Still Falling

by Costa, Bella

  Marco did his rounds making sure the caterers were not having any major disasters and the models were ready for the next session of the evening. He noticed Serena’s young boyfriend sitting alone at the table looking very upset. So she’s done the right thing and dumped the boy then. Turning to the bar to order a drink he was approached by Arnold Richie. They had met at the same function last year and Marco liked the old man.

  “Mr Richie. Glad you could make it tonight. Can I get you something?”

  “Well maybe you can young fella.” He drawled in his very deep American accent that Marco had never been able to place.

  “My better half is looking after a young slip of a girl who appears to have come down with something. I was wondering if you had a place for her to lie down for a bit?”

  “I’m sure we can arrange something. Should I call for a doctor?”

  “Well it seems the young lady is insisting that that is not necessary.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Well that’s the dilemma you see. They are firmly entrenched in the ladies cloakroom and my well meaning better half is guarding the place like Fort Knox.” The old man smirked with obvious pride and adoration.

  Grinning broadly at mental image, Marco lead the way and the two strode off in the direction of the cloak rooms.

  Marco stopped in front of Mavis and the two of them sized each other up for a moment. He could tell she had been a beautiful woman once and that beauty had evolved into a graceful elegance with age. Her eyes told him everything he needed to know about her strength and will. He would not want to meet this woman at a boardroom table unless they were on the same side.

  “Mrs. Richie. Your husband informs me that we have a patient in need of a bed. May I be of assistance?”

  “Your manners are commendable Mr. Spinozzi. Shall we?” She gestured him through the door. Serena was crumpled on a chaise which had been pushed closer to the sinks. The stray wisps of hair were now sticking damply to her pale skin and her eyes drooped heavily. He crossed the expanse of the well equipped ladies room in three large strides and knelt down in front of her.

  “Serena. You’ve got to stop doing this to yourself.” He whispered too quietly for her to hear. He moved a strand of hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. She didn’t appear to have a temperature and at least she was conscious, but an abortion was a very serious matter and he had heard such horror stories about the procedure going wrong.

  He wanted to call a doctor or take her to the hospital and could tell she was in no condition to argue with him, but he didn’t recon on Mavis ganging up on him. As he pulled out his phone to dial the number for his doctor, Mavis put her gloved hand over his and sternly shook her head.

  “There is no need for doctors Sir, just a bed for an hour or so.”

  Marco shook his head in frustration and briefly rested his forehead on Serena’s bare shoulder. Her skin was cool and damp.

  “You are sure, Mrs Richie?”

  “Yes dear. She’ll be alright. It will pass.”

  He didn’t push her any further. Instead he lifted Serena and carried her from the ladies room, through the maze of corridors to his small apartments with Mavis clucking in tow like an armed guard.

  The apartments were small but lavish, decorated in style of the Opera’s heyday. Thick plush carpets absorbed all sound of footsteps and dark wood panels contrasted with the crisp white of the marble pillars and tables. The ceilings were busy with intricate plaster mouldings, thankfully not gilded in gold. A large canopied bed filled much of the space and Marco lay Serena down on the pillows.

  “There are some towels in the Bathroom through there Mrs. Richie, if you would be so kind.”

  “Of course dear, I didn’t come all the way up here to gawk”

  He soothed a stray, damp, lock of hair off her forehead as her eyes fluttered and she moaned softly.

  “You’re okay.” He whispered.

  She looked so small and broken lying in the large bed. He wanted...no needed to lash out at the little runt responsible for doing this. Mavis broke his reverie, handing him a damp towel and sat on the bed with him while he wiped her face. She watched him for a while before speaking.

  “Mr Spinozzi. Does the young lady know?”

  “Please call me Marco, Mrs Richie. And what is the young lady supposed to know?”

  “Don’t play coy with me Marco. I’ve been around a long time. My guess is you haven’t told her how much you love her.”

  “Mrs Richie, there isn’t much point if the feelings are not mutual.”

  “How can you be sure they aren’t if you don’t say anything?”

  “Mrs Richie. I mean no disrespect, but Serena has made it clear to me that I have no place in her life.”

  “Mavis. You can call me Mavis. And Marco.......things aren’t always as they seem. If you are basing your actions or lack of action on assumptions, then make sure they are the right ones. I can see that you have things under control so I’ll leave you to it. Good night.”

  “Yes. Good night Mavis. And thank you.”

  He didn’t understand a word Mavis had been trying to tell him. His mother had often talked in riddles like that. He seldom understood her either. Woman! They never just say what they mean. He turned his attention to Serena. She was asleep now and looking a little more peaceful. He phoned the bar down stairs and asked for a waiter to pass on a message to Michelle. She would be capable of handling the rest of the evening and making his excuses. He needed to keep an eye on Serena.

  Michelle was not the kind of person to keep her mouth shut, but she had very personal reasons for not letting the reporters outside in particular know that her date for the evening was with another woman upstairs, no matter how innocent the situation appeared. She couldn’t resist stirring a little with Serena’s poor baby boy though. What she hadn’t expected was the cheeky grin she’d received in response to her slickly delivered news about Serena’s whereabouts. Something was up with this young man. All was definitely not as it seemed.

  Serena slept like the dead and woke feeling slightly hung over. Dehydration from throwing up, she thought as she cradled her head. She slowly opened her eyes, not sure if she would be greeted by harsh lights. The light in the room was muted, most of it coming through an open door beyond the foot of the bed. She recognised the room. This was the Spinozzi, private rooms at the Opera house. She remembered coming up here once when she had still been an apprentice at the Spinozzi label. Marco would allow his own models to use it as a dressing room when other designers were on site, to keep the exposure of his designs to the other designers to a minimum before they were shown on the catwalk.

  She remembered Marco carrying her from the cloakroom, but nothing much after that. Her eyes searched the room until they settled on his sleeping form on the sofa. He had removed his jacket and bowtie and the top three buttons of his shirt were open exposing his bronzed skin with a smattering of soft curly hair. His sleeves were rolled up and his arms were stretched out along the back of the leather covered sofa. His long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle. Serena noticed the way the soft fabric of his tux trousers, tightened over the top of his thighs showing the outline of slender but well defined muscles. Sitting up slowly, she quietly slipped back into her shoes and tiptoed out the apartment. In the dimmed lights of the corridor, she could make out the dial of her watch. Five thirty. The first ferry to the island was in an hour. Because there were no ferries between ten pm and six thirty am and they didn’t have a private boat, Tony and Serena had intended on staying at the Bistro over night.

  Oh shit. The Bistro. Poor Tony.

  She hoped he hadn’t spent hours looking for her in a panic. She navigated the empty passageways to the now very quiet lobby. Although the inside lights were off, the light streaming through the large arched windows provided enough light to read a book with.

  Chapter twenty seven

  After a quick phone call on the lobby’s taxi free phon
e, Serena wrapped her arms around her and stepped through a fire escape into the cold, crisp, early morning air. She hadn’t been there more than a couple of minutes when a small black jeep pulled up next to her. The passenger window came down. Curious, Serena leaned down.

  I feel like a prostitute being picked up by a John. Shit. Marco!

  “Don’t be difficult please. Climb in.” He grumbled. Serena glanced around searching for the taxi she had called.

  “Serena, come on, unless you want to add the flu to your many ailments. I’m going home. I can drop you off with your mother.”

  She rubbed her shoulders. Searching desperately for the ordered taxi to save her, but the streets were empty.

  If only it weren’t so cold.

  Marco had run out of patience. He climbed out the driver’s door and came around the front of the car. Opening the passenger door, he leaned in and reached for his tux jacked, discarded on the back seat. Draping it over her shoulders, he grasped her upper arms firmly and bundled her into the front seat.

  “Should I do your seatbelt, or do you think you could manage?”

  “I’ve got it.” She stammered, still reeling from his touch.

  Climbing back into the car, Marco pulled off onto the quiet early morning streets of Napoli. No one spoke. Serena took in the tired lines and clenched jaw on Marco chiselled face. He definitely looked like he needed sleep as much as she did. His clothes were rumpled and stubble created dark shadows under his chin.

  It wasn’t until they boarded the small power boat, which Marco used instead of the ferry when the seas were calm, that the uncomfortable silence was broken.

  “What happened to Michelle?”

  “Michelle is a big girl. She can look after herself.”

  Serena gazed out of the curved Perspex window of the boats small bridge.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, looking down at her hands in her lap.

  “For what?”

  “For helping earlier.”

  Silently Marco slowed the boat to navigate the islands small marina. After docking and securing the boat, he sat back and looked at her. The Sun was just coming up over the horizon and the first fingers of light were caressing the now very loose locks of hair, turning them to brilliant copper. Her face was still down turned and looking strained. Leaving the captains swivel chair, he knelt before her, lifting her chin and forcing her to look into his eyes.

  “I should have done this a long time ago.” He said leaning forward to kiss her gently. Her lips were soft and warm despite the cold early morning air. He couldn’t be certain if it was the cold morning air or reaction to his touch, but she shivered ever so slightly. He pulled back just far enough to take in her face. To give her a chance to protest. Her dark lips were parted slightly and her breath escaped in small wintery wisps. Serena leaned forward just a fraction, her eyes covered by their delicate framed lids. The invitation was more than he could take. Pulling her thin frame into his arms he buried his face against her neck, breathing in the faint fragrance of Jasmine. His lips sought out the soft hollow where her heart fluttered its frantic pulse just below the skin. His hands gently opened the front of the Tuxedo jacket he had lent her, and slid a hand through and around to caress the bare skin on her back.

  Serena lifted her face to the cloudless sky. His warm breath was like velvet in contrast to the crisp air and her skin came alive under his lips. Her hands left the safety of her lap and began to explore. She wound her fingers through his thick short hair, whishing it were long enough for her to grasp properly and was pleased to hear him gasp in response. Her only thoughts were of here and now. Of the assault on her senses. Her skin tingled where his fingers softly stroked her back the length of her spine whilst his other hand held her head in place. His jaw scraped against her skin as his lips traced her neck from her ear lobe down to her collar bone, the mix of soft and prickly causing a myriad of sensation. In the briefest of moments he pulled her down onto his lap, so they were both on the floor, trapped in the walkway between the pilot and co-pilots swivel seats.

  His fingers deftly loosened the rest of her hair which tumbled around her shoulders like a silk veil and grasping a handful he tilted her head back and claimed her mouth as his. Her lips parted at his insistence and her tongue met his feverishly, drawing the kiss ever deeper. Still on his knees and holding her hips on his lap with one strong arm he shifted slightly, pushing his arousal gently against her side. They both groaned as one.

  Her arousal was fierce and burning her up inside, made even all the more sweet at the knowledge that she was having the same effect on him.

  “Serena,” he gasped, coming up for air. “Why did you run?”

  He felt her stiffen under his hands a moment before she pushed herself off his lap, stumbled out the boat and took off like a frightened deer to the car park. His question had brought her cruelly to her senses, reminding her who she was dealing with. She didn’t get far before she realised there was nowhere to go. Her car was on the main land as was the jeep and she couldn’t walk the entire length of the island in the delicate, heeled sandals she was wearing. So angry and frustrated and still panting hard, Serena waited quietly by the car park entrance. Marco pulled up along side Serena a minute or two later. He said nothing to her as he handed her his helmet and waited for her to fasten it. She then climbed onto the back of the cream BMW R1200C motorcycle.

  He still said nothing when she preferred to lean back and grasp a metal support behind her instead of wrapping her arms around his waist. Marco rode back to the estate slowly to keep the cold wind down and pulled right up to the door of the cottage. Neither of them had said a word since she flew off the boat and Serena refused to even look at him. She now muttered a quiet thanks, before bounding into the cottage and closing the door firmly behind her.

  Chapter twenty eight

  Thankfully Serena wasn’t given much time to deal with her riotous emotions as nausea distracted her again. Marco on the other hand wished desperately that he could find distraction.

  He parked the motorcycle, which never left the island, in a set of garages next to his father’s Phantom, and his own pride and joy, a black 1954, Mercedes 300 SL. He paused to admire the sleek classic lines of the two door, two seat, sports car before moving onto the Phantom. His father had loved the two door convertible and his mother had bought it for her husband as an anniversary present shortly before he became ill. Its large typical Rolls Royce front grille and over lavish interior was not his style, but like his father’s study, he just couldn’t bring himself to part with it. Switching off the garage lights he strode purposely upstairs to shower.

  His intension had been to settle down and check through some financial reports that his accountants had sent over yesterday. Drying himself briskly and pulling on an old pair of really worn jeans he made himself a coffee and settled down in his study. He had read through five pages before he realised that he had no idea what he had just read. Brushing his hands through his hair he swung his swivel chair round to face the window. The mid autumn morning sun cast bright light over the garden and the flawless azure sky stretched out for ever. Just beyond the cliffs edge the dark Mediterranean Sea spread out into the distance. A pattern of small white caps dancing in the sun for eternity.

  He picked up his coffee and headed out a small French door that leads directly onto the expanse of garden. Still barefoot, the damp dew covered grass was cold between his toes and the sun wasn’t high enough to combat the cool breeze. Goose flesh covered his bare arms and torso. He ignored the cold discomfort and strode across the lawn to the rock platform overlooking the cove. He needed to clear his head!

  Back in the cottage, Serena had finally left the bathroom. She had changed from her evening wear into a T-shirt and leggings and was leaning out her open bedroom window, taking deep cleansing breaths to steady her stomach and her soul. Feeling a little better, she wondered if she could handle a walk to the beach while it was still quiet. That was when she saw Marco.

&nb
sp; My God that infuriating man is heaven on legs.

  Hypnotised by the sight of him she didn’t even notice her own breathing step up a pace or the rhythm of her heart pounding in her ears. He was not a muscle bound athlete who spent hours in the gym. He was slender but well defined. In the winter he spent a lot of time skiing in the Alps and in the summer kayaking, equally at home on flat placid lake waters as he was in rushing white water, rivers. This alone kept him fit. She blushed as she wondered if either activity did much for his stamina, juggling three women at a time like the media suggested.

  He was still tanned from the summer and with his back to the morning sun he glowed like a bronze statue. Her eyes gazed at the way his broad, strong shoulders tapered down to his narrow waist and then his hips, small love handles visible just above his low slung, white jeans. Remembering how the gentle curves and dips of his muscles had felt as they rippled beneath her fingers. The rest of him was obscured by garden foliage but it didn’t stop her mind from filling in the blanks from either memory or imagination.

  She remembered seeing him like this the morning of her graduation party. She had woken up early in excitement and was leaning out her bedroom window, testing the air. She had spotted Marco standing on that same spot, looking out to sea with his coffee. Then too, he had worn nothing but a pair of faded old jeans. Possibly the same jeans. He wore his hair much longer then and it fell over the top of his ears and down his neck in soft thick waves. He never let it get to his shoulders though. On that morning there had been a soft breeze. Too far away to see details, Serena had imagined the breeze fanning the loose locks of hair on his forehead, playing with it the way she wanted to.

  She so wished it was Marco she was taking as her date to the party that night, but she didn’t think Marco would want to spend his afternoon with a bunch of public school kids when he had finished his own school career six years earlier. Besides, why would he want to go anywhere with her? She was still just a teenager finishing school and he was all grown up and running a internationally renowned fashion house. So when one of her class mates, an Austrian exchange student called Franz had asked her to be his date, she had agreed. Franz was alright. He was funny and popular with the rest of the class. They both knew it would be nothing more than a friendly date for the evening as Franz would be returning to Austria now that the school year was over.