Cesca let him take her hand and lead her up the steps, coming to a stop in front of the large front door. The security light was shining down from the porch, illuminating them both. She looked up, her mouth suddenly dry as she stared up at the handsome Italian.
‘Thank you again.’ Her voice was quiet. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t much of a companion.’
‘I think you had a lot on your mind, too.’ Cristiano’s tone was gentle. ‘Am I right in thinking you’re a little . . . ah . . . confused about your feelings?’
Cesca’s eyes widened. ‘My feelings?’
He laughed. ‘Oh, not for me. From the moment I picked you up tonight I got the impression I’d been, what do you call it, friend-zoned. Is that the right expression?’
The words sounded funny coming from the suave Italian. She couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, knowing how true it was.
‘It’s OK. As I said, I’ll be leaving for Rome soon. I just wanted to spend some time in the company of a beautiful lady, and I got my wish.’
‘I’m glad.’ She really was. For the first time in an age, Cristiano had made her feel attractive. Wanted. But he was also kind enough to see that she wasn’t looking for anything more than a casual friendship. ‘It’s been lovely spending time with you. At the café, on the beach . . . thank you for making me smile again.’
‘At first I wanted to do more than make you smile,’ he confessed. ‘But I’ll settle for that.’
She didn’t tell him that at first she might have wanted more, too. Because that seemed like ages ago now. Before she’d found herself again. Before she’d found her writing. Before Sam had made her feel more confused than she’d ever felt. Instead she gave him another beaming smile, hoping it was enough.
‘Good night, Cristiano. And if I don’t see you again before you leave, have a safe journey.’ She put her hand out for him to shake. Instead he folded it in his own, pulling her towards him. Using his other hand he tipped her head up, pressing his lips to hers. They were warm, full, and softer than she had imagined.
‘Good night, Cesca,’ he whispered against her lips. Then he pulled back, offering her a regretful smile. ‘And at least I got my kiss.’ With that he turn
ed and walked down the steps, offering her a brief wave before he climbed back into his car. She watched as he pulled away, dust and gravel kicking up beneath the rubber as his tyres spun on the driveway.
She let herself in, flipping up the deadlocks behind her to secure the house. Pulling off her heels, she padded through the hallway, the floor cool against her feet as she walked. It was as though the awkwardness of the date had followed her in along with the night-time air, blanketing her, reminding her that she didn’t belong here. Didn’t belong anywhere. And yet she was aching to find somewhere that she fitted into.
When she walked into the kitchen the first thing she saw were the flowers. A large antique vase full of pelargoniums and geraniums. She recognised the blooms. She’d seen them throughout the gardens. Sam must have picked them himself, and arranged them. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in the scent.
But why? That was the question dominating her mind. Why had he done this? She tried to remember his expression when she’d brought Cristiano’s flowers in. His attitude was confusing, almost nonchalant, when she’d put the flowers into a vase. And when he’d walked her out to the car he’d been amused. So what had changed between her leaving the house and coming back again?
He had all the answers and she had none. Somehow that seemed as wrong as her date had. Like walking through a crooked house and slipping to the side of the room every time.
‘Sam?’ She called his name quietly.
There was no response. She could feel her heart pounding against her ribcage.
‘Sam?’ A little louder this time, though her voice was still tremulous. Her hands curled into fists, her nails digging into her palms.
‘Sam?’ Almost a scream. A need to be heard, to find him.
There was a clattering of feet as he ran down the stairs. The drumbeat of his footsteps as he made his way down the hall. Then he was there, standing in front of her. His brow furrowed as he opened his mouth.
‘Are you OK?’ He was breathless. ‘Has something happened?’
She blinked back the tears, not sure why they were there. ‘You picked some flowers.’ She was finding it hard to breathe. As if the air was too thick and viscous to be inhaled.
‘I did.’ He took a step towards her. ‘I wanted to say sorry.’
It was her turn to frown. She stared at him through watery eyes. ‘Why?’
‘Because I was an asshole. I threw your flowers away.’
‘Cristiano’s flowers? Why?’
‘I didn’t like them in here. I don’t want you getting flowers from another man. So I put them in the trash.’
‘Oh.’