‘You know that Leo has a crush on you, don’t you? Why won’t you let me set you up with him?’ Vittoria pouted.
‘Not this again!’ Gina threw a sofa cushion at her friend and rolled her eyes. ‘No boyfriends. I’m married to the White Palace, remember! Come on,’ Gina changed the subject. ‘Let’s go get ready.’
Gina headed through to her bedroom, which contained little beyond a heavy wooden sleigh bed, a wardrobe and desk. She liked to travel lightly through life, and didn’t feel the need to acquire possessions for the sake of it. When she’d arrived in Venice, she’d only brought one small bag – there’d been no trinkets or mementos from home. Well, apart from one …
Gina showered quickly, before blow-drying her short, honey-blonde bob, which she tied back and covered with an enormous white Marie Antoinette-style wig, which was at least six inches high and which Vittoria had to help her pin in place. Then it was time for the rest of the costume, and Gina gently lifted it down from where it was hanging on the back of her door, still unable to believe her good fortune; that she got to wear an incredible dress and take part in the Carnevale di Venezia.
She slipped it on, taking in her appearance in the mirror. She had to admit she looked spectacular. Her outfit consisted of a full gown of white and gold, handcrafted from silk and trimmed with Burano lace. The skirt was wide, with layers of petticoats, while the brocade bodice pulled her waist in and thrust her breasts upwards, a jewelled brooch nestling at her cleavage.
She was almost ready, just the last few items. Bustling across her room, the dress swishing pleasingly as she walked, she picked up the bracelet laid out on her dressing table. Her father had passed it down to Gina, telling her it had been her grandmother’s, and to take good care of it. The bracelet was made of Murano glass, a dozen circular beads in myriad shades of blue, like the Venice Lagoon, strung together on a silver chain. It was unlikely to be worth very much, but to Gina it was priceless. It was one of the few tangible memories of her father and grandmother – she didn’t even have so much as a photograph …
‘Are you ready, Gina? The boat will be here soon.’ Vittoria’s voice interrupted her thoughts as she called through the door.
‘Just a moment …’
It was time for the final – and most important – part of her costume. Her mask. She lifted it from the box on her dressing table, where it lay nestled inside layers of tissue paper that crinkled satisfyingly as she lifted it out, holding it up admiringly. The volto mask was a beautiful, papier-mâché creation designed to cover the whole face, exquisitely decorated with an intricate gold design that had been traditionally hand-painted. A length of gold ribbon trailed from either side. Gina reverentially placed it over her face, tying the ribbon behind her head to make it secure.
As soon as it was in place, Gina felt different. Far from hiding behind the mask, Gina felt the opposite – an unexpected sense of freedom. Ordinarily, she worked hard to hide her true self from the world, to conceal the secrets she carried with her. Behind the mask, she was safe to be herself; she felt powerful and untouchable.
As she turned, she felt the weight of the bracelet on her arm, and heard her mother’s words in her head: One day, my girl, the world will catch up with you.
Gina pushed the memory away. It was time to go, and she wasn’t going to hide any longer.
Chapter 3
Issy Roberts was deep in thought as she crossed the White Palace’s Presidential Suite, the deep-pile carpet luxuriously soft beneath her Nike trainers. She’d just received a call from her boss, Brad Redford, that the day’s shooting had just wrapped and he was on his way back to the hotel, so Issy was doing some last-minute troubleshooting to ensure everything was perfect for his return.
Brad Redford was no ordinary boss, and Issy’s job as his personal assistant was far from the average nine-to-five. Brad was one of the world’s biggest movie stars. He was built like a Greek god, and every film he made was box-office gold. Brad had been in the public eye for over twenty years, since making his big-screen debut as a starry-eyed seventeen-year-old in Open Road, a cult classic about a disparate group of youths on motorcycles who’d embarked on a road trip across America. He’d been young and impossibly good-looking, wearing his trademark white T-shirt, blue Levis and a black leather jacket. The iconic poster of him posing moodily on a motorbike had been pinned up on a billion girls’ bedroom walls. He was still met by legions of screaming fans wherever he went, able to bring whole cities to a standstill.
They were in Venice filming his new movie, High Voltage 3: Electric Angel, the latest in the multimillion-dollar High Voltage franchise. The big set-piece for this movie would take place in a couple of weeks’ time, with Brad being chased across the distinctive orange rooftops of Venice by the villain, flying a black helicopter. The action would culminate in Brad leaping from the roof of the Doge’s Palace and escaping on a gondola piloted by his love interest in the movie, as the helicopter crash-landed in St Mark’s Square.
Despite Brad’s classic movie-star good looks – perfectly coiffed dark blond hair and twinkling blue eyes – he had a reputation within the industry as a daredevil, and was famous for doing his own stunts. He knew that nervous production companies would usually say no to other actors, but nobody said no to Brad Redford. Besides, in this case, he co-owned the production company.
As his PA, Issy did everything for Brad – not only arranging his schedule but organizing his closet, dealing with his fan mail, and even buying his favourite cashmere socks. Her role was to anticipate his every need and fulfil it, a steaming macchiato in his hand before he even realized he wanted one.
Her chosen career was never less than exhilarating; she got to travel the world, meet people she’d only ever read about in gossip magazines, and stay in incredible hotels like the White Palace. She was devoted to her job. And to Brad.
Issy checked her watch, estimating she had ten minutes before his return. She sat down at the enormous polished-walnut table, in the dining room that was being used as a makeshift office, and opened her laptop. It was rigged up to a printer which the hotel had provided, and every evening she would print off Brad’s schedule for the next day, along with any script updates.
Issy looked over Brad’s diary for the coming weeks and pulled a face. The next couple of months were blocked out for shooting. They would spend three weeks in Venice, then move location to Prague, before heading back to Los Angeles to film on set in the studio. Slotted in around all of that were awards ceremonies, interviews, photo shoots, and all manner of commitments that made up Brad Redford’s high-octane life. He’d recently signed as the face – or rather the body – of Calvin Klein underwear, and she still needed to schedule the first campaign shoot when they returned to LA.
Then, in two weeks’ time, there it was, in bold black capital letters: LEXI. Issy frowned.
Lexi Parker was more than just Mrs Brad Redford – she was a celebrated actress and a star in her own right. Together, they were two of the biggest players in Hollywood, an internationally renowned power couple. Brad had famously cast Lexi as his love interest in the romantic comedy My Other Half, later admitting that he’d been instantly attracted to her. It was a case of art imitating life, as the two of them fell in love on set, a fairy-tale wedding in a French château following mere months later.
Brad and Lexi hadn’t yet had children, which had given rise to all kinds of vicious tabloid rumours – that their marriage was a sham; that at least one of them was infertile; that Lexi had put her career above a family. Issy knew that the rumours bothered Brad, but he rarely spoke about it. Behind the scenes though, Issy knew, their relationship wasn’t as perfect as it appeared.
Issy tucked her hair behind her ears and stared at the screen. She’d been blessed with a riot of red corkscrew curls, which sometimes turned heads but could be hard to keep under control. She tapped in a couple of additions to Brad’s diary, and thought about the situation with Lexi. Brad was supposed to take a private jet to meet her in Paris for a weekend, where she would be unveiled as the new face of Chanel’s latest fragrance. Realistically, Issy knew, they would need that weekend to finalize the night shoots. She’d overheard the director say they were overrunning and would need another twenty-four hours at least. Then if she added the Vogue Italia shoot on the Sunday … Issy usually tried to schedule a rest day at least once a fortnight, but sometimes it wasn’t possible. Brad would understand, she thought, as she took a deep breath and deleted Lexi’s name from the calendar.
The door was flung open and Issy jumped guiltily, pasting a bright smile on her face as Brad walked in. His adrenaline was clearly flowing after the day’s filming, and he had that unmistakable movie-star glow. He was more than attractive or handsome; he seemed to have an indefinable quality that always took her by surprise. Issy wished she’d made more of an effort; she’d spent the day running errands and was wearing jeans and an oversized Calvin Klein jumper that Brad had been sent but passed on to Issy.
‘What a day! I’m exhausted,’ Brad exclaimed. He seemed anything but tired though. To Issy, Brad always seemed to have a fully charged battery, bouncing around like a ball of energy, enthusiastic about everything the world had to offer. His stamina was unlimited, and he had an infectious zest for life.
‘How did it go?’
‘It was awesome! We shot the speedboat chase out on the lagoon. The adrenaline was pumping, and the city looked beautiful. You should have come.’
‘I had a lot to do back here. I’m sure you were amazing though,’ Issy grinned. She wasn’t just blowing smoke up his ass; he always did an incredible job. Brad was a great employer, a great guy, and Issy loved working for him.
‘So what am I doing tonight?’ Brad asked, turning to her. ‘Wait – you know what? Let me take a shower. I’ll be two minutes.’
Like a whirlwind, he dashed off towards the master bedroom. A few seconds later, Issy heard the sound of water running. She did a final sweep of the sitting room, checking that Brad’s favourite Grey Goose vodka had been restocked in the minibar, along with bottles of San Pellegrino and fresh limes. She made sure that housekeeping had put away his dry cleaning and made his bed. Then she quickly printed out the schedule and laid it on the table.
‘OK, that feels better! Now I’m all yours.’
Issy looked up to see Brad striding into the room, drying his hair on a pristine white towel. A second towel was wrapped around his waist, but his chest was bare, droplets of water nestled in the fine blond hairs. Brad was in impressive shape. As an action-movie star, it was a requirement of the job, but Issy knew that his routine in the lead-up to this film had been intense, living on six high-protein meals a day, and training with an ex-Navy SEAL. It had all been worth it, though, to get this lean, ripped body, his muscles rippling, his tight six-pack dipping below the towel …
Issy had seen Brad semi-naked more times than she could count. Recently though, she’d found herself avoiding becoming too close to him like this; she’d started to feel overwhelmed by feelings that flustered her. She averted her eyes and concentrated on her schedule.
‘I’ve made dinner reservations at Antica Trattoria Poste Vecie,’ Issy explained, carefully pronouncing the Italian words. ‘It’s one of the oldest restaurants in Venice – Casanova used to dine in the same building. It specializes in traditional Venetian dishes, mostly seafood, and you’ll love it. Mick Jagger and Jerry Hall are in town, so you’re dining with them.’
‘Sure. Are you joining us?’
‘I wasn’t planning to …’
‘C’mon. You know I can’t function without you, Iz.’ Brad grinned, with that slow, lazy smile that lit up his face, and for a moment she almost believed him.
Issy felt a telltale flip in her stomach and exhaled slowly before giving him a wry smile. ‘Well. OK, we can’t have you not being able to function! Oh, and sorry, I have bad news.’
