A Legacy of Secrets(15)

Ella was the most focused, determined person where her work was concerned, and certainly wouldn’t let any man get in the way.

Not even one as drop-dead gorgeous as Santo.

Especially not one as drop-dead gorgeous as Santo.

Ella was well aware she attracted bastards—a couple of relationships had taught her that—only Santo wasn’t actually one.

He never made promises he had no intention of keeping. His reputation served as enough of a warning and fool was the woman who might think he would change.

Ella wasn’t a fool.

She’s simply refused to give in to the want that sometimes curled inside when he was around. Her career came first, but this morning, knowing she was perhaps leaving, for a few dangerous moments she had given in.

And look at the consequences.

It was supposed to have been a kiss. She hadn’t been prepared for the chemistry lab to ignite.

Ella spent the morning fielding calls, trying not to think of the man lying naked in bed just metres away, but in the end she gave in talking on the phone. She was sick of the name Taylor Carmichael, sick to her stomach about the questions being asked about Santo’s family, and so she diverted all calls, except any from Alessandro. She turned on Santo’s computer and, logging into the account she had on there, she checked her emails, her heart stopping for a moment when she saw that Luigi, the man who had interviewed her over a week ago, had finally replied.

She sped through the polite chatter at the beginning of the email, where he apologised for taking so long, and then she read the news she had been waiting for—in a month’s time she would be junior assistant director on an upcoming film that was being shot in both Rome and Florence.

Everything seemed to stop for a moment. She had waited for this for so long—okay, it was a junior assistant director’s role, which was probably more like a barista, but she had a title and she would be doing more than she was doing now. Santo was so fierce about his films, so protective of them, and she didn’t really blame him for not giving her a chance.

Ella closed her eyes as her mind wandered back to the man in the bedroom.

She knew a lot about Santo’s relationships—they were in days and weeks at best. A brief flash of devotion was all any woman got from Santo—a swamp of texts and phone calls, dinner, bed, breakfast, flowers, champagne. Ella paid his bills and did the bookings after all, and then, just as quickly as it all started, it would be over...and left to Ella to field phone calls and mop tears.

The hotel phone trilled. It was reception wondering what time Santo would be checking out or if he would be staying another night and Ella answered it, cold from a lack of sleep last night and stiff from sitting in the chair.

‘I’m not sure.’ When you were speaking on behalf of a Corretti, such answers could be given, especially as the press were no doubt nagging the desk for details.

She walked into the dark bedroom and took a moment for her eyes to accustom. Santo was deeply asleep—she could tell from the regular breathing and just the stillness in the room and the distinct lack of a smart comment from him.

‘Santo?’

He rolled onto his stomach, pulled the pillow over his head.

‘Santo!’ She said it more firmly. ‘It’s two o’clock. The desk wants to know if you’re checking out.’

‘Did Alessandro call?’

‘Nothing,’ Ella said. ‘Santo, it’s time to get up.’

‘Another hour...’ came his sleepy voice, and then perhaps remembering it was Sunday after all and that he had taken up a lot of her time, he said the right thing. ‘You go home.’

Then he said the wrong.

‘Or—’ he rolled now onto his side, a lazy smile on his sleepy mouth ‘—you can climb in.’

And she could go now, Ella knew. He could sort out the hotel himself. He was sober enough now to drive and she had loads to do—she was joining him on location in a couple of days and there was plenty to sort out. She turned and stood for a moment watching as he returned to sleep and then she left the bedroom.

Except it wasn’t to collect her bag and leave.

Ella headed into the bathroom and stood there for a very long moment.

She trusted no one—it was absolutely safer that way. She didn’t, thanks to a few months ago, even trust her own mother. And yet, in a bizarre way, she had an inkling of trust in Santo. He made no excuses and he never lied. Happily he put his hand up to claim his appalling reputation and somehow his honesty made her bold.