. “It's me all right.”

  “I saw you...I mean...On the plane...You were...I was--”

  “On the way back from the can.” He favoured her with a glance and a brief humourless smile before returning to the battle with his bag.

  He had been seated two rows back from hers. And when Kate first saw him, he was working on a sheaf of papers, occasionally scotching out some words and adding others.

  She berated herself for ogling, but, something about this man grabbed her gaze and demanded that it linger.

  She obeyed - soaking up his sun-bronzed, rugged features, giving him the appearance of being a man's man. But it was more than that. Although he was simply sitting in his seat reading and scribbling on papers, he seemed to carry an air of being totally self-controlled - and so deliciously dangerous. His casually clothed body - bestowed his designer attire with elegance beyond the couturier's wildest hopes. Indeed, his demeanour was the sum total of a life, she surmised, lived according to his own rules.

  She almost reeled back when he glanced up at her for a millisecond.

  After a brief pause, he looked up again and peered at her with an intensity that drove the drone of the aircraft engines and the subdued chatter of her fellow passengers into auditory shutdown.

  He scanned her from head to toe with an expression that was both curious and openly seductive. Finally, his gaze made contact, penetrating Kate with such intensity that it felt as though he was absorbing her thoughts, her desires - her entire life. The connection was so tangible, that she felt an electric shock spike in the pit of her stomach.

  The first stages of a heady disconnection from reality filled her with an irrational desire to speak to him. Then, a man squeezing past her in the narrow gangway jolted her back to the real world and, together with the aircraft environmental sounds erupting to full volume, she experienced a strong desire to escape.

  Kate made two long strides forward and, just before she dived into her seat, she stole a quick second glance.

  He laughed.

  She gulped a couple of deep breaths and tried to make sense of the gamut of befuddling emotions wrestling for supremacy in her mind.

  What was that?

  That expression. Those hooded eyes. He'd made love to her from four rows away.

  The deep breaths didn't help.

  She took two more.

  “Are you all right?” her neighbour asked. An elderly Gentleman, he had engaged her in conversation from time to time between nodding off. Kate wasn't sure if the nodding off was because she bored him, or simply because of his age. To salve her ego, she decided the latter.

  “I'm fine, thank you,” she said. “Just a bit breathless, that's all.”

  Breathless was the word. Why?

  That final laugh, she decided.

  Typical macho male. Me Tarzan, you Jane.

  Let's face it, he was spicy. On a scale of 1 to 10, she gave him an easy 9. After all, a gasp or two certainly warranted a 9.

  She frowned. She'd given 9's before and still managed to control her breathing. What was it about this Number 9? Perhaps it's euphoria - the excitement of the trip.

  Yes. That’s it. Euphoria.

  After all, not every novelist gets a chance to see her book being made into a movie.

  “I really am fine,” she repeated to her neighbour's concerned expression.

  He jerked his head down once, smiled, and nodded off.

  Kate rested her head back and closed her eyes to indulge in her usual habit of making up stories about people she observed that interested her. Her new Number 9 just had to be her next case. She prepared herself.

  His image arrived with such startling clarity that a thump in her chest forced a soft, spontaneous, “Oh!” to escape from her mouth.

  “Oh dear me,” said her next door neighbour. “You seem to be--”

  “I'm fine,” Kate said. “No need to worry.” She returned to creating her new story.

  It wasn't easy. Number 9s face - his presence - commanded her. It was...he was...magnetic. She shuffled in her seat, her breathing short and swift. How can this be? Was he a hypnotist, or something?

  So, who was he, this man who'd sent her senses reeling?

  In her mind's eye, she saw him singling out every nook, cranny, hand-hold and piton on the north face of Mount Everest in the dead of winter. Or, perhaps questing for long-buried priceless artefacts against all odds in the most extreme places, dodging poison darts and out-running head-hunters to bring the treasure home.

  Her images were so vivid, she almost felt like cheering at his success.

  Then 'the image' turned to face her in her mind and, once again, he explored her with what was, in retrospect, a seductive survey.

  Her cheeks heate
d up again.

  Deep breaths.

  Grow up Kate. You're not an impressionable schoolgirl, ready to swoon at the sight of a handsome hunk.

  Philip had been the exception, of course.

  She hadn't exactly swooned. It was more like a warm glow inside.

  But it was special, eh, Philip? She mentally messaged.

  An image of the man two rows behind elbowed his way in. Kate felt tightness in her chest and turned to look out of the window.

  Why am I feeling guilty? She turned to concentrate on the seat in front. You know I’ll always be true to you. Nothing will change that. I’ll never betray us. You’re safely locked up in my heart.

  Tell you what, though, I think I’ll make that man a character in my next novel.

  You wouldn't mind that, Philip, would you?

  So she kept the face in front of her thoughts for the rest of the flight - just so she wouldn't forget the details. She promised to note them down later.

  The deep breaths were beginning to help.