Flipped (Better With Prosecco Book 1)

by Lisa-Marie Cabrelli

  This picnic might be trouble.

  26

  Hazel

  Hazel hadn’t slept a wink. This lack of sleep was now showing on her face. She stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The mirror had fallen off of one of its nails and sat crookedly over the cracked ceramic sink. She sighed. Yet another item to add to that to-do list. The list was getting scary long, and yet here she was, hopping off on some picnic somewhere with some man. She had finally accepted that she was in trouble. Yes, until now they had been sparring, both trying to ignore the thread of attraction that bound them together, but yesterday she had seen a different side of Dean. He was nothing like the famous movie star persona she had built up in her head. He was kind, not arrogant. He'd spent the day with her doing backbreaking work when there was no reason for him to even be in the house. And he wasn’t the kind of movie star who didn’t lift a finger either, he worked his butt off and didn’t stop until they'd finished the job. And he was funny. Telling her stories of life on the set and the strange personalities that surrounded him in his distant life in Los Angeles. They hadn’t gotten too deep into their personal lives, but she sensed there was a lot to discover under that handsome exterior. He was not the superficial cartoon of a person she’d assumed most famous people must be. She realized that she was falling for him, which made it particularly irritating that she hadn’t slept last night and now had these huge bags under her eyes.

  Some of her lack of sleep had been caused by the adrenaline still pounding through her after that kiss, some had been caused by worry. She'd got her data working so had sent two or three emails to Liz asking how Samuel was doing on the project, and every reply had been full of praise. Although Liz was her best friend and she should have faith in her support, Hazel was still worried and was very much afraid that she'd be left on the sidelines; especially since she wasn’t there. If only she could talk to Liz, hear her voice, figure out what was going on. But her stupid phone, or the stupid Italian service, wouldn’t make voice calls. She needed coffee.

  The kitchen table was becoming increasingly unsuited to its intended use. It was strewn with lists and plans and budgets. Booklets of paint colors were piled in the middle and wood samples were scattered all over the table and the counters. Noticeably missing, though, were any contracts. There were no contracts because she couldn’t find a single person to hire who could, or would, do the work.

  She tried Liz’s number again and got nothing. Not even a dial tone this time. She tossed her useless phone into the pile of paperwork. “Shoot! Stupid phone.”

  “What’s the matter with the phone?” Stefano seated himself opposite her and she noticed her weakening irritation with him. Last night, between her post kiss euphoria, the food, and the camaraderie, Stefano had grown on her. He was a sweet boy, with an endearingly earnest innocence and a snarky sense of humor like Indigo's. He made her mother crack up every five minutes which made Hazel laugh. But she still hadn’t forgiven him for the ceiling leak and she was mad that he made her want to.

  “It doesn’t work! I’ve been trying to call the U.S. They can’t call me. I can’t call them. Who knows? I’ve given up.”

  Stefano reached across the messy piles and picked up her phone. “Probably just settings.” He spent a few minutes pressing buttons and alternately frowning and smiling. Before he handed it back to her. “That will work,” he said, “it was just your settings.”

  Hazel looked at him and laughed. “I know it’s not that easy. I’ve been down to the phone shop like five times and they do what you just did, hand it back and nothing happens.”

  “Try it,” Stefano said. “It works now.”

  Frowning at Stefano over the top of her phone, she touched ‘Phonebook’ and selected ‘Liz’. She kept her other hand under the table and crossed her fingers hard. It was ringing!!

  “Hello?”

  “Liz! Oh my god, Liz, I’m so glad it’s you! Where are you? Can you chat?”

  “Where am I, Hazel? I’m in bed! It’s…,” Hazel heard shuffling, “two a.m.! Why are you calling me at 2:00 a.m.?”

  “Sorry Liz, sorry!! Time difference error. Sorry! I’ll call you later today.”

  She hit the end button and grinned triumphantly at Stefano. He started to laugh, “Maybe you are too dangerous with long distance. Maybe better I didn’t fix it.”

  “No! Awesome that you fixed it, Stefano. Thank you!” She stood up. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “Grazie,” Stefano said. He was sorting the papers on the table in front of him, making nice, neat piles. He was a boy after her own heart. She was a compulsive straightener. It was Indigo who kept rendering this table a complete disaster.

  Hazel handed him a steaming mug. He looked at it in confusion. She laughed, “Americano. We’ll turn you yet.” They sipped for a few minutes in silence. “Why are you here, Stefano?”

  “Scusi?” He flushed a deep red and Hazel felt a flush of guilt at the way the question had come out.

  “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I wondered if you could tell me how you ended up here, with nowhere to stay? What’s happened?”

  Stefano put his mug onto the table and messed with the papers again. He looked like a little boy. “My mother passed away.” He picked up his mug again and then put it back down without drinking. “She wasn’t a good mother. She liked her vino too much. And she liked men too. But she loved me and wanted me to do well. I got into University. I study computers and technology. She got sick. She gave me a paper with this address and told me to look for my father. She'd never told me about him before. I never asked. She said he lived here. And if he was dead, then the house belonged to me. But your mother, she says he is not dead, and she showed me the papers that the house is hers. But Indigo says I can stay, which is nice of her because my mother didn’t own her house and I have no money for rent or university anymore.”

  Hazel felt a wave of shame pass over her. She had been so caught up in her own problems she hadn’t spared a thought for why a university student like Stefano would wander around claiming houses. But if Stefano’s father was her mother’s old boyfriend, and he was still alive, why did his mother leave the house to Indigo? And if this boy truly was the man's son, then shouldn't he have the house, anyway? She felt convinced, once again, that she wasn't getting the whole truth from Indigo. She wondered if she would ever get any sense out of her mother. She'd let all the vagueness wash over her before because she knew how her Mother worked and sometimes it just wasn't worth the effort to keep nagging her. But now they were impacting another person's life. She would need to speak to her about it again.

  “Well you can stay here with us as long as we're here.” She stood and picked up Stefano’s cold coffee to pour it down the sink. He was clearly an espresso drinker. “But you know we are planning to sell it in a few months, so we’ll need to figure something out. I'll talk to Indigo about it. I’m happy to help however I can, Stefano, so make sure you talk to either of us if you need something.”

  “I can work!” he blurted out. “I know little about houses, only computers, but I can learn fast. I can help with the renovation. I want to. I can pay you back for letting me live here.”

  Hazel smiled at him, “That’s sweet of you Stefano. But I have no one to teach you anything. Indigo and I are as lost as you are. But I’m working on it.”

  "Hey!" Indigo’s loud presence made them both jump. “You’re not working today! What are you still doing in your robe? Get up those stairs and get some sexy clothes on, Mama. You have to woo a movie star today.”

  Hazel rolled her eyes at her mother but she felt a shiver of excitement run through her. Dean. He’d be here in twenty-four minutes. She’d better hurry.

  27

  Dean

  “So tell me about your father.” Dean admired Hazel’s long, brown legs stretched out in front of her as she lay back on the wonderful, checkered cloth, now serving as a picnic blanket. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off of her
since he'd picked her up. Unlike her usual put together self, she looked casual and relaxed in her shorty shorts and cotton tank top. Her hair was gathered into a loose ponytail instead of a tight bun, and her face was refreshingly makeup free. They'd just finished a massive meal, compliments of an overly fussing Stella, so there was a lot, and he was packing away the stacks of Tupperware and uneaten food.

  She'd propped her head on a fat pillow that Dean had swiped from Stella’s house and was chewing on a fresh piece of grass. “Not much to tell. I don’t remember him. He died when I was pretty young. Look!”

  She pointed as a flock of birds swarmed out of a nearby tree, chasing off into the bright blue sky as though they were one animal. This was a beautiful place, and he was sitting next to an even more beautiful girl. Los Angeles and Isabella had only popped into his mind once and he'd banished them quickly. He'd deal with all of that later. It was incredible that they had this place to themselves. Sara had confided teasingly that she hadn’t grown up around here without learning the secret make-out spots. He'd blushed, she'd given him some complicated directions, and miraculously they'd ended up here. It was like a fairy grotto with deep, squishy, ridiculously green grass cascading down to the edge of the river. Crystal clear, mountain water flowed through and around sun-warmed, flat rocks like a painting. They'd dipped their feet in on arrival, but neither was brave enough to go in any further. The water had chilled their toes to numbness in under a minute.

  “Your Mom said something about you growing up like an orphan. Is that true?”

  Hazel huffed, half laugh and half sigh. “Indigo's nothing if not self-aware. Let’s just say she wasn’t the most maternal of mothers.”

  Dean checked her expression. She didn't look sad, just pensive. She was tough, but underneath he could sense the softness and vulnerability. He wondered if all of her self-control and drive was a result of growing up having to look after herself. It was admirable that she still had such a strong relationship with Indigo. Most kids growing up in that environment would probably run as soon as they were old enough, but Hazel had stuck with her family. He wasn't surprised. He imagined if he had been lucky enough to have any kind of family he would have stuck with them too. How bad had it been for her?

  “She wasn’t around or what?”

  “Oh she was around when she felt like it. But she believed in teaching us independence, which often meant leaving us to fend for ourselves.”

  “Us?”

  Hazel’s face spread into a sweet smile. “My sister Sylvie and I. Although, to be honest, she’s turned out as ditzy as Hazel. Neither one of them is a bad person,” she hastened to add. “They both mean well and love me like mad. They're just different from me. Indigo says I'm more like my dad.”

  “Like how?” He'd finished packing away the hefty basket. He moved it from the blanket and lay down next to her, head on the neighboring pillow. Her closeness made his pulse race, but he vowed to take it slow.

  “Like I said, I don’t remember him much, but Indigo has told me lots. He was an accountant. I find it hard to believe that my mother would be attracted to an accountant, but she insists she was. He was a great father, she says. He took Sylvie and me with him wherever he went when he wasn’t working. Mother said he doted on the two of us. He read to us, took us on adventures, even had tea parties. Indigo always says not to tell Sylvie, but she thinks I was his favorite.”

  She took the grass from her mouth and threw it on the grass next to her before rolling onto to her side to face him. Her closeness made his stomach flip.

  “I write to him sometimes. Is that dumb?”

  He lifted his fingers and traced them from the wispy bangs on her forehead, down the side of her cheek and neck and across her sharp collarbone. Her eyes drifted closed, and he smiled. He liked that he had this effect on her. They were completely in sync.

  “Not dumb,” he whispered as he brought his lips to hers. A soft moan came from her parted lips. He wanted to ravage her, right here on this blanket, but he wouldn’t do that. There was a complication in LA that he had to take care of first. Although it was over with Isabella, another kiss wouldn’t be fair to either of them. Thoughts of yesterday's kiss had kept him awake all night, but it would be unfair to Hazel to go further without talking to Isabella first. He pulled back.

  “You don’t have to stop.” Hazel hitched her hips closer and pressed her body against him. He longed to grab her, to feel the weight of her stretched across his entire body, but he resisted.

  “I do,” he said. “I’m here to find out everything about you. The kissing can wait.”

  “Indigo told me the Italian tabloids say you have a girlfriend. I asked her how she knows since she can’t read Italian. She said Stefano reads them to her. I never know whether to believe half of what my mother tells me, though. Do you have a girlfriend?”

  So she knew. Probably better if she did. “I did,” he said. "It's over." He rolled onto his back away from her tempting lips, it was important she hear and understand this bit. “I’ve been learning a lot about myself in Borgotaro. I've been thinking about my relationships, the other people in my life and what they all mean to me. This town, you know? There’s something about it that reminds you about the important stuff, the stuff in life you should be focused on; not career and money, but people and family. I thought this woman cared about me, but since I arrived in Borgotaro, I've figured out she doesn’t. I’ve also figured out I never cared much for her either, but rather, my idea of who I thought she was. I guess no one in LA is who they seem.”

  “I’m sorry”

  “Don’t be. It’s better this way. What do you write to your father?”

  “Oh, stuff. You know, life. The way Indigo describes him, he was the only actual parent I've ever had, you know? I know if he were alive today I'd want to make him proud. So I tell him the stuff I think would make him proud.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, I guess my career? We grew up in kind of a weird house. Indigo had jobs, but they never lasted. She never got fired or anything, she’s quite loyal, but she hated them all and would quit after only a few months. Some of them were good paying jobs, sales jobs and such, but we never seemed to have any money. Indigo is great at making money disappear, even now. I imagine my dad wouldn’t have wanted us to grow up that way. That he would have wanted more stability. So that’s been my goal. A stable career, stable money, stable life.”

  “No boyfriends?”

  She laughed and pulled him back towards her, staring into his eyes. “They never seemed that important. Until now.”

  Dean resisted the urge to steal another kiss and pushed ahead with his questions. “How did he die?”

  “Car accident. Went out to work one day and never came back.”

  They lay there for a few minutes in the quiet; just the sound of the water splashing around those warm, flat rocks.

  “So why are you in Borgotaro? Mother says she read there was some scandal, but it’s all very hush, hush.” He wasn't sure how to answer that. Should he tell her everything? Or would he sound too unstable for her stable life? “Too personal?” she asked.

  “Not too personal to tell you. Just difficult to explain." He reached for her fist and pulled it from under her head. His fingers entwined with hers, and she smiled up at him and then looked down at their joined hands.

  “That feels right doesn’t it? What you just did?”

  “It does,” he said and squeezed her fingers. “I had kind of a break-down. On set.”

  An adorable wrinkle of concern appeared on her forehead, between her almond eyes. “A breakdown?”

  “They say I’m suffering from a panic disorder. When anyone points a movie camera my way, I feel like I'll die. I panic - and I faint.”

  She took a deep breath and held it. She was trying to control her emotion, and then she lost it. She giggled. She kept giggling. She giggled so hard that she had to let go of his hand to wipe her streaming eyes.

  He stared at he
r in amazement. She was laughing at him? He had just shared an embarrassing secret, and she thought it was funny? Had he got her all wrong? She took one look at his face and gripped her lips together, making a straight line of her full mouth. But it was no use, she couldn’t hold it in and a loud snort burst through her nose. He sat up sharply and tried to stand up but she climbed onto him, facing him and swinging a leg across to straddle his lap. She was still laughing. “I’m sorry, so sorry,” she said as she cupped his face and he brought his hands up to try to pull hers away. “No don’t,” she said. “I don’t mean it. It’s just so hysterically ironic right? Strong, sexy, devastatingly handsome hero; he can bring down an international drug ring, but falls apart when someone points a camera at him.”

  “I thought you hadn’t watched my movies. You told me you didn’t know who I was.” He was furious now. First she laughed at him and now he finds out everything was just as he suspected. She knew who he was all along. It was just some trick to get him to pay attention to her. He struggled to stand again, but she wrapped her legs around his waist even tighter.

  “I watched them all last night. And you are magnificent.” She wasn’t giggling now. She was massaging her thumbs across his tense jaw and trying to catch his gaze.

  He couldn't help relaxing. The sensation of her strong fingers massaging away his tension and the warm weight of her on his lap, dissolved his anger. He had to admit that it was pretty ironic. On film he could face international terrors, chase down gangs and shoot a villain in cold blood, but the blinking light on a camera rendered him useless. “You watched all my films last night? All seven hours of them? I didn’t leave your house until ten-o'clock.”