Grazia came rushing through, looking curious and concerned. ‘What’s all this commotion? What’s happening?’
‘Look,’ Nicolò chuckled, holding up the front page of Corriere della Sera. ‘Marco’s on a date with Lucia de Santis, and the press thinks he’s Brad Redford.’
Grazia stared at the photograph, then her mouth fell open in shock. ‘Marco? Well, he never said anything! I can’t imagine him with La Leonessa – you wouldn’t think they’d have much in common. I wonder if he can get us free tickets to La Fenice.’
Edoardo had turned white with anger. He felt as though he was about to explode, unable to understand his parents’ laid-back reactions. ‘What about Stephana?’ he burst out. ‘How does this honour her memory? He has a child at home – my niece – and his wife is dead, yet he’s running round Venice like some kind of playboy.’
‘Edoardo,’ Grazia began softly, putting her hand on his shoulder.
‘No, Mamma,’ he turned to her, rage and anguish in his eyes.
‘Stephana’s death was three years ago. Marco is entitled to move on. Believe me, we still feel the pain every single day, but we understand that life has to go on for Marco,’ Nicolò explained gently.
‘Come back to the kitchen and have some pastries while they’re still warm,’ Grazia entreated him.
‘I don’t want pastries! I feel sick to my stomach. You always treat him like he’s some kind of hero, even putting him in charge of the business, but he killed my sister and—’
‘That’s enough,’ Nicolò roared. He jumped to his feet, bellowing across the desk. ‘Don’t you ever say that again. Daniela is my granddaughter, and Marco remains part of our family. And if you can’t accept that, then perhaps you’re the one who needs to leave.’
‘What are you saying?’
Nicolò pulled himself up to his full height and looked his son in the eye. ‘It’s very simple – you either support this whole family, or you get out. There’s the door. Make your choice.’
‘This is amazing,’ Brad Redford grinned. ‘This is fantastic.’
‘Is it?’ Gina said uncertainly, looking from Brad to Marco and back again.
‘Yes! You couldn’t buy publicity like this.’ Brad snatched up a paper and began to read: ‘“Brad Redford, who is in Venice to shoot his upcoming movie High Voltage 3: Electric Angel, the third film in the multimillion-dollar franchise, which is expected to be released early next year …” I mean, this is gold dust.’
‘What about Lexi?’ Issy cut in. ‘Won’t she have the press camped outside her door this morning, asking her how she feels about her husband’s affair with La Leonessa?’
‘I’ve already spoken to her, and she’s cool with it. I mean, anyone with one eyeball can see that’s not actually me. I’m pretty sure the press knows it too. But it’s a great story, right? And imagine how wild the headlines will be when the news breaks that Lucia’s actually going to be in the movie. Lucia wins, I win, and the movie wins too.’
‘I don’t win,’ Marco said quietly.
Gina glanced across at him, hearing something in his tone. He was clearly unhappy with the situation.
Brad looked at Marco, suddenly realizing something was wrong. ‘What’s that?’
‘It’s embarrassing for me. My family and friends all recognized me in that photo, and God knows what they think. I went along with the dinner as a favour, and I was assured it would be somewhere quiet and discreet. Now my picture has been beamed all over the world. I’ve spent the morning trying to explain the situation to my eight-year-old daughter.’
Gina hated that she’d been complicit in Lucia’s plans. She’d done it to save her own skin, and in the process she had completely thrown Marco under the bus.
‘It’s me who should be sorry,’ Brad chimed in. ‘I encouraged Gina to arrange the dinner, and I never considered … I’m sorry, man, I didn’t think …’
‘I don’t want Lucia de Santis to get the wrong impression,’ Marco said firmly. ‘She’s a very … determined woman.’
‘I hear you,’ Brad nodded, looking chastened. ‘Look, why don’t I make it up to you all. It’s my day off tomorrow – let’s do something cool. I’ll take you all out somewhere. We can arrange something, right, Issy?’
‘Whatever you want,’ Issy agreed.
‘Bring Daniela, and Edoardo, too,’ Brad insisted. ‘And Gina, can you make it?’
Marco was looking at her intently, waiting for her answer.
‘I’m not sure – I have a lot on. Let me check and get back to you.’
‘Sure, I understand,’ Brad said easily. ‘Marco?’
‘Yeah, why not,’ he shrugged, then checked his watch. ‘I need to get ready for this evening’s shoot, so I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Great, Issy will be in touch with the details.’
‘I’ll walk out with you,’ Gina said. ‘See you later, guys.’
Gina and Marco left the suite together and walked down the corridor to the lift. Gina was all too aware of his bulk beside her, the fresh soapy scent of his skin, and the traces of musky aftershave. A sharp stab of desire rippled through her, but she pushed it away, determined to stay in control of her emotions. Instead, she said, ‘How’s Daniela now?’
‘She’s fine, thank you for asking. It was a twenty-four-hour bug, I guess. I’ll bring her tomorrow. I hope you can come – she hasn’t stopped talking about you.’
‘I’d like to see her too,’ Gina replied, his words echoing through her head. I hope you can come. Was that for Daniela’s sake, or for his own?
As they stepped into the lift, Gina was unbearably aware of their proximity, a thousand thoughts rushing through her head of what the two of them could do, alone and in a confined space together. Then Marco’s deep, gravelly voice interrupted her daydreams.
‘I haven’t forgotten that you owe me dinner.’
Gina hesitated. Neither have I. She’d been thinking about Marco – thinking about him nonstop, if she was honest with herself. The chemistry between them was undeniable, but she couldn’t get involved with a married man. She would see him in a work setting and behave entirely professionally, but she couldn’t allow herself to be alone with him again. There was too much at stake.
As the lift reached the bottom floor and the doors opened, they were surrounded by the buzz and noise of people in the lobby. She felt safe again, able to keep him at a distance. ‘I’m probably too busy for dinner. Sorry, Marco.’
