An Italian Dream

STELLA

Stella was puzzled by Fern’s quick agreement at them extending their time on the yacht. The conversation had been surprisingly easy, but Fern’s tone had left her on edge. She seemed happy to stay at the retreat for another night, but there was something about how she’d sounded that Stella couldn’t quite pinpoint. Even with Fern’s blessing, it didn’t stop Stella from feeling guilty once again.

Was she being ridiculously selfish? Probably. Did she want to spend another night with Luca? Hell, yes. The girls wanted to stay as well; it wasn’t just her decision. Clutching her mobile, Stella made her way to the main deck to deliver the good news.

Rather than heading for Capri, they sailed for Positano. As Stella slipped off her dress and settled herself on the sun lounger in her bikini, she told herself there was no point in worrying about Fern. It was done and they’d see her tomorrow.

The yacht sliced through the sea, the breeze offsetting the lush warmth. It was only the end of May but they’d been blessed with glorious sunny days, so Stella was determined to top up her tan while she had the chance.

The girls were lounging on the daybed with Desi and Vincenzo, all lithe, tanned limbs. She watched Chloe now, flirting with Vincenzo. From what Amber had said and from what she’d gleaned from Chloe herself, that was all it was, just flirting. Amber’s behaviour on the other hand was a reflection of her and Fern when they were young.

Positano got closer, its sweeping hillside covered in colourful villas slowly coming into focus. They’d seen it from afar but Stella was keen to explore and she was looking forward to a night away from the yacht. The promise of an exclusive party at a hillside villa only confirmed her thought that she was living the dream.

* * *

They took a tender from the yacht to the shore. As they strolled across the beach, Stella sensed people watching and she suddenly felt the millionaire she actually was. She was dressed like one too, in a Fendi white silk skirt with a simple spaghetti strap top that she’d bought in Capri. She’d been living in her Capri sandals, the most practical but beautiful things she’d ever owned. It truly felt as if she was living someone else’s life, walking in the footsteps of the rich and famous.

The girls stopped on the beach for an Instagram photo, posing with the backdrop of pastel-coloured buildings decorating the steep hillside. Luca hooked his arm in Stella’s and took a selfie of them grinning together. She felt on top of the world as they left the beach and got two taxis up through the narrow, winding streets, past tiny shops and cafes clustering at the edge of the road and beneath washing hanging from balconies.

The taxis stopped in front of a gated entrance and Stella glimpsed the cream and salmon-pink walls of a villa and the lush gardens that surrounded it. Luca and Vincenzo paid the drivers and the taxis sped off. Stella, Amber and Chloe followed the Italians through the gates into the villa’s grounds, which were perched high up with a bird’s-eye view over Positano.

They were welcomed with open arms by their host and his wife, friends of Luca’s, both somewhere in their late thirties with dark hair, deep tans, designer sunglasses and gold jewellery. They were loud and all-encompassing, and Stella and the girls were swept up into the party atmosphere. The Italian conversation was fast and musical, and laughter filled the air.

With the yacht anchored off the coast, their overnight bags had been sent on ahead to the villa. Stella didn’t question that she and Luca had been given a room together. She noted that Amber was sharing with Desi too, but Chloe had a room of her own. There was no assumption from Vincenzo; she respected him for that. She respected Chloe too; she’d done something right raising her, or perhaps Chloe was fearful of turning out like her mum. She was impressed by her restraint though, not jumping into bed with someone at the first opportunity, although Stella certainly had no regrets about taking things further with Luca.

Stella drank too much and laughed a lot. She was left giddy from the experience – an exclusive party with only a handful of guests, all of them obviously wealthy, the multi-millionaire host happy to welcome them to his home. Luca introduced her to people in a way that made it obvious that they were together. It didn’t bother her in the slightest that he’d probably have someone else on his arm when she returned home, while he continued to live it up in the Med. She was living the dream too and was more than happy to lap up the attention and enjoy the experience while forgetting about everything else.

The villa achieved the sort of outside living that she craved back home, but Nailsea was hardly the place to attempt a Mediterranean lifestyle. Huge stone pots were filled with flowers and glossy cheese plants, and tiled floors and intricately painted ceilings gave a sense of colour and history. It was the vista though that stole the show for Stella. Perched on top of the cliff was a pool with an uninterrupted view over the beach to the hillside scattered with villas. Stone walls enclosed hidden terraces with lounge chairs beneath the shade of trees. Flowers bloomed in pots and the cracks of stone walls. With an abundance of colour and beauty in every direction, it truly was a little slice of paradise.

As the night wore on and darkness descended, lights threaded the hillside of Positano. Stella was heady with wine. Luca was speaking Italian to a friend, but he slipped his arm around her waist. Wasn’t finding a hot Italian and having a fling what she’d dreamed about? Fern must have known this would happen, which was partly why she’d opted for the art retreat.

Fern.

Guilt twisted through her yet again. Stella had told Fern that it was her time to do what she wanted, but Stella was sad that her friend didn’t have the passion or excitement in her life that she could have…

Her phone pinged. She looked at the message and her heart sank.

I miss you.

Paul.

Even here, in the most beautiful place, during an evening filled with happiness, her past mistakes still followed her, reminding her of all the wrong she’d done.

She slipped away from Luca and found a quiet shadowed spot far from the flickering light and everyone on the terrace. Should she reply to Paul or ignore him? Telling him that he needed to stop contacting her seemed to have done no good. He was persistent, and considering the time, probably drunk. Did it mean because he was contacting her he wasn’t cheating on Fern with someone else while she was away? She hoped so, but it was a hollow hope because she knew him too well. She was certain he wasn’t sending Fern late-night texts.

Warm hands slid around her waist, making her jump.

‘Sorry,’ Luca whispered, nuzzling her neck.

Stella switched off her phone and clasped it to her chest. She wanted to empty her mind; she wanted the reminders of home, her past and her mistakes to stop, even for a short time. Surely that wasn’t too much to ask?

Luca led her to a love seat surrounded by foliage in a corner beyond the pool. She curled her legs beneath her on the cushioned seat and he put his arm around her. Stella rested against his shoulder. The party had begun to quieten down. A few guests had left, chauffeured back to their villas along the Amalfi Coast. Half a dozen or so people remained, sipping cocktails on the terrace above the pool. Chloe and Amber had disappeared and so had Vincenzo and Desi. Giovanni was still there, chatting to a glamorous woman in a glittery black dress.

‘You are very, erm… thoughtful tonight,’ Luca said, tracing his fingers along her bare arm and sending tingles through her.

He’d noticed; she liked that.

‘Have you ever regretted something you’ve done?’ she said.