An Invitation to Sin(11)

She hesitated and then opened the text.

Good luck today. Enjoy Sicily.

Flinging the phone back in her bag, she rubbed her forehead with fingers that shook. She felt as if she’d been dipped in iced water. He wasn’t wishing her luck, he was telling her that he knew exactly what she was doing and where she was doing it.

She was never going to be rid of him. Never.

Knowing that she couldn’t afford to think of him now, she took a deep breath as the car slowed and shut off all those parts of herself she no longer showed to the world. Maybe everyone at the wedding had been fake, but she was the biggest fake of all. No one saw the real Taylor. She hadn’t even been sure she could access the real Taylor any more until that moment in the maze with Luca.

Pushing that thought aside, she stepped out of the car, telling herself that the media attention would die down after the first day of filming.

Her confidence lasted as long as it took her to notice the black expression on the director’s face. She’d assumed he was meeting her in person out of courtesy and respect for her position on the movie, but one look at his face told her that was a false assumption.

It was a struggle to keep her smile steady. ‘Sorry about the media circus. Hopefully they’ll lose interest soon enough.’

‘Why would they lose interest when you are a never-ending source of juicy stories?’ His voice was cold. ‘Your brief was to create interest in the movie, not in your personal life. The moment Santo told me he wanted you on the project I knew it would be a disaster.’

‘Oh.’ Shaken by that unwelcome news, Taylor spun a few more layers of protection between her feelings and the world and kept it professional. ‘I’d like to think you’d judge me on my performance now, not on something that happened years ago.’

‘The whole world is judging you on your performance at the Corretti wedding.’ His face was scarlet with anger and for the first time Taylor noticed the newspaper clutched in his hand.

‘The wedding never happened, but even I couldn’t be blamed for that, surely?’ Confused, she eyed the newspaper. Did people even still buy those things? If she ever wanted to glance at headlines she just used her phone. ‘If you’re worried about the fact the wedding didn’t go ahead, then don’t be. I’m sure Santo Corretti will deal with it. The publicity might even be good for the film.’

His mouth opened and closed. ‘“Good” that the movie-going public see you as a man-stealer?’

She looked at him blankly. ‘A what?’

‘Just in case you were too drunk to know what you were doing, you can read it for yourself.’

Taylor almost lost her balance as he thrust the paper at her. ‘I don’t drink. And I remember everything.’ An image of Luca’s handsome face floated into her head and she pushed it away as she fumbled with the newspaper.

‘Portia Bateman.’ He enunciated every syllable. ‘Are you going to tell me that name doesn’t mean anything to you?’

‘Yes, that’s exactly what I’m going to tell you because it doesn’t. I’ve never heard of Portia Bateman.’ Taylor’s mind was working in slow motion. Her fingers were clumsy as she unfolded the offending paper. ‘In fact, I don’t know a single person called Portia—’ The words stuck in her mouth as a snippet of conversation rose in her mind.

So who is this woman you’re hiding from?

Apparently her name is Portia.

Driven by a horrible, awful suspicion, she shook her head. ‘Oh, no, no, she can’t have done that. I checked. I looked…’ She muttered the words to herself but the director was watching her keenly.

‘So you do know someone called Portia.’

‘No, I don’t! I’ve never even met her. She’s just someone he…’ She scanned the piece, saw the photograph of a tearful blonde woman under the caption Exclusive—Taylor Carmichael Stole My Man. And there beneath the caption was a photograph of her and Luca. His bronzed hand was plastered against her bare thigh and they were kissing. Not just kissing. Devouring each other. Passion was painted into every line of the photo and she stared at it in dismay.

Her fingers gripped the paper.

The sounds faded around her.

Dizziness washed over her.

She’d congratulated herself on the fact that no paparazzi had caught her moment of indiscretion. She’d forgotten that since the advent of camera phones, everyone was a photographer. And this one had hit the jackpot.