‘Just go,’ she told him, her voice barely more than a whisper. ‘Leave me alone.’
Marco stared at her for a long moment. ‘What the hell is going on? I just don’t understand. I really thought we had a connection, and now you turn round and say you’ve changed your mind? What are you frightened of, Gina?’
Gina bristled at the unfairness of his comment, blinking away the tears that threatened to betray her. ‘I can’t see you any more. I’m sorry, it’s complicated, but last night was a mistake.’
‘It wasn’t,’ Marco insisted, an honesty and a yearning in his eyes. ‘You know it and so do I. I didn’t imagine the way you looked at me, the way it felt when we kissed. What’s going on? Tell me.’
‘Please,’ Gina begged. ‘Don’t make this any harder than it is. I’m sorry.’
Marco looked at her, his eyes blazing with a mixture of hurt and confusion, and Gina willed herself not to relent. She met his gaze levelly, her arms folded across her chest, as though she was physically holding herself together.
Without another word, Marco turned and walked out of the door. Gina sat down on her chair, feeling as though her legs would no longer hold her. The flowers were still lying on her desk; they were utterly beautiful, perfect. She couldn’t bear to look at them, so she picked them up and threw them into her waste basket. She had to forget all about Marco DiMaggio.
The phone buzzed in Issy’s room.
‘Good morning, it’s Vittoria on the front desk. We have a delivery for you. Should I send them up?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
Issy was perplexed. She wasn’t aware of anything that was being delivered today, though perhaps Brad had ordered something and forgotten to tell her. She ran through the list in her notebook, but didn’t see anything she’d overlooked.
Moments later, she opened the door to a courier who handed her a bulging garment bag, with ‘Atelier Antonia Sautter’ displayed on the label. Intrigued, Issy laid it down on her bed and unzipped it. She gasped as she saw what was inside.
Carefully, she lifted out the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen. It was a strapless ballgown, in baby blue, with layers of netting, overlaid with silk chiffon, shot through with mother-of-pearl beading so that it glimmered in every light, shining like diamonds with the smallest of movements.
She noticed a card pinned to the garment bag. Opening it, it read:
I told you I’d take care of it x
Excitement rising, Issy quickly stripped off her jeans and T-shirt, pulling on the dress, breathless with anticipation. She’d done some research into Il Ballo del Doge – the Doge’s Ball – and knew that it was the most exclusive event on the Carnival calendar, a masquerade ball organized by the designer Antonia Sautter, who personally designed all the handmade costumes for the elite guests.
The dress was a perfect fit, the sumptuous fabric fitting her like a second skin. She pulled her hair out of its topknot, letting it cascade around her shoulders, and felt a wave of emotion as she gazed at her reflection. It felt wonderful to be looked after for once; usually it was Issy who, by the nature of her job, took care of Brad’s every need. Her mother had never been much of a parent, and by default Issy had taken on responsibility for her small family. But now she felt like a million dollars, and it was Brad who had done all of this for her. Brad who had made her feel so special.
Issy imagined how different life would be as the assistant of someone like, say, Lucia de Santis, and shuddered. Brad was always calm, respectful, funny, upbeat. And look how she’d repaid him.
Issy turned away from the mirror, not wanting to face her own reflection, her feelings of excitement replaced by those of guilt. She’d done a terrible thing by stealing his money, fooling herself into believing that just because he was rich and famous, it somehow wouldn’t matter if she took a little to help her mother. The worst part was that if she’d explained the situation to Brad, he’d have probably tried to help. Now, though, she was in too deep. She would have to confess what she’d done, and yet she couldn’t bear to.
She didn’t deserve to be wearing this beautiful dress, Issy thought, and she quickly took it off, hanging it up on the front of her wardrobe where it shone like something from a fairy tale. Not only had she stolen from Brad, but she’d harboured some very unprofessional thoughts about what she wanted him to do to her, despite knowing very well that he was a married man. She was a terrible person, Issy thought, wallowing in self-indulgent despair.
Well no longer, she insisted to herself, as she tugged her jeans on and pulled her hair into a ponytail. She would pay every single cent back to Brad, even if she had to live on rice and beans for the next decade. And she wouldn’t send her mother any more money, no matter how desperate she claimed to be. In fact, she would tell her right now.
Buoyed with momentum, Issy picked up her phone and called her mom’s number. She wanted to act quickly before she changed her mind. She strolled to the window, which didn’t face Venice, but rather out over the lagoon, towards the Lido. Her room was small but beautiful; Issy still felt lucky that she had been able to experience this, and knew it was working for Brad that had made it all possible.
The phone continued to ring, and Issy frowned. It was early morning in the States, and her mother could be sleeping in, too hungover to get up and answer. Darlene didn’t have a cell phone, so Issy was calling her landline. There was most likely an innocent explanation, yet Issy had a bad feeling, her intuition telling her something wasn’t right. She hung up and redialled, but the outcome was the same: the phone continued to ring and ring, with no answer.
Marco walked away across the hotel lobby, blind to the glamorous people toing and froing, the babble of conversation and background piano music. He was upset, angry, and yes, if he was being honest, his pride was wounded. But more than anything, he was confused. How had things changed so much since that night at the jazz club?
He’d been honest with Gina, knowing he hadn’t misinterpreted the chemistry between them, or the unsated passion in their kisses. Had she got cold feet? Perhaps he’d come on too strong, showing up the following morning with flowers, but holy shit, it was frustrating, Marco thought, as he boarded the boat to take him back to the city.
He wasn’t an idiot; he’d sensed that Gina was nervous, that she’d had a rough ride over the years. Anyone who put that much time into their job was overcompensating for something – he should know. But he hadn’t expected this … this outright rejection. He would give her time, and hope that was all she needed.
Marco hadn’t felt this way about anyone since Stephana. It had taken so long to open himself to the possibility of a relationship, to even contemplate the idea of falling in love again – and now it had ended like this, he thought in frustration, looking at the skyline of Venice as it drew closer across the water. La Serenissima was a city for lovers, but right now he felt as though Casanova was mocking him.
The sound of his phone ringing distracted him from his thoughts. It was a number Marco didn’t recognize but he answered it anyway, in case it was a potential client.
‘Marco,’ the sultry tones purred down the line, and Marco recognized them straight away.
‘Lucia,’ he said, his tone resigned.
‘I hoped you’d sound happier to hear from me,’ she sulked, and he could almost hear her pouting down the line. ‘Did you get my present?’
‘Yes, I did. Thank you,’ he smiled, trying not to be churlish as he remembered her gift. ‘It was very generous.’
‘What can I say, I’m a generous woman. Have you forgiven me?’
‘It’s water under the bridge now. What can I do for you, Lucia?’
‘I need to see you. Right away.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m heading back to the city, and I have to be on set in a couple of hours.’
‘Please,’ Lucia insisted, and Marco was surprised to hear her be so polite. She didn’t usually request – she simply demanded. ‘I’ll come to you. No paparazzi this time, I promise.’
Marco frowned, wondering what could be so urgent. ‘Is this about Gina?’ he asked, wondering if that could explain her strange behaviour earlier.
Lucia hesitated. ‘Partly. Look, can you meet me at Vino Vita on Campo San Zaccaria, in one hour? It’s discreet, I promise. I know the owner. No tricks this time, I promise.’
Despite himself, Marco was intrigued. There were worse things in the world than being pursued by a wealthy, beautiful diva. And given that Gina had made it quite clear she wasn’t interested, a little attention from Lucia could help salve that wounded ego. ‘OK,’ he agreed. ‘But don’t be late.’
