The Sicilian's Proposition

by Rees, Lynette

  By four p.m., the article was ready to e-mail to Polly.

  She rubbed her aching back and closed her eyes for a moment. How was Dante coping at his sister’s home? She didn’t envy him the task of taking care of the grieving widow and her children, but even so, he must be relieved that Ponti was out of the picture.

  She fired off a quick e-mail to Polly, apologizing for the lateness of her article, added the file attachment, and pressed the Send button on her laptop. She sat back, relieved it was off her hands. Now she could enjoy the rest of her stay without Byrne’s sarcasm or Polly on her back.

  There was no sign of Dante for the rest of the day or the evening, for that matter. She didn’t want to intrude into his family’s grief, so she kept herself occupied by taking advantage of sunbathing by the hotel’s pool and opening a bestselling novel she’d promised herself she’d get around to reading. She ensured her phone was by her side and kept hoping for a call from him or even a text message, but there were none.

  After breakfast the following morning, she went for a walk and had coffee at the seafront. It was so peaceful. He had been right. Sicily was a healing place for her. She closed her eyes and inhaled a wonderful fragrance. What was it? She asked the waiter, who explained it was jasmine. If only she could bottle what she was feeling right now, the peace, the warmth, the scent, she’d keep it forever and dip into it on a cold winter night back home.

  She almost drifted away in her thoughts but became aware of a presence casting a shadow over her. Opening her eyes, she blinked several times, looked up from her chair, and put her hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun, which was dazzling her from over the man’s shoulder. Recognition dawned. “Dante, what are you doing here? How did you know where I was?”

  He did not smile as usual. His mouth was set in a thin, firm line, his eyes as dark as coal. “I followed you, Joanne.”

  His words did not trip so beautifully off his tongue, either. What was the matter with him?

  “Please sit down,” she gestured to the chair beside her. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

  “This is what’s wrong.” He slapped a magazine down on the table in front her.

  At once, she recognized it as Celebrity Today. It posed as a glossy publication, but it contained tittle-tattle about various movie stars, pop singers, and other celebrities.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Well I do. You betrayed me, Joanne, like the others.” He looked sad for a moment, hurt, wounded.

  She shook her head. “No, I haven’t. I would never do that to you.”

  He opened the center pages that bore the headline, Playboy Took Me to Paradise by Joanne Smith.

  She blinked several times, trying to take it all in. There were shots of her and Dante holding hands, kissing in the street, others of him at the vineyard and outside the hotel.

  She grabbed hold of the magazine and read the offending article. It spoke of their night of passionate lovemaking in Lipari. How he was a beast in the bedroom and he had an insatiable desire for women.

  “But…I don’t understand…I didn’t write this, Dante. These are not my words.”

  He drew up close to her and spat out the words as if they were poisonous venom. “Joanne, how can I ever trust you again?”

  “But you can, Dante.” The mere suggestion wounded her to the core.

  “This so-called article of yours damaged me. I never want to see you again. I want you out of my brother’s hotel and off the island by tomorrow.”

  She couldn’t believe her ears. No amount of protesting was going to satisfy him. Of course, Byrne had to be behind this. No wonder he left before she got back to the hotel. He had somehow followed them to Lipari. It wouldn’t have taken much to bribe some devious fisherman to follow them or take a scheduled boat trip to find them. He must have snapped photographs of them walking through the streets while they stopped for a kiss, and then followed them to the hotel and realized without a shadow of a doubt they had slept together. Did he hate her that much to sink so low? It was a cheap violation. He had turned something beautiful into something seedy and sordid.

  It saddened her Byrne had done this, but it saddened her even more Dante doubted her, but hadn’t she doubted him also, just the other day?

  “I trust you’ll find your own way back home. I brought you here at my own expense, but it has been at a price. It has cost me my honor and my heart.” He turned and walked away, his shoulders hunched. A defeated man.

  A shot of pain sliced through her heart. He might as well have thrust a dagger through it. Her eyes filled with tears, and a lump in her throat made it difficult to swallow. But she was a fighter, always had been and always would be. She had to regain his trust, had to let him know that she would never let him down, not like Carla had.

  He might feel defeated, but she wasn’t. In the heat of the moment, if she blamed Byrne, he might not believe her. To Dante, she was just another one of those bloodhound journalists setting him up. She needed to prove her innocence.

  She decided to try getting in touch with Polly to see what she had to say about it all and whether Byrne had said anything to her. No doubt he was well-paid for that particular article. The magazine seemed to thrive on knocking celebrities off their pedestals, putting them down for all the world to see, even more so if it was connected to sex and scandal.

  The problem for Dante was he no longer wanted that kind of image due to his charitable work. This could do him a lot of damage. She wondered how he got hold of the magazine in the first place.

  ***

  He buried his head in his hands. How had it all come to this? It had taken some time, but he had built up his trust in Joanne. Maybe her intense dislike of the photographer had been an act and they were in it together. He wished he hadn’t agreed to the interview in the first place. Journalists had always twisted his words or made them up. The paparazzi had ensured they staked out the best spots to see him emerging with the latest lovely on his arm. They were merciless. It didn’t matter to them which woman he was with; they turned it into a well-used tale of “The Playboy and the Floozy”.

  He picked up his mobile phone and punched in his lawyer’s number. Well the magazine wasn’t going to get away with it; he’d fight back. He was like a boxer who hit the floor during the final count but bounced back to life again. Down but not out. He arranged to see the lawyer that afternoon. With any luck, maybe they could file a lawsuit against the publication to stop further copies going to press.

  All of this on top of his family’s grief. Most of them didn’t care for Ponti, but he knew his sister still loved the man she married; her children were half his. He had to respect that. He had spent most of yesterday taking care of them all. He was going to make the funeral arrangements once the police released the body.

  Oh Joanne, why did you betray me? If ever I needed you, it’s here, right now.

  He shuddered when he thought about their recent lovemaking; what an actress she was. Ruthless enough to sleep with someone, though, to get a scoop? But it had happened to him before with a female journalist at another trashy publication. Had Joanne made up her trauma out on the boat the other day? What about her father drowning? Perhaps she had done that to evoke his sympathy?

  How could he trust another journalist, or another woman, come to that?

  ***

  “So, you haven’t received Jackson Byrne’s photos? And you definitely didn’t request he get back to London, Polly?” Joanne had finally got through to her editor at the office.

  “No. I received your article, though, and I’m very pleased with it. Nice job. What’s the matter? You sound concerned.”

  Joanne bit her lip, her knuckles turning white as they tightened around her mobile phone. She took a deep breath and exhaled. “Byrne has sold the photographs from our shoot to Celebrity Today magazine…”

  “What? But that’s preposterous; he was supposed to be working for us.”

  “Not only that. It appears he’s written an
exposé style article using my name about my night with Dante Alphonso. It’s a full center spread.”

  “Joanne…?” There was a long pause.

  “Yes, Polly, we were intimate, but the article was a lie. It criticized Mr. Alphonso and made him sound sleazy. He’s had enough bad publicity. Byrne must have followed us to Lipari and taken a few shots.”

  “I can’t believe you were so stupid, Joanne.”

  She felt a lump in her throat. Yes, she had been stupid; she had given her heart and soul to the man, and now he mistrusted her and wanted her off the island.

  She loosened her grip on the phone and let out a breath of exasperation. “I’ll hand my resignation in as soon as I get back. Dante’s angry. He thinks I set him up, he wants me to leave.”

  Joanne heard Polly sigh at the other end. “Look. I don’t want you to resign. You’re a damn good journalist, Joanne. I’m going to seek legal advice to try to stop any more photographs circulating in any more gossip magazines. I want to slam an injunction on Celebrity Today to stop any more copies going to press. Byrne has collected his thirty pieces of silver, so I doubt he’ll show up here again. I need ethical people working for this publication. I know you made a mistake, but you have principles.”

  Joanne’s heart rate steadied to a slower beat and her breathing returned to normal once more. She wasn’t going to lose her job, but she had lost something far more precious.

  “Thank you, Polly. That means a lot.”

  “I know we’ve had our ups and downs, and you’ve never been afraid to say what you think, but I’ve always respected that about you. Can you arrange a flight back home?”

  “Yes, I’ll get to the airport right away.”

  “Don’t worry, I have a contact in Italy with another magazine. I’ll get them to dispatch a photographer to Mr. Alphonso to take some more photographs. Byrne’s already handed in the ones taken in London at The Children’s Hope and Dream Foundation and at the hotel suite. I’ll speak to Mr. Alphonso myself about it. You just get yourself back over here, safe and sound.”

  Joanne was in tears when she got off the phone. Although her editor could be like a fiery dragon at times when crossed, she also had a heart of gold if a member of her staff needed support. Composing herself, she took the elevator to reception and asked for details of how to book a flight back home. One would be leaving early tomorrow morning. She needed to get back home and she yearned for comfort. Dante was right about one thing, she needed to make contact with her mother. At a time like this, there was no place like home.

  Chapter Eight

  Joanne shivered as she lugged her suitcase out of the cab. It was dark and dismal on the empty street, so different from Sicily with its bittersweet memories and its bright colors, sensual fragrances, and sounds. If Sicily was the healing place Dante had claimed it was, it was also a place of heartbreak, at least in her eyes.

  She scrambled for her wallet and paid the driver. As the cab pulled away, she looked at the apartment block all in darkness before her. It looked so forlorn under the streetlight. She’d been close to tears when she waited for the plane this morning, half hoping Dante would turn up at the final hour, begging her not to get on that flight. To stay with him and never, ever, leave again. But that hadn’t happened. Instead, the flight took off on time, and no one showed up to prevent her going home. There hadn’t even been a phone call or text from him, either. No “ciao, amore mio,” no more “I love you,” no more Sicily, no more Dante Alphonso. A pang of grief engulfed her. Maybe she’d never find someone else who made her feel the way he had or heightened her senses and brought her emotions to life again.

  The pain deep inside was like a microcosm of manacled emotion that twisted, turned, and was triggered by a sight, a sound, a word, even a song playing in the background. Everything appeared magnified. Someone had once told her pleasure and pain were two sides of the same coin. At last she understood that saying.

  As soon as the plane had landed at Gatwick, she checked her phone for messages, but there were none and disappointment clenched her gut. An emptiness ensued that promised to permeate her every pore, dragging her down to the depths of despair. She couldn’t allow that to happen to her. Wouldn’t. No man was worth that.

  She got inside her apartment, switched on the light, put down her case, and picked up the stack of mail from the doormat. Most were bills. She left them on the hall table and went to fill the kettle.

  There wasn’t much in the cupboards or refrigerator, but she had some long-life milk she hadn’t opened, so that would suffice for a couple of cups of coffee and to cover her breakfast cereal in the morning until she could get to the shops.

  Tomorrow she was going to the office to discuss things with Polly, and if her editor didn’t mind, she was going to take a couple of days leave and go back to Wales. To the comfort of home.

  ***

  Dante arrived at the hotel. It was late morning. He’d spoken to his lawyer, who assured him something could be done to prevent further damage. Joanne’s editor had also asked to speak to him, but he’d been unavailable and would return her call later. There was just one question. Why did you do that to me, Joanne?

  He took the elevator to her room and knocked on her door, only to discover it ajar. He heard a rustling sound and female voices speaking Italian, and was about to call out when he saw it was two maids, one leaving some towels, the other pushing a cleaning trolley.

  He asked the one holding the towels where the occupant was, but she just shrugged. Joanne had gone. There was no sign of her bits and pieces strewn around the room. It was all set for the next occupant to book in. So clean and tidy as if she had never been here. Joanne wasn’t in Sicily anymore, he just knew it. She had gone home.

  You told her to go, didn’t you? You told her you wanted her out of the hotel and off the island.

  He had driven her away, but if she was so devious, then maybe it was for the best, even without an explanation. He returned to reception and found Giovanni, who appeared to know nothing about her departure. Giovanni asked one of the receptionists, who checked the computer, and then he returned to his brother’s side.

  “She checked out early this morning, Dante. She took a flight back to the U.K. Didn’t you know?”

  Dante shook his head. He fought against ringing her; he had his pride and that had taken a battering. Tears sprung to his eyes. Even going for a walk was no use as everywhere reminded him of Joanne and the time they’d spent together. He needed to get out on the boat. Even though that would trigger memories, he often did when upset. After all, that’s why he bought the boat in the first place, to honor a woman, his mother, and then when Carla left, he went out on the ocean at regular intervals to assuage his pain. Now there was another woman he needed to do it for. Joanne.

  Why did women have to hurt him so much? His mother’s death had hit him hard, and Carla’s abandonment had sent him to hell and back, but Joanne’s betrayal cut the deepest of all.

  “I can’t believe she would have gone so soon, though…”

  “What did you say to her? Did you argue?”

  “Not exactly…”

  Giovanni frowned. “Dante, this is me you’re talking to now, your older brother. What did you say to her?”

  “She wrote a damning article about me in a magazine, sold me out.”

  Giovanni stood there open-mouthed. “Joanne is a good person, Dante, she would never do something like that. You must have got it wrong.”

  Dante shook his head. “No. She betrayed me. I told her to get out of your hotel and off this island.”

  “But you had no right to do that, speak on my behalf. I didn’t want her to go. In any case, I’m sure you were wrong about that article. She showed me what she wrote, and it’s a very good profile of you.”

  Dante unfolded the magazine he had tucked under his arm. “Then how do you explain this?”

  Giovanni blinked several times as he digested the offending article. “Well if you believe Joanne would
ever write something like that about you, you are a fool.” His hands were now balled into fists at his side.

  “No, I’ve had enough of cutthroat journalists to last a lifetime. I came here to have it out with her and now she’s gone. That speaks volumes to me.”

  Giovanni glared, showing the whites of his eyes. “But you drove her away, my dear brother!”

  “I’m beginning to think you have designs on her yourself, Giovanni!” Dante’s mouth set in a fine line.

  Giovanni shrugged and then lashed out at Dante. They grappled around the empty foyer, the receptionist trying to pretend she hadn’t seen anything by shuffling a sheaf of papers and walking toward the office.

  Giovanni tried to push Dante across the reception desk, but Dante sidestepped out of the way and put his brother in an arm lock.

  “I know what I think, and just because you are older doesn’t mean you are any wiser.” He released his grip, and Giovanni turned and threw a punch at Dante’s jaw, causing him to recoil backward into a marble pillar.

  “I’m sorry,” Giovanni said, rushing to his brother’s side. “I shouldn’t have done that to you.”

  Dante stood and massaged his jaw. “You always did have a good right hook, even though you are smaller than me.”

  Giovanni grinned. “Yes, but believe me, although I like Joanne, I would never make a move on her without your permission. In any case, I think that photographer had something against Joanne. He’s the one who left the magazine at reception for you. I think you’ve made a big mistake, Dante, in letting her go…”

  “Maybe,” Dante said, turning and walking out of the hotel.

  “Don’t go doing anything you might regret,” Giovanni shouted after him, but at that point the electronic reception doors had closed behind his brother.

  By the time Dante got to the boat, his head was swirling with thoughts. A whirlpool of confusion. He motored out to sea and switched the engine off. Then he went below deck. He reached into the liquor cabinet and took a long swig from the brandy bottle, then another and another. The weather wasn’t as nice as the day he’d set off with Joanne, but it fit his mood as dark storm clouds gathered overhead and rain began to fall, tamping off the cabin roof, and somehow it comforted him.