‘Well you should be. The last thing you need is your face all over the tabloids.’
Cesca swallowed, though her mouth was dry. His expression of anger was enough to silence her for the whole of the journey home.
Back at the villa, Sam parked the car in the garage as Cesca opened up the house, and the two of them walked into the hallway. Cesca opened her mouth, wanting to ask him why he’d reacted so strangely. Why a fan taking a photograph had soured his mood so much. But before she could form the words, Sam was already halfway towards the staircase.
‘Good night, Cesca,’ he said quietly, then turning until his back was to her, he climbed the stairs.
‘Good night, Sam.’ She stared at his retreating body. It had been a good night, right until that girl took the photograph. The way he’d looked at her had been exhilarating, and she’d been so sure he was about to kiss her. Even stranger, she’d wanted him to.
And now he was gone, and she was standing here in the hallway all alone.
It felt like the story of her life.
18
For where thou art, there is the world itself . . . And where thou art not, desolation
– Henry VI Part II
Sam slammed the bedroom door behind him, barely slowing down as he stalked across the marble floor to the bathroom on the far side. Wrenching on the tap, he cupped his palms beneath the stream, lifting them to splash the ice-cold water on his face. It was only after he’d done this three times that he finally lifted his eyes to the mirror, seeing the damp-faced, dark-eyed stranger staring back at him.
What the hell had he been thinking? It was like Serena Sloane all over again. He’d let his libido do the talking, taking a pretty girl out to dinner, practically kissing her in front of a camera before he finally came to his senses. And all his plans to stay in Varenna out of the public eye would disappear with one touch of an Instagram button.
To hell with fame. To hell with photographs splashed across tabloids. He didn’t like that game any more.
Running his wet hands through his hair, he slicked it back, but the water did nothing to cool his fevered skin. He was too het up for that, too riled, too full of the memory of Cesca and that almost-kiss.
It was impossible not to think about it. Even with his eyes open the image of Cesca staring up at him was branded in his mind. The way her eyes had widened and her mouth fell open as he leaned down towards her, leaving him in no doubt that she felt exactly the same way he did.
But how did he feel? That was the question, and he wasn’t sure he was willing to answer it. Because there was no future in this, he wouldn’t let there be.
He’d learned his lesson after Serena Sloane. He’d let their friendship cloud his judgement, believing he could trust her. And now here was Cesca, with her pretty smile and probing questions. He was in danger of making a fool of himself all over again. Pushing himself away from the basin, he grabbed a towel, drying his face before throwing it in the hamper.
He should leave. Get on the next flight to Hollywood and face the crap he’d left behind, before he managed to mess things up more than he ever had. Before Foster and his mom got wind of where he was, and got hold of him to tell him just how much he’d embarrassed the family.
But the thought of getting on a plane and leaving Cesca here in Varenna made his head hurt. In spite of their confrontations, he felt alive for the first time in for ever. He enjoyed being with her, reading her play, watching her cook. He’d told her he was her friend.
There was another thing, too. Something deeper. Something he wasn’t sure he was really ready to admit to himself. Because he liked her, as well. Really liked her. And Sam wasn’t sure how he was supposed to deal with that.
He splashed his face again, as if the first time wasn’t enough. The water clung to his skin, and he shook it, droplets flying into the basin. He couldn’t let himself give in to his feelings for her. Friends, that’s all they were. And he could handle that, couldn’t he? A superficial summer friendship he left behind at the end of the season, brushing it off like sand from his shoulders.
In a few weeks he’d leave Varenna, and leave Cesca Shakespeare far behind him.
It was as simple as that.
Every time Cesca looked down at the screen she could feel Sam’s scrutiny warming her face. If she glanced up, he’d be deeply absorbed in the paper in front of him, scribbling across her typed words, making suggestions or corrections to her grammar. But as soon as she looked away, she could hear him stop writing, and the minute shuffles in his seat, as he resumed his intense study of her once again.
It was both perplexing and exhilarating. And if she was being honest, Cesca was irritated by his pretence at a lack of interest in her, at least whenever she was looking. Because she wanted him to be interested, had wanted it ever since that night they went out to Grotto Maria, when he’d come within a breath of pressing his lips against hers.
How strange it was that the man she’d hated had become the one she desired. And yet there seemed to be an inevitability to it that soothed her dramatic heart, a closing of the circle, a righting of a wrong. It was as though she had finally opened her eyes for the first time, and was seeing him as he really was, not the devil-in-disguise her brain had imagined him to be.
‘Sam?’ She stared at him over the edge of the screen. He frowned momentarily before looking up. Even their eye contact was enough to give her a jolt.
‘Yes?’
‘How long are you planning to stay here?’ She’d been wondering that for a while. When he’d arrived he’d made it seem as though he was just passing through, but he wasn’t showing any signs of leaving yet.
He shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. I think I’ll see out the summer, then fly back to LA after that. I haven’t got any work pencilled in until the fall, so the world’s my oyster until then.’