‘Don’t worry, you’ve got me twenty-four hours a day, 365 days of the year, body and soul,’ Issy said. The words sounded more intense than she’d intended them to, and Brad stared at her, his gaze searching her face.
The door buzzed and Brad leapt up. ‘Room service,’ he exclaimed, opening the door as the butler wheeled in the trolley. ‘Set it up on the coffee table,’ Brad instructed. ‘We’ll eat on the couch.’
The waiter did as he was asked, and had barely left the room before Brad was taking a huge bite of his burger and groaning in delight. ‘Now, isn’t this better than being at some casino and losing all my money at blackjack?’
‘It’s perfect,’ Issy said softly.
‘Not quite,’ Brad frowned. ‘There’s just one more thing …’ He reached for the remote and turned on the enormous television, scrolling through the channels until he found the English-speaking ones. Casablanca had just started and Brad selected it, Ingrid Bergman’s luminous beauty and Humphrey Bogart’s cool cynicism filling the screen. ‘Now it’s perfect,’ Brad murmured.
Issy wanted to agree. After all, she was in Venice, at the White Palace Hotel, eating junk food and watching one of her favourite movies, curled up beside Brad Redford. But in the back of her mind was the one dark spot on her sunny horizon, and she glanced down at her phone, wedging it under a cushion and hoping it wouldn’t ring again.
Brad had been so sweet to her, and for another brief moment Issy considered confiding in him, but she knew that would be foolish. She couldn’t bear to see the respect drain from his face, the coldness in his eyes as he discovered her secret. He would conclude that she was no longer trustworthy, and probably fire her on the spot. That would break her heart. She adored her job – and she adored Brad – and Issy didn’t want anything to change.
She glanced across at Brad, eating his burger, engrossed in the movie, and knew she would do whatever it took to stay by his side. Issy had fought so hard to get to this point, and she wouldn’t let anyone take it away from her.
Chapter 14
Gina had been at the hotel since the early morning. Her office was small but beautiful, with an antique writing desk in polished walnut, bookshelves with stacks of perfectly organized files, and a picture window with a view over the lagoon. Just like in her apartment, Gina kept few personal possessions in her office. There were no framed family photographs, or trinkets beside her computer, although she did always keep a selection of outfits and shoes in the small closet, as she never knew when she might be required to attend a last-minute cocktail party.
Gina had always been a hard worker, but right now she was throwing herself into work as a welcome distraction, and to avoid confronting her own feelings. Work was her pride, but it was also her joy. Her reputation within the industry was legendary, and she was known for always being on top of her game, so the last thing she needed was to get distracted by men. Well, one man in particular. A very attractive, very married man.
Gina shook her head and began scribbling furiously in her Castelli notebook. Most of her days were spent putting together the most out-of-the-world experiences for her guests; it was her dream job. Just last week she’d planned the most incredible marriage proposal on behalf of the fashion designer, Roberto Domingo, as well as organizing half a dozen smaller experiences that she’d arranged a hundred times before, but which still made her feel like a fairy godmother: a private, guided tour of St Mark’s Basilica; a cookery lesson with the famed Venetian chef, Giorgio Bartolini, who would teach a handful of guests how to make traditional cicchetti.
Now she set her mind to Olivia and Max’s wedding again. Max had contacted her a few months ago to tell her that he had asked Olivia to marry him, and that he was bringing her to Venice for the big day. He wanted Gina to curate the day, with no expense spared.
Gina was over the moon at the news, and had thrown herself into the task, vowing to make it the most unique ‘money can’t buy’ experience she had ever had to create. It required the perfect balance of passion and expertise, both of which she had in plentiful supply. The final preparations were being made, it was all being done in utmost secrecy, but there was a problem.
Something was missing.
Part of her job was driven by intuition, knowing exactly the right thing needed at the right time. But something was eluding her here. She needed an icing-on-the-cake moment, one that would make the guests – but, more importantly, Olivia and Max – pinch themselves to check they weren’t dreaming.
She rested her elbows on her desk and her chin on her hands, thinking.
Max loved Venice; Olivia loved surprises. How could she combine the two, for a couple who knew every inch of the city? She was running out of time, but she was the queen at pulling off last-minute triumphs, she told herself.
Gina found herself thinking back to the rooftop terrace she’d visited on the opening night of Carnevale. It would have been the perfect location for a wedding or a proposal. She thought back to how magical that evening had been; how the charming stranger had turned up like a white knight to rescue her, whisking her away to safety. There’d been a chemistry between them, she was sure of it, but at the same time she’d felt completely comfortable with him, trusting him instinctively. She was furious at herself for not getting his number, or even his name, but perhaps it was better to leave the fantasy intact and not let reality intrude.
Over the last couple of days, however, Gina couldn’t help but shake the feeling that Marco and the mystery man were linked. That he might be the guy she’d been daydreaming about. It wasn’t possible though, surely? He’d told her himself that he’d gone to the ball, then returned home to his family. He wouldn’t have been sitting beside her on a romantic rooftop, watching the fireworks explode over Venice while her heart raced with excitement and longing …
There was a knock on the door, pulling Gina back to reality. ‘Dai, entra,’ she called irritably, then grinned as Vittoria poked her head around the door.
‘Hey, I’ve barely seen you this morning. You’ve been working nonstop,’ Vittoria exclaimed.
‘Always,’ Gina nodded.
‘Well, it’s about to get even harder for you, I’m afraid. La Diva has asked for you.’
Gina stiffened. ‘Lucia de Santis?’
‘The very same.’
‘Where is Massimo?’
‘She’s requested you, I’m afraid.’ Vittoria shot her a sympathetic look, then mimed holding a phone, imitating Lucia’s commanding voice. ‘No minions! I want Gina Bellini. Now!’
Vittoria laughed, but Gina didn’t. Clearly she was now on Lucia’s radar. Perhaps she was angry because Marco had turned her down. If that was the case, she would simply reassure Lucia that there was nothing between them, purely business. But if it was something else …
An image flashed across her mind, a tumble of rocks, an outstretched arm. Help me …
‘What does she want?’ Gina snapped at Vittoria. There was a sinking feeling in her stomach, as though she’d swallowed a mouthful of stones. She had a creeping sensation that she was teetering on the edge of a precipice, about to fall.
Vittoria looked confused and taken aback by her tone. Nothing usually fazed Gina, but Lucia de Santis had clearly rattled her. ‘I don’t know what she wants, she didn’t say. What’s the matter, Gina? You’ve dealt with bigger divas in your time. I know she’s a pain in the ass, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.’
‘Yes, you’re right. Sorry, Vee, I’m a little tired.’ Gina smiled reassuringly, standing up and smoothing down her trouser suit as she snapped back into ice-queen mode. She didn’t want Vittoria to suspect that anything was wrong.
‘That’s my girl,’ Vittoria winked. ‘Time to show that diva who’s really in charge around here.’
Gina laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I will.’
In the elevator ride to the Royal Suite, her stomach was churning, and Gina willed herself to stay calm. What could Lucia possibly want with her that she couldn’t get from Massimo?
Gina’s mind was circling, but she kept coming back to the same idea: She knows.
Gina caught herself sharply, telling herself not to be so ridiculous. Lucia had scarcely looked at her; she probably had some ludicrous request involving repainting the entire suite or procuring a basket of white kittens that Massimo didn’t know how to deal with.
Faking confidence, Gina strode down the hallway, but her heart was beating wildly as she arrived outside Lucia’s suite and knocked on the door.
No one answered, and for a moment Gina dared to hope that Lucia had gone out; that it had all been a misunderstanding and Gina could get back to work and carry on with her day. But as she turned to leave, her kitten heels grinding into the carpet, the door flew open.
Lucia was standing there, looking resplendent in a little black Gucci dress, its plunging neckline and clinging fit showing off every curve. Her nails were blood red, like talons, her white-blonde hair poker-straight, and the expression on her face was like a cat toying with a mouse.
‘Miss de Santis, I understand you sent for me. What can I do for you?’
Lucia looked her up and down, her feline eyes resting on Gina’s face for just a little longer than she was comfortable with. ‘You’d better come in,’ she snapped, ‘I’m sure you don’t want to talk out here in the corridor, where anyone might overhear.’
Reluctantly, Gina stepped into the suite, the door closing behind her with an ominous click.
‘What can I do for you, Signora de Santis?’
‘I know who you are.’ Lucia spun around to face Gina and her eyes were like ice, with a glittering fire at the heart of them.
Though she felt as though her legs could give way at any moment, Gina held her nerve. ‘I don’t understand what you mean. I think you must have mistaken me for someone else.’
Lucia laughed menacingly. ‘I’m never mistaken. I might seem like a spoilt princess to the world, but it wasn’t always so. I can still pay attention, and I see what matters.’
Lucia walked over to the window, staring out at the city, not looking at Gina. ‘The press love a good story, a rags-to-riches tale. It makes for a great read. All the public see now is what I’ve become – celebrated, rich, famous. But none of them really understands what I’ve been through or what I’ve had to overcome. They don’t know what it was like to grow up with nothing.
‘Now I can dine in the finest restaurants, but you can never forget the gnawing feeling of hunger every night in your belly, because all you’d had to eat was a piece of stale bread your brother had managed to steal for breakfast. Now I can spend millions of lire on designer dresses, but I’ll always remember what it’s like to have nothing but the clothes on your back, tattered and threadbare. Always cold, always hungry …’
