‘There are many recipes, but this is the local one. Your mother would make it the same way. Have you been to visit where she lived yet?’
‘Santo took me there on the way here,’ Ella said. ‘I am going to visit my aunts when we finish shooting.’
‘And your mother, does she love Australia? I have heard so many good things about it.’
And Ella sat quiet for a moment, sipped on her limoncello and answered carefully. ‘It’s a beautiful country,’ Ella said, ‘but my mother misses home an awful lot.’
‘Of course,’ Teresa said. ‘But she is happy with her choice?’
And she looked at Ella for a very long time. There was a moment, a long one, and one Ella decided where it would be prudent to play by very old rules. It was, Ella told herself, a practice run for her aunties. ‘Very happy,’ Ella said and returned Teresa’s smile, looking up in relief when Santo came in.
‘Take Ella and show her the winery,’ Teresa said. ‘Choose something nice for dinner tonight.’
‘You have to get back, don’t you?’ Santo said to Ella. It was nice that he offered the choice as to whether they stay longer, but Ella knew it would be rude to leave now, knew from her mother what was silently expected.
‘No.’ Ella smiled. ‘I’ve got everything done. Dinner would be lovely.’
‘She seems to like you.’ They were walking in the grounds, through the vines and out to the winery. She’d have loved to take a photo, to tell her mum she was here, but she wasn’t sure that that suggestion would be particularly welcomed.
‘You’re quiet,’ she commented, because Santo rarely was.
‘It feels different to be here and know he isn’t.’
‘Sorry…’ Ella could have kicked herself for her own insensitivity. ‘I didn’t think.’
‘No!’ Santo shook his head. ‘I am not upset.’
‘I do understand that whatever has gone on, still he was your grandparent.’
‘It’s not fond memories I’m having, Ella.’ Santo said no more than that. They walked into the cool dark winery and she wondered if here he might try something, but instead Santo spent an awful long time choosing the wine.
‘This one,’ he said. ‘This was from the year you were born.’
‘I didn’t know you knew the year I was born.’
‘I read your résumé.’ He gave her a smile and walked over, lifted his hand to her hair, just wondered about her, really. ‘You know I always wanted to have sex in here.’
He was just so direct.
‘With your grandmother waiting in the house?’
‘That doesn’t come into my fantasy.’
‘Well, it’s a bit off-putting in mine,’ Ella said. She was terribly wary of him, trying to keep things light when she felt anything but, trying to keep her head on during a most difficult of days.
‘I miss you.’ He watched her frown.
‘You don’t know me.’
‘That’s what I miss.’
He didn’t even try to kiss her, did nothing other than take her hand and walk back to the house. She just couldn’t read his mood.
The food was heavenly—fennel salad dripping in the best olive oil Ella had tasted, and a huge lasagne, but the Sicilian way, stuffed with Italian sausage and cheeses.
Santo sat at the table, chatted and spoke and smiled in all the right places, and she tried to fathom him, but couldn’t. He looked up and caught her staring, and smiled till she blushed as he stared back and he pressed his foot to her leg just once, but it wasn’t Santo.
It was like watching an actor play his part.
‘Do you remember my birthday?’ Teresa smiled and recounted tales of supposed happier times, but Ella watched a muscle flicker in Santo’s cheek as Teresa mentioned Benito’s children and asked after Luca and Gio, though she was wise enough perhaps to not mention Matteo. ‘And that time Lia hid and we could not find her for hours. You were so young then. Grace was still alive.’
‘Grace?’
‘Lia’s mum,’ Santo explained. ‘Benito was married before Simona.’ He was so much more open here, but then so was Teresa, Ella realised. She must assume, given that Santo had brought her here, that they were serious.
‘She lived with us,’ Teresa explained. ‘When Grace died.’ And she smiled over to Santo, and Ella watched as there was just a brief pause before Santo duly smiled back, not that Teresa noticed. She turned her attention to Ella.
‘Will you tell your mother that you ate with me?’ Her eyes twinkled.
‘I can’t wait to tell her.’ Ella laughed, because she’d been sitting there thinking just that. For the first time in a very long time, she actually missed her mother, wished that today was something they could have properly shared.
‘She will be shocked, and she will warn you about me, but also she will love to know!’ Teresa promised, and it was as if she had met her mother—she just knew what she was like. ‘She will want every single detail,’ Teresa said as the maid brought in a huge tray of sweet canelloni, ‘but even as you give her the details she will tell you that you should not have come!’
‘Then she’ll ask me to tell her about your furniture.’
He watched as the two women sat laughing, and thank God he’d brought Ella with him, because Santo wasn’t sure he could have got through this visit alone, and certainly not as well. Memories were churning. The happy birthdays his nonna all too frequently regaled were not quite as perfect, if Santo remembered correctly.
And he was quite sure he did.
Surprisingly it was Santo who declined coffee.
He just wanted out.
Even as they left, Teresa was plying her with bottles of olive oil and limoncello and, even as they climbed in the car, offering them to come back in for coffee.
‘We really have to go,’ Santo said. ‘We need to get back to the Olympic Village.’
Thankfully his little dig went straight over Teresa’s head.
‘That wasn’t funny,’ Ella said, her cheeks scalding as he started up the car.
‘I thought it was.’ Santo smirked. ‘You know, I think sex actually enhances performance.’
‘I’ll draft a letter to the IOC for you,’ Ella said tartly. ‘I’m sure they’ll welcome your thoughts.’
‘Do you?’ She turned and saw that his expression was serious. ‘Can you talk to me? Can you tell me why you were so upset when I came to your room this afternoon?’
And he’d shared so much with her today that maybe she could. There was this argument raging but it was dimming. Quite simply, with Santo she wanted to share—she just didn’t know how. ‘It’s my mum’s birthday today,’ Ella admitted. ‘I’d just called her when you came to my room.’ Santo said nothing. ‘I find it really hard to talk to her.’
‘You don’t get on?’
‘I don’t agree with some of her choices,’ Ella said and then amended, ‘I don’t agree with a lot of her choices.’
She said nothing more for a while, and neither did Santo. He was waiting for her to talk to him and she tried to a couple of times, opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. It was twenty-seven years of silence that she was fighting to break and it was especially difficult to break that silence to a man.
Except Santo was like no man she had ever met and maybe she was starting to actually trust him, maybe it was time that she opened up. As they drove in to the hotel and the valet approached, just as he went to open her door, Ella spoke.
‘My father is an alcoholic.’
As she went to climb out of the car he caught her wrist and gently pulled her back. ‘For that you get a kiss.’
He ignored the open doors, the people standing in the foyer, the valet waiting to take his keys. Instead, as promised, he gave her a kiss for telling, and she was crying as he did so, because she’d never actually said those words before. Then his tongue was on her cheeks, taking her tears. It was a very private, very thorough kiss, in a very public place, but right now, neither cared a fraction.
> ‘Let’s get inside,’ Santo said.
Once they were out, he took her hand and they walked towards the hotel. Clearly he had to let it go, ought to let go, for they were about to step into the revolving door, but it was as if they were glued together, as if neither could bear to be apart, not even for a second, and they walked into the door together.
‘He beats her.’ She just said it out loud in a tiny space and, oblivious of onlookers, not caring that no one could now get in or out of the hotel, as promised, he rewarded her with his mouth, just pulled her right into him. They were the only two people left in the world. He could have taken her there had he wanted to. There was just this slow unfurling of her heart as he held and kissed her, and in that moment, Ella truly thought she could tell him anything. For the first time in her life, she trusted another with her heart.
‘Now,’ Santo said, ‘I take you to bed and then after—’ because there would be after ‘—if you want to, we can talk some more.’
Ella, weak from admission, was grateful for the chance of a reprieve from her confessions. As he pushed the glass door, as they walked through the entrance, all she wanted was his bed, his warmth, the shield of him that for far too long she had denied.
‘Santo Corretti…’
It felt as if she were being rapidly brought out of an anaesthetic, the antidote to surrender shooting through her veins, as a stunning woman walked towards them and the safe, warm feeling she had, so briefly, sampled was suddenly threatened. The bubble of bliss burst, and his arm, around her, squeezed suddenly tense shoulders.
‘I am Marianna…’ She smiled warmly to Santo, but it turned black when she greeted Ella. ‘Your replacement.’
‘Now is not a good time.’ Santo was extremely curt. ‘I do not do impromptu interviews. You can arrange a time with Ella for tomorrow.’
‘No…’ Ella just wanted it over and done with. She could hardly blame Marianna for jumping on a plane to convince the boss personally—hadn’t Ella done exactly the same? ‘You two go ahead, I need to…’ She didn’t even try to come up with an excuse. ‘Tomorrow you are busy with filming. It might be better if we can sort this all out tonight.’
Ella ignored Santo as he tried to call her back. Instead she pulled back the gate to the lift and headed to her room, horribly unsettled at the turn of events, but possibly glad for them.
She had been so close to telling everything, to opening up and pouring out her heart.
But for what?
She was leaving, moving to Rome in a few short weeks—what hope was there for them anyway? Santo couldn’t even manage longevity in a normal relationship, a long-distance one was surely an impossible ask.
Ella needed to think. She had sworn to never cry over him, to not give this playboy her heart, and she had just come dangerously close to doing so. She opened the door to her room and there was a huge bunch of flowers waiting there. They brought a very watery smile to her lips. Santo had been on and off the phone for a lot of the afternoon, and though she was touched at his thoughtfulness, as she opened the attached card, Ella braced herself for more of his endearments, reminded herself that Santo was a stunning flirter, yet she found herself frowning as she read the card.
You will be amazing.
See why I had to sleep with you before I told you?
Santo xxx
P.S. You’re fired.
She didn’t understand his cryptic message, but knew this evening she had been played, that, all day, sex had been on his agenda, that it had been an absolute certainty for Santo that the day would end in his bed.
And, had it not been for Marianna, it would have.
She poured herself some limoncello from the bottle Teresa had given her, tried to tell herself that she must calm down, tried to work out what his message meant. Not liking where her thoughts were leading, that once in bed he’d take away the problem of her working for him, no doubt, right now, he was giving Marianna the job.
How bloody convenient for him.
‘Ella…’ She had known that he would come to her room, that Santo would have to offer a rapid explanation for his message, and she was very tight-lipped as she opened the door. ‘You got the flowers….’ There was an attempt at a joke, when Ella really wasn’t in the mood for one. ‘Now do you see why I need a PA? Even flowers I manage to screw up.’
‘So you were going to fire me, after you slept with me.’
‘No, no, you have it all wrong.’
‘I was a dead certainty, was I?’
‘Yes.’ He made no apology about it. ‘I was certain that tonight I was going to make love to you.’
‘So, how was Marianna?’
‘She was everything that you said she was. Ella, please, will you just listen?’
‘You don’t want me to hang around and train her up?’
‘Ella…’
She didn’t let him get a word in.
‘Because it shouldn’t take long—I’ve streamlined the process….’
‘Really!’ Santo’s raised an eyebrow. He actually rather liked her angry. ‘How so?’
‘Well, you’re a full-time job, but not a very complicated one. She watched his tongue roll in his cheek. ‘I’ll just hand her the Santo Bag.’
‘The Santo Bag?’
‘It contains all the essentials.’
And she took the huge bag she’d been carrying around and adding to for four months now, and tipped the contents onto his bed.
‘New white shirt, grey tie, black tie…’ She glanced over and there was a very unrepentant smile curving on his lips. ‘You do seem to attend an inordinate amount of funerals.’
‘The company I keep,’ Santo said, because actors lived and played hard as well, ‘and I have a complicated family too.’
‘Headache pills,’ Ella said. ‘And sunglasses.’
Santo said nothing.
‘Condoms—you tend to run out an awful lot.’ Tears pricked at her eyes as she remembered a frantic 3:00 a.m. phone call from her boss, and she was so blisteringly angry with him, so completely furious with herself for loving him. Loathing him too, for all he had, however unwittingly, put her heart through, because it had killed to see him with others.
‘We shoot in strange locations.’ But he wasn’t smiling now, realising now the depth of her hurt, because until last week there hadn’t been any hint that she even liked him.
‘First aid kit and those amazing gel Band-Aids…’ She heard his breathing come angry and hard as she reminded him of one time. ‘Great for carpet burn.’
‘I get the message, Ella.’
‘Oh, I haven’t finished yet. Antiseptic…’ she continued. ‘Great for scratches.’
‘You were jealous.’ He was angry with himself for not seeing it, angry with her too, for all she had put herself through. ‘All that time…’
‘Jealous!’ She snorted. ‘I’m not jealous, Santo, I’m sick of it. You don’t need a PA following you around—you need a school nurse!’
And she hated him for smiling then, hated the stealth of his approach. Yes, she was jealous, had, even though she’d denied it, been hot, spitting jealous and even worse than that, now he knew.
‘Do you know what you need?’
He picked a condom up from the bed and then he tossed it. ‘Oh, that’s right, we don’t use them.’
‘Of all the arrogant—’ He hushed her with his mouth, pushed her against the wall with a kiss so violent there was a clash of enamel and she tried to push him off.
‘You do need it,’ Santo said, refusing to release her, his hands pushing up her skirt. ‘You need a quick reminder of how good we are. And then we’re going to talk.’
‘When you fire me?’ she spat out.
‘When I hire you.’ He reclaimed her mouth as he tore at her panties and—love him or loathe him, she didn’t know—all Ella knew was that she was kissing him back. She’d never had angry sex before, had never been caught in a row that came with pure passion. At the return of her kiss he lifted her
and she found that he was backing her into another wall, his mouth still on hers as he spoke. ‘I was going to offer you a job….’
‘As what? Your on-set tart?’
Right now she’d take it. She was kissing him back and grappling with his zipper. ‘I hate you, Santo,’ she told him. ‘I hate that you planned this.’
‘You love it.’
He lifted her onto him, and she hated more the legs that so willingly wrapped around him, but then, he’d taken off that shackle. This was no threat to her job. As of now, she didn’t work for him, and she found herself feeling surprisingly free.
‘You love it, more than you want to admit to it.’ He was inside her and she was grinding down. ‘You are the most uptight woman I know,’ Santo said, ‘except in the bedroom.’ She was starting to come and trying to hold on to it. ‘Guess what?’ He was battering into her, not just her sex but her head. ‘I accept that…’ He went to say something more, but gave in. She could hear the neighbours banging on the wall as Santo switched to rapid Italian, heard her own moans and shouts as they locked into oblivion. He was right, she loved it. She was just petrified of loving him.
* * *
‘I have to change rooms.’ She was leaning on him, stunned and a bit dizzy, never wanting to face her neighbours again, but Santo lifted her chin to face him.
‘There’s something I came to tell you this afternoon.’ Ella looked up at him. ‘I fired Rafaele.’
He was an absolute gentleman. He took her shredded panties and put them in the bin, retrieved a wayward shoe and even smoothed her skirt for her as she processed the news. It was huge to fire a director mid-shoot and she didn’t dare hope, didn’t dare dream. He tucked in his shirt and did everything up, a strange attempt to separate this from the bedroom, except she could feel him trickling between her thighs.
‘Ella, I have given a lot of thought as to his replacement and I think you would make an amazing director.’
A Legacy of Secrets Page 11
