But for how long?
The women in Stefano’s circle had perfect faces, if not through genes and nature then by the skilled hands of a surgeon.
She heard snatches of female conversation, references to this plastic surgeon or that; once, she walked into a ladies’ room and overheard two women in adjoining stalls discussing the miracles performed by a certain doctor. Their voices were loud enough, their comments deliberate enough so she half suspected the information was meant for her.
She did think about seeing a surgeon—someone in the States might have a different technique for dealing with her scars than the doctor in Italy—but she wasn’t ready for that. She wanted to get used to this new face, this real face, before she made any decisions about changing it.
God help her, she wanted Stefano to tell her he loved her, and to tell it to her while she still looked like this.
At night, she lay in his arms, knowing he was as wide-awake as she, wondering what he was thinking. She wanted to ask him, but she was afraid to. If she was right and that was pity she saw in his eyes, if he could no longer see beyond her scars…
No. She wouldn’t think that way.
Maybe she had too much time on her hands. She’d worked hard all her adult life. She’d never sat around for so long without doing something productive.
One morning, after Stefano left for a meeting, she dressed in a Chanel suit and a pair of Jimmy Choo stiletto heels and went to her agent’s office. She’d already spoken to Jackie and told her about the accident, but they had yet to see each other.
It was tough, walking into the agency, striding past the photos of all the perfect faces that adorned the walls—photos that still included hers—and tougher still to see the flash of compassion in Jackie’s eyes when Fallon whipped off her oversize dark glasses.
“I need a job,” Fallon said bluntly.
Compassion didn’t keep Jackie from being blunt.
“I can’t use you anymore. Your face—”
“I know everything about this business, Jackie. Surely, somebody can use me for something.”
Jackie tossed her pen aside and sat back. “I’m an agent, not an employment office.”
“But you know people. You hear things.”
Her agent tapped a finger against her lip. “Well, yeah. Matter of fact, I had lunch with Carla Kennedy yesterday. Wasn’t your last assignment with her?”
“Does Carla have a job I could handle?”
“She’s looking for an assistant.” Jackie smiled. “A gopher. Go for this, go for that…You know the drill. Lie to people she doesn’t want to deal with when they phone, make barely enough money to pay your bills…” Jackie’s grin widened. “Though from what I hear, paying bills isn’t your problem. You’ve got somebody to do that.”
Fallon rose to her feet. “Thanks for the tip,” she said politely. “And by the way, I haven’t ‘got’ anyone to pay my bills. I made a lot of money, Jackie. You should know that. You got fifteen percent right off the top but what the government didn’t take in taxes, I saved.”
“I only meant—”
Fallon didn’t want to hear the rest. She left the office, made her way through the cramped waiting room packed with hopeful girls from little towns nobody had ever heard of and taxied straight to the offices of Bridal Dreams magazine.
She gave her name to the receptionist and didn’t flinch when the girl’s eyes widened after a glance at her face.
Carla came bustling out to the desk to greet her.
“Sweetie,” she said, “oh, you poor baby. I just heard the news the other day…Oh, my God, your poor face! Darling, what are you going to do? Have you seen a plastic surgeon?”
“No,” Fallon said briskly. “I heard you’re looking for an assistant.”
“I can get some names for you. There’s this incredible guy who took, I swear, ten years off Irene Whitmore’s face—”
“Are you looking for an assistant, Carla?”
“Yeah, but why would you care?” Carla’s smile seemed to tighten. “I also heard you’re having a thing with Stefano Lucchesi. Is it true?”
“I really didn’t come here to talk about myself,” Fallon said pleasantly. “About that assistant’s job…”
“What about it?” Carla blinked. “You mean…You? You’re interested in…?” Her voice dropped to a purr. “Don’t tell me your boyfriend isn’t paying your bills, darling. He has scads of money.”
“The job,” Fallon said coolly. “Is there one or isn’t there?”
Carla led Fallon into her crowded office, motioned her to a chair while she perched on the edge of her desk, swinging one long leg over the other.
“It’s not a job for a prima donna.”
“I didn’t think it was.”
“Three hundred a week,” Carla said brusquely, “half an hour for lunch, no medical, dental or anything else. Still interested?”
Fallon had earned more than that in ten minutes, but the money didn’t matter. Feeling useful—not having endless time to brood and think foolish thoughts—did.
“Yes,” she said, and held out her hand. Carla ignored it.
“Does your boyfriend know you’re going to be working for me?”
“I haven’t told him yet.”
Carla seemed to find that amusing. “You’re hired,” she said, and smiled like a cat anticipating a mouse fillet.
* * *
Fallon waited a week before telling Stefano.
She had the feeling he wouldn’t like her news. She kept thinking back to her second day in Sicily, to Carla taking a call on her cell phone and then staring up at the castello as if she’d seen a ghost before taking off in a rush. And there were the lies Carla had told about the owner of the castle.
What was all that about?
Why hadn’t she ever asked Stefano?
Something had gone wrong in the deal he’d made with Carla and Bridal Dreams, but that was another thing she only now wondered about.
Why would a man who cherished his privacy give permission to a magazine to film on his property?
Things had happened too quickly to ask questions in Sicily, and now they were happening the same way. There was a rift growing between her and Stefano. Not a big one: he still held her through the night and they still made love with that same intensity, but the lazy ease between them had been replaced by an almost cautious politeness.
She waited to tell him about her job until they were spending a rare evening at home.
“Stefano.” He looked up from a magazine and Fallon took a deep breath. “I’ve taken a job.”
He gave her a puzzled smile. “A job?”
She nodded. “Yes. Last week.”
His smile tilted. “You took a job last week and you’re only now telling me?”
A flush rose in her cheeks. He saw it and could have bitten his tongue off but then he thought, no, why shouldn’t he be irritated? Fallon was changing; she’d become more quiet, more reserved, and now she’d found a job and never thought to mention it? Was she so unhappy, living here with him?
“I’m working at Bridal Dreams magazine as Carla Kennedy’s assistant.”
He blinked. Surely, he’d heard that wrong. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said—”
“You’re working for Carla?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she needed an assistant and offered me the job. That’s why.”
“She phoned, out of the clear blue sky, and offered a job to you?”
“No. Of course not.”
“You approached her.”
“Damn it, why the inquisition? Yes. I approached her.”
“And you did this without telling me?”
“Yes.”
Stefano tossed aside the magazine. What the hell was going on? Was the woman who’d been content walking the cliffs with him so bored with her new life that she’d gone to work for his former mistress?
It sounded like the setup for a ba
d joke. The woman he loved, working for the woman he’d slept with and discarded.
But Fallon didn’t know that. Carla, on the other hand, was probably laughing her head off.
“Well, you’re not going to work for her anymore.” He spoke coolly, which surprised him because what he wanted to do was shout. “Call her in the morning and tell her you quit.”
“Excuse me?”
“There’s no reason for you to work, Fallon. If you need money—”
Her color deepened. “This isn’t about money.”
“It’s my fault,” he said, in tones he meant to be conciliatory. “I should have opened an account in your—”
“I do not need money from you, Stefano.”
“There’s nothing wrong in needing—”
“Damn it, are you deaf?” Fallon shot to her feet. “I’m perfectly capable of supporting myself.”
“Then why did you take a job with Carla Kennedy?”
“I like to work. I need to work.”
He nodded, as if he understood, but he didn’t. She needed to work? Why? She had him in her life now. She could redecorate this mausoleum of an apartment. She could come to his office and meet him for lunch. She could do anything she wanted, just as long as it included him.