The Mysterious Italian Houseguest

He watched as she sucked in a breath and tilted her head towards him.

‘About the awards. You were cheated. You should have been nominated yourself.’ Even the pitch of her voice was different. It was as if she’d just moved back into Hollywood reporter mode.

It changed the atmosphere in the air between them.

But he couldn’t help but smile. ‘I appreciate the sentiment. But no, I shouldn’t. That film was terrible.’

He could tell she couldn’t help it—her shoulders started to move and then her suppressed laughter bubbled over, her hand at her mouth. ‘You think your own film was terrible?’

He laughed as he opened the front door for them just as the taxi pulled up outside. ‘Sure, I do. At least, I was terrible. My co-star had a much better part than I did.’

‘Then why on earth did you make it if you didn’t like it?’

He wrinkled his nose. ‘My agent told me to. He said the film was clever. He thought it was more art nouveau than anything else I’d made. He said it would widen my audience appeal.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Like that’s what you need. Just about everyone in the world knows who you are.’

He opened the door on the taxi for her. ‘And that’s not always a good thing. Anonymity can be nice.’

She gave him a curious stare as she climbed in the taxi. ‘If you say so.’

* * *

The journey in the taxi took less than five minutes. Javier was wearing dark trousers and a white short-sleeved shirt. The evening was warm so neither of them had a jacket, which meant that in the confines of the vehicle the dark hairs on his arms were practically tickling her skin. She was flustered and she hated being flustered.

It wasn’t a normal state for Portia Marlowe. She spent most of her time in front of the camera, cool and unruffled.

She was about to go out to dinner with Javier Russo. The film star currently adorning a thousand teenagers’ walls.

What on earth was she going to say?

Javier chatted easily in Italian with the taxi driver, asking him questions then taking a piece of paper and scribbling some notes before handing it back. She blinked as he pulled out his wallet and took out a wad of cash. ‘What’s that for?’ She looked around—not quite sure what she was looking for—but almost as if it was some kind of clandestine act.

Javier laughed. ‘The taxi driver lives next door to the builder’s merchant. I’ve asked him to get me some glass for the conservatory. He’s going to bring the delivery to Villa Rosa tomorrow.’

‘Oh, I see.’ She gave a sigh and flopped back against the cool leather of the two-seater. Her brain was spinning. What was wrong with her?

From the second he’d touched her cheek on the beach her brain had been filled with a thousand thoughts. She’d been straight with him. She’d been in Hollywood too long. She’d been propositioned by some actors, and seen others cheat and betray. She was jaded. And while the attention Javier was giving her was flattering, she also had the tiniest belief in the back of her mind that she could be being played. After all, wasn’t Javier one of the best actors around?

The taxi driver opened her door and she stepped out. Javier had chosen a small restaurant overlooking the port. The waiter showed them to a table on the terrace without so much as a blink. Portia reached up to grab a strand of hair and twiddle it around her finger. It was a nervous habit—one she’d had since she was a child. But she’d forgotten her hair was coiled tightly into a bun at the nape of her neck.

Did no one else recognise Javier? She glanced around the restaurant. It was exactly as it should be. There was a large family at one table, and two other couples at tables on either side of them. Both couples were completely engaged in conversations with each other. No one seemed to have noticed their resident film star.

Javier pulled out a chair for her. ‘Would you prefer inside? Will you be too cold out here?’

She shook her head quickly. Inside the restaurant was lit by flickering candles. Much too intimate. Javier gave her a nod. ‘Would you like some wine?’

She nodded quickly. ‘Rosé?’ he asked as one eyebrow arched jokingly.

‘No, white, please.’ The waiter had placed a menu in front of her but her eyes had caught sight of a wooden board listing their special for the evening. ‘I think I’ll have the fish. White would suit better.’

Javier looked over his shoulder and nodded at the board too. ‘Ah, yes, the fish looks good. We’ll both have that.’ He handed the menus back to the waiter and pointed to something on the wine menu. ‘And this, please.’

The waiter nodded and disappeared. Portia felt her stomach do a little flip-flop.

She was out for dinner with Javier Russo. And those sexy grey eyes that usually graced the big screen were looking straight at her. Javier looked completely relaxed. He glanced around the port, watching the bobbing boats and fishermen packing up for the night. His head nodding slowly.

‘Do you recognise this place?’

‘Of course, I spent hours here as a kid.’

She was surprised. ‘You did?’

He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. ‘You didn’t?’

Portia shook her head. ‘Hardly ever. We mainly just played at the house or on the beach.’

Javier gave a little smile. ‘You and your sisters were obviously good girls. I couldn’t wait to get a bit of freedom and wander into the town.’ He pressed his lips together for a second, ‘The house was either too quiet, or complete chaos.’

She was tempted to press for more. ‘Didn’t you enjoy spending time with Sofia?’

He looked out over the water. ‘Well, yes, and no. The days could be long for a small boy.’

‘You weren’t playing with the Princes?’

He raised his eyebrows and she burst out laughing. ‘That didn’t quite come out right.’

He shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t play with the Princes. I didn’t meet them at first. It was only when we had to stay for a bit longer that Sofia made the arrangements with the tutor. Even then, I always knew I was persona non grata in the palace. Alessandro was quite reserved to begin with—not like Nico at all.’ He smiled and shook his head. ‘Even now, every time I hear Nico’s name, I wonder what crazy sport he’s up to now.’ He picked up the fork on the table and passed it from hand to hand. ‘Alessandro would have been a good King.’ He looked out over the port again. The sun was beginning to lower in the sky sending streaks of orange and red across the water. ‘He loved L’Isola dei Fiori. He wanted the absolute best for this place and its people.’

He looked up and met her gaze for a second. ‘Parents just shouldn’t outlive their kids. There’s just something so wrong about it.’

There was an ache to his words. A pain. Was he talking about Alessandro’s death and the fact his father Vincenzo was still

on the throne, or had Javier lost a child himself?

Almost instantly a cool breeze swept over her skin and she shivered. The waiter chose that moment to appear and pour their wine. She’d never been so glad to let the dry, sharp taste fill her senses.

Javier paused for a few seconds, sipping at his wine and staring at the horizon.

Her stomach did another flip-flop. If Javier had something deep and dark in his past she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She liked the Javier Russo that the world did. His sexy smile, the glint in his pale grey eyes and the way he could look at you as if you were the only person on the planet.

The flash of pain there had unsettled her.

She was looking for a headline. Something that could cause a five-minute frenzy, and let her get in her boss’s good books again. But as tempting as that could be, she’d meant it when she’d told him that not every story made it onto her entertainment show.

Just being in Javier’s company meant the questions she’d already been asking herself about her job seemed to be magnifying in her brain. He wasn’t acting like the arrogant man she’d met on the red carpet in March. She’d brushed off his explanation—but maybe it had been true?

Javier turned his attention back to her. She could almost see him switch off—push the thoughts he was having away.

He leaned on the table again. ‘So, Portia, what are your plans for the rest of this week?’

She smiled as the waiter set down their plates and she picked up her fork. That was a couple of times he’d done that with her. It seemed Javier had learned the art of changing the subject well. ‘I haven’t decided. I’m split between just cleaning in general or going up into the attic and starting to find out what’s up there.’

‘Knowing Sofia, it could be anything.’

She sighed. ‘Part of me is excited, and part of me is dreading it.’

‘Dreading what?’

Portia poked at the fish in front of her. It looked wonderful, it smelt fantastic, but her stomach was still doing flip-flops. She pressed her lips together and gave Javier a smile. She closed her eyes, seeing the villa in all its splendour in her head. Sofia in a beautiful long green satin dress, gliding down the staircase with a glass in her hand. Guests mingling all around her, spilling out through the conservatory and onto the terrace. Others gathering in the flickering candlelight of the domed room. ‘Dreading getting rid of all the memories of Sofia,’ she admitted. She opened her eyes again. Javier was looking at her with the strangest expression.