‘I’ve never had such good wine before I came here,’ she admitted. ‘Well, I never had much wine at all.’ She was struck by how different their lives were. He’d told her on their way back from the cave that the bottle he’d chosen was probably worth a few hundred euros. Spending that much on wine made her feel a little faint. It was so out of her league.
The rich movie star and the impoverished writer. It would make a good story.
‘When you finish your play we’ll crack open the champagne,’ he said, handing her her glass. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers.’ They clinked their glasses together, then Cesca took a sip. Just like at Grotto Maria, the negroni was delicious. ‘Anyway, what makes you think I’ll finish my play here? I may not complete the first draft until I’m back in London.’
‘That’s not going to happen.’ Sam was looking at her over the rim of his glass. ‘I won’t let you leave until it’s done.’
‘What if it takes me months?’
‘I’d be OK with that.’ He leaned forward again, brushing his lips just below the shell of her ear. ‘In fact I’d be delighted. Whatever it takes.’
‘Try explaining that to your rabid fans,’ Cesca said. ‘It’s not that long before you’ll be back in LA. You must have commitments.’ Though she kept her voice light, there was an edge to her words. Like earlier, when she spoke with her godfather about returning to London, she could feel the unease deep inside her.
Sam took another sip of his negroni. She could see it glistening on his lips. ‘I’m a free man until the fall.’
Cesca grabbed a couple of plates from the cupboard, and proceeded to lay the salad out on them. Sam was leaning on the counter next to her, watching as she chopped the juicy tomatoes.
‘What are you filming next?’ She didn’t like the idea of him being away on location, surrounded by beautiful women. It was hard to picture this Sam – her Sam – in a Hollywood setting. And yet she should, because that was his life. Somehow the thought made her feel a little nauseous.
‘The final Summer Breeze movie.’ He sounded anything but enthusiastic. ‘It’s the last one I’m contracted to. After that I’m hoping to do some more edgy roles. Maybe even get out of Hollywood for a while. I’m kind of sick of being the dumb heart-throb.’
Cesca bit down a smile. ‘Must be hard to be typecast.’
‘Hey, I resent that.’ The oven timer went off and he silenced the alarm, then took the lasagne out of the stove. ‘Anyway, most of the people I meet actually think I’m Tyler Graham. I get called that more often than I’m called Sam in the streets.’
She laughed. ‘That must be annoying.’
‘You could say that.’ Sam wrinkled his nose. ‘And I know it sounds ungrateful because it was my big break. But when you’re permanently typecast as a nineteen-year-old surfer it can get a little stale. Especially at the age of twenty-seven. I guess that’s Hollywood. You either play the game or you get out of town.’
Cesca handed him the knife and he cut the lasagne into portions, steam rising up from the dish. The smell of fresh pasta mixed with Bolognese sauce filled the kitchen.
‘I can imagine,’ Cesca said. ‘It’s kind of ironic that
neither of us really grew up after you left for Hollywood. You because your audience wouldn’t let you, and me because I refused to accept my failure.’
‘You look grown up to me,’ Sam told her. He carried their plates over to the table, then pulled out her chair. It was strange how she was already taking his gallantry for granted. It wasn’t as if every guy their age treated women that way. Maybe it was his upbringing, being raised by an Italian mother. Whatever the reason, she found herself liking it very much.
Sam poured the wine he’d found earlier into their glasses. It was so dark it almost looked black. ‘This one smells almost as good as it tastes,’ he told her, lifting his wine glass to his face. He inhaled deeply, and Cesca followed suit.
‘It smells delicious,’ she agreed, swirling the glass so the wine sloshed around it. ‘I still feel bad that it’s so expensive, though.’
Sam looked her straight in the eye. ‘You shouldn’t.’
‘Says the man who probably earns double the cost of that bottle for every minute he works.’
‘I haven’t worked out how much I earn a minute,’ Sam laughed. ‘But I can tell you I earn enough to cover the cost of the wine.’
‘But I don’t.’
He angled his head to look at her. ‘That bothers you, doesn’t it?’
‘The fact I couldn’t normally afford to drink wine like this?’ she clarified. ‘Not really. It’s lovely but I’m just as happy with a six pound special from the grocery store.’
‘No, I’m not talking about the wine. I’m talking about the fact I can afford it and you can’t. I saw the same thing when we went out for dinner – you didn’t like me picking up the check.’
She didn’t like where this conversation was heading. It was touching a nerve and she felt it all over her body. ‘I like things equal. If I go out for dinner with somebody I like to pay my way. It feels awkward to rely on somebody else, as if I’m beholden to them.’