A shot of jealousy at Sam’s easy life shot through her body, straightening her back like a rod of iron. She should channel the feeling, put it into her writing. That was easier said than done, though, especially when the object of her envy was sharing the villa with her. Was she going to feel permanently on edge for the whole time they were together?
‘So we meet again!’ Cristiano Gatto was standing at the fence separating the Carltons’ part of the beach from their neighbours’. He leaned on the wood, his white shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing tanned arms and a thick silver wristband. Smiling warmly at her, his teeth were almost sparkling in the sun. The sight of him was enough to make her grin right back.
It was so easy to interact with Gatto. He was like a ray of sunshine standing there, so guileless and friendly.
‘You don’t look like you’re ready to sunbathe,’ Cesca called back. Standing up, she wrapped her sarong around her waist, aware of her almost-nudity compared to his fully dressed attire. Bikinis were great if everybody was wearing them. Otherwise they made you feel like a Playboy Bunny in a house full of Hugh Hefner-style smoking jackets.
‘I’m still exploring.’ Cristiano glanced at his silver watch. ‘I have a meeting this afternoon, but I wanted to check out the beach. It’s very beautiful.’ His eyes were still on hers. The way he talked sent a welcome shiver down her back.
‘It’s even better in the evening,’ she told him. ‘All the lights on the boats come on, and the lake reflects them. There’s such a peacefulness to it, sitting here and staring across the water.’
His smile grew. ‘That does sound beautiful. Tell me, Cesca, why is a girl like you here alone? In a house big enough to accommodate a huge family?’
Her cheeks turned pink at his flirtation. ‘It’s not exactly a vacation. I’m taking care of the villa for the summer. It’s my job.’
Cristiano tipped his head to the side. ‘So we are both on a working vacation, then? That’s something else we have in common. Maybe at the end of our busy days we should come down here and share a glass of wine, put our feet up and talk about our work.’
Her throat tightened. She wasn’t sure he’d be that interested in how she’d instructed the gardeners, or dusted the library. It wasn’t exactly a high-powered position she was filling here. ‘That sounds interesting.’
There was that easy smile again. ‘Then it’s a date. I’ll bring the red wine, you bring your beautiful self. Shall we say Friday at eight o’clock?’
‘This Friday?’ Cesca looked at him, surprised. She’d thought he was just being nice.
‘Why not? Unless you don’t want to, of course.’
‘Friday at eight sounds perfect.’ She felt breathless. ‘I’ll bring us some food. Otherwise I’ll end up getting drunk and talking too much.’
The skin around his eyes crinkled. ‘I like the sound of that.’
Her blush deepened. ‘You wouldn’t if you saw me tipsy. Some bread and cheese will be all that stands between you and the utter twaddle that escapes my mouth.’
‘Utter twaddle?’ Cristiano questioned. ‘That’s a new one on me.’
‘It means I’ll be talking drivel if I drink wine without eating something,’ Cesca explained. ‘Believe me, you don’t want to hear that.’
‘Believe me, I do.’ He was still leaning on the dividing fence, but it felt as though he’d moved closer. Her body felt suddenly warm. ‘And I look forward to hearing your, how do you say it, utter twaddle. But now I must go and have my boring meetings, and somehow get through the hours until Friday comes. Ciao, bella.’ He winked, then turned around, his shiny black leather shoes crunching on the gravelled beach as he made his way towards the steps that led up to his villa. Cesca watched him go, still flushed and breathless, wondering what on earth she’d just agreed to.
It wasn’t like her at all. But then, nothing right now was like the Cesca she’d been only a few weeks ago. From a waitress dodging cats, she’d somehow transformed into a girl who was asked on dates by gorgeous Italian men, who asked her to share a bottle of wine with her as the sun went down. Her sisters wouldn’t recognise her if they could see her now. Hell, she barely recognised herself.
It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling.
Sam pressed his head against the cool glass of the window, staring out at the dazzling blue sky. Letting his eyes close for a moment, the sun turning his lids orange, he let out a sigh. This was nothing like he’d expected. When he left Hollywood, the villa in Italy had seemed like a haven, a bright beam of light that he wanted to steer his ship towards. He hadn’t considered what he’d do once he got here, in this house so full of history yet so empty of connections, with only his dark thoughts and a crazy girl to keep him company.
And, let’s face it, even she had abandoned him.
He’d managed to corner Carlito, who had been tending their garden for years, asking him if he knew how to contact Gabi and Sandro. To his dismay, Carlito had only confirmed Cesca’s story, explaining that Sandro’s sister was days away from giving birth. Even at his lowest, there was no way Sam could bring himself to demand them back, not after the way they’d taken care of his family for the past few years. They were friends as well as employees, always happy to see him, delighted to make him comfortable, he couldn’t take them away from their family.
The breeze wafting up from the lake brought the sound of voices. Carlito’s team of workers had left half an hour ago, and the villa was empty of life apart from Sam. As weird as Cesca was, he couldn’t believe she was laughing at nothing, not unless she’d finally lost her tenuous hold on sanity. His eyelids flew open and he blinked rapidly, having to get used to the glare of the sun once again. As his pupils dilated enough for him to be able to focus, he could see her distant form, standing out on the small beach that ran into the lake. She was facing something – or someone – her hands gesturing wildly.
On the other side of the dividing fence he saw the form of a man, leaning on the wood. It was impossible to tell much more from here, neither his age nor his appearance was discernible from Sam’s position at the window. He narrowed his eyes anyway, dry lips pursing as he tried to make the man out, but could only see the outline of his clothes.
His first thought was that he’d been discovered. Sam’s heart started to beat rapidly as he continued to watch. A gust of wind from the lake lifted Cesca’s skirt, revealing her bikini-clad body and glowing skin. She was surprisingly lithe, even from this distance. He wondered what she looked like a little closer up.
The conversation between her and the stranger was coming to an end, as far as Sam could tell. She was half turned away from the man, her left leg poised to walk forward. From the split in her skirt Sam realised it was a sarong, tied around her waist in an attempt at modesty. A pang of envy scratched at his stomach; she was free to go where she wanted, to do whatever the hell she liked without the scrutiny of a million eyes following her. If he’d been out on the lake you could guarantee there’d be boats circling, with photographers leaning off the side, their cameras equipped with long-distance lenses. But Cesca could wander around half-naked, without a care in the world.
It irritated him that she was doing so in front of the unknown man by the lake.
Not wanting to watch any more, Sam pushed himself off the glass, turning to walk back into the library. This had normally been his father’s domain, and whenever the family were here Foster would hole himself up in the room, reading play scripts and flicking through books. As well as the book-lined walls there were two large leather chesterfields in the centre of the room, facing each other with an old wooden coffee table in between. In the corner was Foster’s computer desk, usually tidy, but currently littered with paper and books. Sam grabbed one of them – a Stanislavski – and opened it. Within minutes he was so absorbed by the famous actor’s words, he didn’t even hear the door open.