by Nina Milne
‘Luca, this is my mum, Karen. Mum, this is Luca.’
He managed to keep the smile in place and although he saw the swiftly veiled venom in the older woman’s eyes, to her credit her return smile was faultless, before she turned to Emily. ‘Hello, Emily. It is good to see you again.’
‘And you, Mrs Casseveti. Especially at such a happy occasion.’
‘Yes.’ The word was said with emphasis, yet the warmth felt cloying in its falsity and he knew that if these were medieval times he would suspect a poisoned chalice at the table.
With that Ava managed to launch the conversation into fashion and Luca swiftly turned to Liam and asked about business, the next ten minutes an orchestration in small talk that successfully minimised contact between Karen and Luca whilst giving the interested guests a show of unity. A necessity to show the world that Dolci was still viable. The knowledge enabled him to play along until finally the strains of the orchestra announced the first dance. Gave them all an out. He turned to Ava. ‘Perhaps if you and Liam and Emily and I head to the dance floor together for the first dance it would be a further demonstration of family unity.’ And if the word ‘family’ held more than a tint of bitterness he didn’t care. Took satisfaction from Karen’s barely perceptible wince.
A hesitation and then Ava nodded. ‘Good idea,’ she said, and the four of them headed to the dance floor as Karen’s attention was claimed by another guest.
‘I hope this is OK,’ he said to Emily.
‘Of course. I know how important it is to show that you and Ava are working together and I know people are watching.’
‘Yes. Absolutely.’ Problem was that wasn’t actually why he’d suggested it—he’d wanted to dance with Emily. Wanted to hold her in his arms, wanted to continue their conversation, find out more about her. The depth of the desire triggered a sense of alarm, as he realised just how much this woman had hit him bang between the eyes. This was not a good idea on many levels. Emily was Ava’s best friend; every word he said to her would be filtered back, possibly analysed and discussed. The idea brought his eyebrows together in a frown. Equally he had little doubt that Ava would be super protective of her friend, which would complicate an already complicated situation.
Chill, Luca. He wasn’t planning on proposing to Emily—one dance could do no harm. ‘So I guess we’d better get on there.’
Doubt widened her dark brown eyes for an instant, almost as if it was only now the real dangers had occurred to her. Before either of them could change their mind he stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.
He held in a gasp, heard Emily’s intake of breath and tried to regulate his own breathing. The scent of her shampoo tickled his nose, the span of his hand on her waist, seemed to suck the air from his lungs. The soft silky sheen of her dress, her sheer closeness and warmth played mayhem with his senses as the haunting notes of the melody lingered in the air.
And she felt it too, he knew it, could see it as she lifted her gaze to his, surprise in the depths of her deep brown eyes, her lips rounded in a small circle as she moved a step closer, her body swaying in a natural rhythm with his. Now surprise morphed to awareness and he could see a desire that matched his own. And now his entire focus was on Emily, the two of them lost in the moment, so attuned that they barely even needed the music.
As the dance continued she moved even nearer, her body now, oh, so close, her arms looped round his neck and she looked up at him, lips parted, and he knew he wanted to kiss her, knew she wanted it too and his head spun; every instinct urged him to lower his head and meet her lips. Until a small alarm of self-preservation pealed, told him that if he kissed this woman he would step over the edge of an abyss.
Break this spell, whatever it is.
But how? Somehow he had to inject some form of normalcy, to ward off this insidious desire. ‘So you’re a photographer?’ It was all he could think of to say and his tongue twisted around the words, but he could see the relief on her face that he’d instigated any form of conversation. Even as he could see and empathise with her struggle to formulate an answer, and wondered if, like himself, Emily felt as though she were emerging from a fog of desire.
‘Yes.’ A pause as she straightened her spine and gave her head a small shake as if to clear her brain. ‘Yes. I am. Ready and available.’ Now her eyes closed momentarily and she gave a small groan. ‘For work, I mean. Obviously. What else could I mean? Don’t answer that.’ Her inhalation was audible as she moved a little further from him within the movement of the dance. ‘I meant I took a...a sabbatical for a year and a half but now I’m looking for work. Really looking. My plan tonight is to network.’
Luca heard the hesitation, the small catch in her throat when she mentioned a sabbatical, wondered what had made her step away from a successful career path. If she had been involved in Ava’s shoots, he had little doubt her credentials would be A grade. His half-sister had graced the cover of the world’s top magazines as well as modelled for exclusive brands. Yet Emily had taken time out, and now as she surveyed the crowd of guests he sensed her anxiety was real. ‘With the fray?’ he asked.
‘Exactly.’
‘Surely you could contact all your old clients.’
‘Yes. But unfortunately it’s not that easy.’ Her voice was clipped now, and he sensed a simmer of frustration.
‘Why not?’ It was true that he wasn’t supposed to be curious but, hell, curiosity had at least down-notched the attraction factor. Plus he wanted to know what had brought that frown to her brow.
‘I am a bit persona non grata in the industry at present.’
As she spoke the music came to an end and Luca guided her off the dance floor as a matter of priority, before he succumbed to the temptation of keeping her in his arms for the next dance. Knew that now was the perfect moment to separate, to say, Thank you for the dance. I’ll let you go and network. Good luck.
But his brain and his voice had some sort of mix-up and instead he found himself saying, ‘Why is that? Why don’t we go and sit down and you can tell me? Then you can go and network.’ Told himself there was no harm to it. In two days he would be on a plane home. Back to Italy. So surely it didn’t matter if they helped each other get through a difficult evening. He gestured to a small table partly shielded by a pillar and a luscious large-leaved plant. ‘Shall we?’
* * *
It was a good question. For the second time Emily hesitated—was this a good idea? Should they go and sit together in a secluded corner? After a dance that had nearly caused her to spontaneously combust. Yes, yelled her hormones. But it wasn’t only her hormones. It was so long since she had felt attractive, that someone was genuinely interested in her, and the knowledge fizzed adrenalin through her body. Howard had been the master of the understated barb, had an uncanny ability to undermine her confidence, and she’d been on tenterhooks the entire time she was with him. Had despised herself for craving his approval but had found herself desperately seeking it nonetheless.
Tonight for the first time since she had fallen pregnant, lost her baby, gone through the pain of discovering Howard’s infidelity and the strain and misery of the divorce, for the first time in month upon month she felt a little lighter.
So perhaps in the here and now she should take a few moments of light with this drop-dead gorgeous stranger. Perhaps she could harness the confidence boost into networking successfully. Perhaps she would even feel better if she explained the situation to someone not involved, someone she wouldn’t see again after tonight.
‘After you,’ she said now and followed him towards the table, allowed her eyes to linger on the breadth of his back, the width of his shoulders, the sheer compact muscular strength of him impossible to ignore.
Once seated she sipped from the glass of champagne he’d taken from a passing waiter.
‘So,’ he said. ‘Tell me what the problem is?’
Emily co
nsidered. No way was she telling Luca the whole story. Her grief, the pain, the misery and humiliation were still too raw to share with anyone, let alone a complete stranger who had no reason to give a damn.
‘The problem is I married a man who has a huge amount of clout in the magazine and entertainment industry. Our divorce was a bit acrimonious and as a result people are choosing not to employ me, or are ignoring my emails.’
‘Who is your ex?’
‘Howard McAllister.’
Luca raised his eyebrows. ‘I have heard of him. He did a phenomenally successful TV series. My sister loved it.’
‘That’s him. He has also won numerous photography awards, is in talks with Hollywood about a film and is feted and adored by all and sundry. Hence I am not flavour of the month.’
His frown held a fierceness. ‘That does not seem fair. Could you not call people out on this?’
‘There is no point. No one has come straight out and said that’s why there is no available work for me. They have other plausible reasons: I’ve been off the scene for too long, my skills aren’t quite the fit they need for a particular project, blah blah blah.’
‘Could your parents help? You said they are famous—are they part of the fashion industry?’
‘I’d rather not get a job just because they demand it for me.’ That was matter of principle. All her life she’d loathed being courted or feted simply because of her parents’ fame and status—no way would she use that. Emily had vowed from a young age that she would stand on her own two feet, come what may. At some point she had realised that she wasn’t necessary to her parents, that they didn’t love her in the same way other parents loved their children.
They didn’t abuse or dislike her, indeed they were quite fond of her, but both would have been perfectly happy if she had never been born, a reminder of their disastrous brief romance. Marigold Turner didn’t have a maternal bone in her body; her primary concern was the pursuit of love and keeping her looks. Her father’s priority was his second family, the five children he lived with, the product of a successful union.
So Emily had decided to accept her place in the pecking order, but had also vowed to make her own way in life, find her own niche, without using her parents’ fame or wealth. ‘Using them seems just as wrong as people not giving me a job because I’m Howard’s ex-wife.’
‘That is not so. Are you a good photographer? I am assuming you are, given you worked with Ava on a number of shoots.’
Emily opened her mouth to assert that she was good, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead an image of Howard flitted across her mind; his voice rang in her head, belittling her portfolio as ‘good if you can count that sort of thing as real photography’. Gritting her teeth, she pushed the memory away. Her photography, her career, was one thing she did have, the one area of her life where she could hold her own and her head high. She might never reach the pinnacle of her profession, or transition to serious photography, never have Howard’s stature, but, ‘I’m good. I worked on shoots for Theme, Star’s Market and Genie, all top fashion magazines.’
‘Then use what influence you have, use your parents. If you are being discriminated against you should use every weapon you have. All you are doing is fighting fire with fire.’
‘Perhaps. But all my life I have been known as the daughter of Marigold Turner and Rajiv Khatri. I will not use my name or their status—I want to stand on my own two feet.’
His whole body stilled. ‘Your father is Rajiv Khatri, the Bollywood actor?’ An expression she couldn’t interpret flitted over his face and she frowned. Usually people were more interested in the fact she was Marigold Turner’s daughter.
‘Yes. He’s a superstar in India, though not that many European people have heard of him.’ She tilted her head to one side. ‘Obviously you have?’
‘Yes.’
She waited but that appeared to be it. Though she sensed he wasn’t being rude, just distracted.
‘How? Have you seen one of his films?’
‘No.’ As if realising how abrupt he’d been he shrugged. ‘Sorry. It is not a very interesting story. As you may know, I founded a chocolate company, Palazzi di Cioccolato. A year ago I found a new source for cocoa beans. On the Indian island of Jalpura.’
Now she understood. Jalpura hosted a biannual film festival that showcased both Indian and European films. ‘My father is pretty popular on Jalpura.’
‘Yes.’ But somehow she suspected there was more to it than that. ‘Has he ever attended the festival?’
‘Once, I believe, a few years ago.’ She’d read an article about his trip—‘Rajiv Khatri and his family attended the festival...’ The words had held a barb—he hadn’t even asked her, had taken his second wife and their five children. She knew she was being oversensitive—those children lived with him; she had been in her mid-twenties; he would have taken her if she’d asked—but for some reason it still stung. The knowledge she wasn’t really family. ‘The island looks beautiful, a photographer’s dream.’
‘It is also a chocolatier’s heaven. The cocoa beans were an amazing find—we are about to launch a whole new brand.’
A whole new brand of chocolate; the idea piqued her interest, as did the note of determination and enthusiasm in his voice. ‘How does that work? I take it the beans taste different? Make a completely different-tasting chocolate?’
‘Well, a potted version is that, yes, different beans do definitely create distinctive tastes—because of climate, processing and sometimes, I believe, the personality of the grower. I may be being whimsical but I always prefer beans grown by people I like, with fair value and work practices and ethos.’ He shook his head. ‘But that is obviously not even remotely scientific.’
‘No, but I think you’re right. Creativity and growth come from inside. It sounds like the beans are really important to your brand.’ She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as ideas sparked her professionalism. ‘Maybe you should use photos of them in your promotional material. Or have some sort of documentary on your website? About Jalpura—it sounds like a fascinating place. Complete with a royal family—you could even have a fairy-tale theme. Beauty and the Bean’
She stopped, she could almost hear the whir of his brain before he gave a long slow smile. ‘You’re a genius.’
‘I am?’
‘You are. Tell me, would you like a job?’
CHAPTER THREE
LUCA BARELY REGISTERED Emily’s look of confusion, his brain too busy running with its brilliant plan. Because Emily’s suggestion was advertising genius and it had sparked an idea in his head. He could plan an advertising campaign to launch his new brand and shoot it on Jalpura—Emily was right, it was a magical location and the source of the bean that had inspired the chocolate. The campaign also presented him with a legitimate reason for going to Jalpura and whilst there he could discreetly retrace Jodi’s footsteps, figure out what had changed his sister and where the hell she was now. So far so good.
And Emily was the perfect person for the job—she had come up with the concept and it made sense for her to run with it, she was immediately available, she had the skills he needed and she needed a job. Plus, as an added bonus, she was the daughter of Rajiv Khatri, Bollywood star, and therefore holder of hero status on Jalpura. If he needed to talk to anyone associated with the Royal Film Festival her name would open every door. But would Emily be willing to do that? She’d been adamant that she didn’t like using her name to gain advantage. But this was different—this wasn’t to help herself, it was to help Jodi.
The obvious thing to do would be to ask her. Problem was he knew Jodi would loathe her business being told to anyone. Especially Ava’s best friend. Yet the idea of asking Emily to do a job without full disclosure didn’t sit well with him.
Belatedly his radar kicked in and he realised that his wannabe travel partner had no idea what he was talking about
.
‘A job?’ she asked. ‘What sort of job?’
Luca made a decision. For now he’d leave Jodi out of it. For a start Emily might not even take the job, second he might not need to use her name. Therefore he’d keep the Jodi angle out of it. For now. ‘I love the Beauty and the Bean idea and I want to go with it. Shoot the ad campaign on Jalpura. To launch the brand.’
‘Just like that?’
‘Yup. What do you think?’
‘I don’t think anything because it makes no sense.’ Her voice was tight. ‘Why would you offer me a job when you haven’t even seen a portfolio of my work? Or a single picture I have taken? When I am a fashion photographer?’ Emily rose to her feet. ‘I am sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but I am not interested in whatever it is you have in mind.’
Oh, hell. She’d got hold of completely the wrong end of the branch and he couldn’t really blame her. Not after the dance and the sizzle of awareness that had pervaded the air since they had laid eyes on each other. Even now he sensed an undercurrent of fizz that her anger simply added to. For an instant he felt an almost visceral tug of regret, that by offering Emily a job he was effectively closing the door on any other type of relationship. No matter. The attraction could never have gone anywhere. Emily was Ava’s best friend—it was complicated enough between Ava and himself without adding extra mud to the water. Plus, Emily was just out of a messy divorce and therefore she was way too emotionally vulnerable. And Luca would not risk hurting anyone.
‘I understand that this seems a little off the wall and I understand why you’re suspicious. But this is a genuine job offer with no strings attached. Not a single one.’ Different expressions chased across her face, suspicion still held the upper hand, but she didn’t move away and he kept talking. ‘I love the idea of an advertising campaign on Jalpura. I’d like to make it happen.’