‘I need to go,’ she said again, not sure if she was talking to Sam or to herself.
Sam moved his hands down, his fingers now circling her wrists. When she tried to move away his hold stopped her progress. ‘Where are you going?’
Her mouth was dry at their unexpected contact. She wasn’t sure why it was affecting her so much. ‘I’m meeting Cristiano at the beach for some supper. We have a . . . a date.’
Sam released her arms, stepping back. When she looked up at his face it had turned suddenly impassive, betraying no hint of the smile that had been on his lips moments before. ‘You should go then,’ he told her, turning around and walking across the living room. ‘I’ve got things to do anyway.’
Cesca stared at him, her right hand rubbing at her left wrist where he’d held her only moments before. She frowned, her brows knitting together, as she tried to work out why she felt so completely disoriented.
‘What the hell just happened?’ she asked herself, shaking her head as she heard the library door slam.
Sam was on a hunt for phone reception. Carrying his iPhone in his outstretched hand, he kept his eyes glued to the bars on the screen as he climbed up the hill behind the villa, heading for the highest point of the estate. A week without being able to call anybody or – God forbid – check the Internet had been more than enough for him. It was now that he realised how reliant he was on the damn chunk of plastic and metal he carried everywhere.
He wanted to know if the worst had happened. Before leaving LA, his lawyer had assured him he had things covered. But Serena was slippery, and she’d shown herself to be an excellent liar. He didn’t trust her as far as he could throw this phone.
If only he’d realised that a few months ago.
This part of the garden was overgrown and wild, with huge bushes and trees obscuring him as he climbed his way up the earthen hill. Reaching the highest point, a bar on his cell began to blink, and he held his breath as he waited to see if it connected with his carrier.
Sinking onto a rock, he sat down and looked out over the lake. He’d forgotten how beautiful it was here. As a child he’d taken his mother’s ancestral home for granted, more interested in swimming and splashing in the water than anything else. But after years of being surrounded by concrete and artifice, Italy was like a balm to his soul.
It felt real.
A splash came from the lake, and he glanced over. It was too dark to be able to make much out from the private beach belonging to the villa. He knew Cesca was down there – with whatever his name was – maybe he should go down to make sure everything was OK. But then, he wasn’t ready for anybody else to know he was here, not even a neighbour who was intent on spending time with his housekeeper. No, better to stay here, under the radar.
Growing up, Sam had learned to become a chameleon, able to change himself to fit in with any situation. He was a half-Italian, half-American boy living in London, and part of him felt like he didn’t belong anywhere. Sam’s relationship with his father didn’t help. Foster had always been larger than life, his loud voice silencing all others around him, his charisma sucking everything in like a black hole. The younger Sam had been desperate to earn his attention, bringing home school prizes, swimming badges and A-grade papers, but nothing seemed to impress his father, at least nothing that Sam could do.
On a good day, Sam would grudgingly accept that a large proportion of his success came from his ‘daddy issues’ – or his ‘Family of Origin’ issues, as his shrink defined it. But even now, six years after he’d learned the truth about Foster, there was still a huge part of Sam that still wanted to win his respect. All the acclaim he’d earned through his acting, the SAG nominations, the critical success, none of that could replace the thing he’d yearned for the most.
His phone managed to pick up a signal, and started to vibrate wildly, concurrent pings ringing out as dozens of messages downloaded at once. After almost seven days without connecting, a deluge of apps were filling up as texts and emails, instant messages and Twitter all vied for his attention. His throat tightened as he looked at the screen again, his index finger hovering over the glass. Where should he start? The emails would be long, possibly ranty, the voicemails would be too difficult to listen to. The messages, though shorter, would still be enough to make him want to throw his phone away all over again. Avoidance was always his natural inclination.
Switching his phone off without reading the messages, he slipped it into the pocket of his shorts. He wasn’t ready to read them yet, he didn’t want to know if the story had broken. He stood up, stretching his legs to lengthen his muscles as they complained about his sudden movement. Running a hand through his hair he looked out across the lake again, questions shooting through his brain like dying stars.
How long was he going to stay here? He had no idea.
What was he going to do about Serena Sloane and her betrayal? He had no idea.
Why, if he was hiding from his family, had he chosen this place to run to? Especially when his past seemed to have caught up with him, in the form of a petite fireball who was making it her personal mission to make his life as uncomfortable as possible. Sam’s lips twitched at that question. Cesca annoyed the hell out of him, that was for sure, but there was also something about her that amused him, drew him in. The adrenalin that shot through him after every confrontation was a reminder he was alive.
Reaching for the nearest tree trunk, he began his descent back to the villa, avoiding rocks and roots, the soles of his shoes kicking up the dirt. Nearing the formal part of the gardens, he could hear sounds drifting up from the lake, the occasional laugh and conversation carrying up on the wind.
He didn’t like the idea of a stranger being so close. Maybe he should talk to Cesca, forbid her from meeting this neighbour again. After all, it was the Carltons who paid her wages, surely she should follow his wishes if he said them out loud?
Another splash, louder this time, followed by a tinkling giggle. Sam curled his hands into fists, a flash of anger unexpectedly shooting through him.
He was definitely going to have words with her.
10
We are such stuff as dreams are made on
– The Tempest
‘You need to do it like this,’ Cesca said, picking up another flat stone from the beach. Curling her arm towards her, she held the stone tightly for a moment, before flicking her forearm back out, watching the pebble skim across the surface of the lake six, seven, eight times.
Shaking his head, Cristiano picked another stone up, then attempted to mimic her movements. It disappeared beneath the lake with a loud splash, causing Cesca to collapse into a fit of laughter.
‘There’s no need to be rude.’ Though his words were tight, his eyes flashed with amusement.