‘Often enough.’
‘I thought you were going to answer my questions.’
He stopped walking, tilting his face to hers, his eyes slightly mocking. ‘By my count, you have left many of mine unanswered.’
‘Oh. So I owe you?’ she prompted, moving towards him with unconscious grace.
‘Definitely.’
She grinned, pushing up onto the tips of her toes to lay a kiss against his lips.
‘What do you want to know, then?’
‘What do you think?’ He held her tight, his body not relinquishing hers, and she felt it again—a loosening inside her, the usual restraint she held on herself sliding just a little. Enough.
The one question he’d asked repeatedly came to her—the pressing interest in how she had been a virgin the night they’d met.
‘It’s not like everyone thinks,’ she said softly, making no attempt to move away from him. On the contrary—she liked being close to him like this; it made it easier to think and speak.
He was quiet, waiting for her to continue.
‘Modelling.’ She cleared her throat. ‘It’s exhausting and competitive and by the time I’ve finished a job the last thing I feel like doing is going out. Half the time, it’s written into my contracts that I’ll attend an after-party, like the other night—it helps with promotion, and apparently it’s good for my image.’ She couldn’t help layering cynicism on the last few words. ‘
But I was young when I first started working,’ she said wistfully. ‘And far from home, and everything was...too much. Too loud and fast, and people were over-familiar, and I was...terrified, if I’m honest.’
She winced, hating how juvenile she sounded. ‘I found that the louder it got, the busier, more hectic, the more successful I became and the more surrounded I was by other models and managers and photographers and social media managers and everyone, it just seemed to make me feel lonelier.’
‘Your parents didn’t travel with you?’
She compressed her lips. ‘No.’
She was surprised he didn’t push her for information—her response had been seething with words unspoken. But he let it go, and she was grateful for that.
‘So you rejected the lifestyle completely and chose to live as a nun?’
She laughed softly, lifting a hand to his chest, her fingers splayed wide across his broad muscles, her nails painted a soft pink, her eyes transfixed by the sight for some reason. ‘Pushing people away was a survival instinct and I never really stopped doing it.’ She risked a glance at him and wished she hadn’t when her heart skidded almost painfully against her ribs.
‘And yet your image...’ The words trailed off into nothingness. There was a look of uncomprehension on his handsome features, his lips tugged downwards, a frown on his face. ‘If I didn’t know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you were innocent, I would never have imagined the stories could be so wrong.’ His hands lifted, as if of their own accord, to twist around some of her hair.
A troubled look crossed her features. ‘I was sixteen when those stories began to run.’ She dipped her face and then took a step away, turning to focus her gaze on the glistening ocean. It was stunning—like a mountain of turquoises had been dropped to float on top of the water’s surface.
‘It was said that you had a long-running affair with him—Clive Angmore.’
She nodded, the pain of that heavy inside of her. ‘He was married.’
‘But not faithful.’
She swallowed, nodding a little. ‘No, he wasn’t. His reputation bled into mine. I was sixteen when we met.’ She shook her head with disapproval now. ‘I’d been modelling for a year, but I was still so sheltered. I didn’t realise what it meant when he started spending time with me, coming to my shows.’
Her eyes blinked shut at the memories—memories she tried not to think about. ‘When he kissed me, it caught me completely off-guard. I’d never been kissed by anyone before and suddenly he was...’ She lifted her fingers, brushing them over her lips as though she could erase the memory. She couldn’t—it was a part of her, a part of her being, and that experience had built a layer of her armour, shielding her from future hurts.
‘He was?’ Cesare’s voice held a tight restraint.
‘He was on me.’ Her throat was dry. ‘He was heavy and strong—you know. He was older, but really fit. Anyway, I pushed him away, eventually, and he was furious—he was under the impression that I’d consented to being manhandled by him by virtue of the fact we’d eaten dinner together a few times.’ Indignation made her voice wobble and she kept her gaze averted so she didn’t see the way his hands were forming fists at his side, knuckles white in contrast to cheeks that were slashed with colour.
‘I just thought he was taking an interest in my career.’ She groaned, because she’d been so incredibly naive back then. ‘I was lonely and he was nice. I thought he was...a friend.’
She heard Cesare’s harsh exhalation, but didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. Her feelings were all stirred up inside her. ‘I learned my lesson. People aren’t just nice. Not without wanting something in exchange.’