Eventually the music stopped and the couples drew apart. Brad took a step backwards and the two of them looked at one another for a long moment, their breathing coming fast, chests rising and falling. Issy’s body was humming with desire, her heart racing. For a moment she didn’t speak, unwilling to break the spell. Then the orchestra played the first notes of the up-tempo Hungarian Dance No. 5 by Brahms, and Brad placed a hand on Issy’s lower back, steering her to the side.
When he spoke, his voice sounded thick. ‘And you’re trying to tell me you’ve never danced a waltz before, Issy Roberts?’
Issy thrilled to hear him say her name. ‘I think I had the best teacher,’ she grinned.
They danced and drank and talked and laughed, and the evening flew by in a whirlwind. It might have been Issy’s imagination, but she felt sure that Brad was standing closer than necessary, that they touched one another more often than needed, as he brushed a stray hair away from her face or reached for her hand as they moved from one incredible room to the next.
When the clock struck midnight, Brad turned to her, disappointment in his voice. ‘We need to leave. I have an early call for filming and—’
‘Of course,’ Issy nodded. ‘I know.’
‘I wish we didn’t have to go,’ Brad murmured, leaning close to her ear to make himself heard over the noise. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck, her skin prickling into delicious goosebumps. ‘I’ve had the best night.’
‘Me too,’ Issy swallowed. Without question, it had been the best night of her life. Now it was back to reality, though she was hoping they could put it off a little longer.
She followed Brad back through the palazzo, past the acrobats and the living statues, out of the main door and into the Venetian night. The sky was black like velvet, a gleaming moon suspended in the darkness, as they boarded their private boat to return to the White Palace. The skipper was up at the front, while Brad and Issy relaxed in the cosy, glass-covered cabin at the back, reclining on the soft cushions of the sofa-like seating. Despite the cabin being heated, Issy couldn’t seem to get warm, and she shivered.
‘Are you cold?’ Brad asked, and Issy nodded.
He moved closer, wrapping his arm around her. ‘Lean into me, I’ll keep you warm.’
Issy did as he’d suggested, luxuriating in the closeness, the heady feeling of being pressed against his body, his muscular arms wrapped tightly around her. The tension between them was so intense that Issy felt she might explode, every nerve ending in her body on high alert.
‘You can take your mask off now,’ Brad murmured.
‘Oh,’ Issy faltered, feeling foolish. She’d almost forgotten she was wearing it.
Brad removed his too, and for the first time that evening she could properly see his handsome face: the lightly tanned skin and lantern jawline and full lips. His piercing blue eyes were looking at her with unmistakeable desire.
Brad and Issy moved almost imperceptibly closer, as though by unspoken agreement, and Issy knew that Brad was about to kiss her. Finally, blissfully, their lips met, and it was everything Issy had ever imagined. It felt so natural, so right, yet so incredibly exciting all at the same time. Their bodies moulded together, unfulfilled longing finally finding a release, as Brad’s hands slid urgently over her body and Issy moaned softly.
Overhead, through the glass panel, the stars were dazzling, the water lapping gently against the sides of the boat as it chugged through the water. Venice was beautiful, and the night was perfect.
Chapter 30
Lucia took a sip of water and looked out at the hastily assembled journalists, seated in rows in front of her.
She was in the opulent ballroom of the White Palace, amidst the frescoes and chandeliers, seated at a long table with her agent on one side of her and her publicist on the other, and she was dressed perfectly for the occasion in a demure white dress with a high collar, to signal her virtue. Her platinum-blonde hair was tied back in a low ponytail, and her make-up was minimal.
There was a buzz of excited chatter, until her publicist, Allegra Girardi, held up a finger for the room to quieten down and a flurry of hands shot into the air.
‘Lucia, why did you cancel your performance last night?’
Lucia cast her gaze down in an expression of penitence. ‘Of course it was the last thing I wanted to do – I never want to let down my fans – but I didn’t have a choice. As I’m sure you’ve all heard by now, I was questioned by a detective regarding an unsolved missing persons case.’
The flashbulbs went crazy, exploding like fireworks, as the photographers at the front rushed to capture this confession on film.
‘Can you tell us the details of this case, Lucia?’
‘I’m not sure if I’m at liberty to say,’ Lucia began coyly, knowing that the information had been splashed all over the front pages and on the television news that morning – leaked by the very capable publicist sitting beside her. ‘But what I will say is that it relates to a young man who disappeared a decade ago in my hometown of Cannegia.’
‘Did you know the man, Lucia?’
‘I’ve already answered this question for the detective,’ Lucia said. ‘I won’t be saying anything further at this time.’
‘Signora de Santis would now like to read a statement she’s prepared,’ said Allegra.
The journalists sat up a little straighter, leaning forward imperceptibly, while the photographers’ fingers hovered over their camera buttons.
Lucia coughed lightly to clear her throat and looked around at the assembled press pack, knowing that she had them in the palm of her hand. This was just like performing on stage – knowing how to read the audience, instinctively calculating just the right degree of emotion to put into your words so you didn’t overplay your lines. Perhaps she should have been an actress after all, Lucia mused. She couldn’t wait for her role in High Voltage – she would act Brad Redford off the screen.
She glanced down at the piece of paper on the table, though she hardly needed to refer to it. She’d practised it so many times in the mirror this morning that she knew the words off by heart.
‘My heartfelt apologies to my fans who were hoping to see me perform last night. I’m distraught that I was unable to honour my commitment. My heart goes out to that poor boy’s family, and I intend to cooperate fully with the police. I’ll do everything in my power to help find out what happened to Lorenzo Mancini, and ensure that the culprit is brought to justice.’
Gina was standing at the back of the hall, hidden in the shadows. Her blood ran cold as Lucia stared directly at her with those final words, and it was all she could do not to turn and run from the ballroom.
But Gina lifted her chin and stood her ground. She was getting tired of being pushed around by Lucia de Santis, dancing to Lucia’s tune like a puppet dangling on a string. Perhaps, most significantly, she resented La Leonessa dictating who she could and couldn’t date. She refused to spend the rest of her life in fear, forever running from that fateful day.
‘Help me, Maria …’ His dark eyes stared up at her, wide with fear.
She moved towards him, and the next moment there was a bloodcurdling scream as he fell into the jagged rocks below …
Gina blinked, pushing away the memory. The journalists were standing up, filing out of the room amidst a hum of low chatter. Some were already calling in the story on their mobile phones, others scribbling the perfect turn of phrase in their notepads. Lucia had swept out ahead of them, her chaste outfit belying the way she moved imperiously like a queen.
Anger and frustration fizzed through Gina. She hadn’t come all this way for nothing, hadn’t rebuilt herself from scratch and reached the top of her profession in order to be pushed around by La Leonessa. Gina was a fighter, and Lucia de Santis had better watch her back.
Issy’s eyelids fluttered as she woke up and stretched languorously in her enormous bed, with its soft pillows and cosy feather duvet. She sensed that she’d been having the most wonderful dream, and she tried to recall it, knowing that she’d felt cocooned in warmth and happiness. Then the events of the previous night came back to her in a rush, and for a moment she was paralysed, unable to do anything but replay the evening in her head.
She had kissed Brad Redford! Oh Lord, she had kissed her boss! And he had most definitely kissed her back. They’d finally pulled apart in the boat, aware that they were approaching the White Palace and conscious that the skipper of the boat might spot them. They replaced their Carnival masks while they crossed the lobby but, alone in the elevator, they’d kissed once again, seemingly unable to get enough of one another.
Even just the memory was enough to make Issy squeal with delight, and she buried herself beneath her sheets, her whole body aflame as she recalled Brad’s lips on hers. He’d accompanied her to her room, like a gentleman, and while part of her had been hoping that he would follow her inside, they shared one final kiss before he huskily wished her goodnight and walked back to his suite.
Issy’s excitement now was swiftly followed by uncertainty. Had she misread the signs and made a fool of herself, she wondered? Would Brad fire her for behaving inappropriately? No, she reassured herself. Brad had been every bit as eager as Issy – in fact, he’d kissed her, she was sure of it. He’d made the first move, and she’d welcomed it.
But what would happen next between them? Her mind was racing, her emotions tangled. Everything had seemed so straightforward last night when they were acting on instinct, surrendering to their passion in the heat of the moment. But in the cold light of day, the situation was more complicated.
Issy checked the time: 9.30 a.m., later than she would usually get up, but Brad had told her not to rush this morning. Nevertheless, she was keen to see him; she would know instantly from the look on his face whether last night had been a mistake.
She showered and washed her hair, letting her russet curls dry naturally as she got dressed and put on her make-up. She didn’t want to look as though she’d made too much effort, but equally, she didn’t want Brad to see her and instantly regret what had happened between them. She settled on a plaid miniskirt with knee-length socks and a cropped sweater – cute and sexy, but not over the top.
Spritzing herself with Angel by Mugler, Issy set off along the corridor to Brad’s suite. She wasn’t even sure whether he’d be there; she knew he had an early shoot and might have left already. Cautiously, she let herself in as usual, and was about to call out when she heard voices – a man and a woman.
Issy closed the door quietly behind her and stood, listening, for a moment. The guy was definitely Brad, but who was the woman?
The voices grew louder, coming her way. ‘Hello?’ Issy called out, not wanting it to look as though she was snooping.
Brad entered the room first, emotions rushing across his face as he caught sight of her. Issy’s heart leapt as she took in how impossibly handsome he looked in dark chinos and a pale grey cashmere sweater, his hair mussed and his jawline peppered with stubble.
