CHAPTER ONE
Heavenly things are about to happen!
SO DECLARED THE press pack for Heavenly magazine, in an elegant cursive font across its front cover.
I’m absolutely sure they are, thought Coral Dahl as she sat back on the cream leather of Romano Publishing’s executive jet and started flicking through the folder. Fingers crossed they’ll happen to me...
Heavenly’s tagline summed up how she was feeling about this trip, but for the posse of fashion, art and creative directors, stylists, hair and make-up assistants and editorial staff it was just another day at the office. Celebrity fashion editorials were no big deal to them, but for Coral, as a rookie photographer, it was the biggest career step of her life.
In less than an hour they would be landing on Hydros, the infamous private island belonging to the infamously private Di Visconti family. They’d spend the next two days photographing the heir apparent, Salvatore, and his fiancée before their ultra-hush-hush, ultra-exclusive wedding. All after signing confidentiality agreements. In triplicate.
‘OK, people, listen up.’ Mariella, the senior editor, walked through the cabin, looking more than a little flustered. ‘Word is that Salvatore’s brother Raffaele, our very own commander-in-chief, is going to be there, overseeing things. Yes, I hear you gasp, but I don’t want anyone in a panic or fluttering too many eyelashes—I’ll handle everything. We’re professionals, and we all know what we’re doing. Well, nearly all of us,’ she added, looking at Coral. ‘So there shouldn’t be any problems. Just let me reassure him. We go way back, and whatever it is that’s got him ruffled I’ll sort it out.’
Coral looked around. Everyone seemed to be grabbing their bags and reapplying their make-up.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked the girl next to her.
‘Raffaele Rossini—CEO of Romano. Signor Smokin’ Hot!’ She laughed, slicking her lips with gloss. ‘None of us stands a chance, but it doesn’t stop us from trying.’
Coral raised her eyebrows. She wouldn’t be trying anything with anyone. This trip was strictly business. She’d only vaguely heard of the Di Visconti family before she’d been handed her brief, two hours earlier, but now she knew plenty about the late Giancarlo, founder of the billion-dollar Argento Cruise Line, and his son Salvatore. And, of course, the more mysterious Raffaele Rossini, head of the entire Romano Publishing empire, which just happened to publish Heavenly—the magazine for which she’d won this commission.
‘Nobody gets close to Raffaele. He’s like a god, up in the clouds, so it’s really amazing that we’re going to meet him.’
Coral flicked back through the pages of the press pack, past images from the nineteen-fifties of the first cruise liner in the Argento fleet right up to recent shots of their twelve amazing vessels. It was the most exclusive cruise line in the world. She scanned them for information about Raffaele, but all she could see was that he had an architect-designed cliffside house along the coast from the family’s ancient villa, and that he had launched a bunch of magazines over the years. Oh, and his net worth was billions.
‘It hardly says anything in the press pack about Raffaele,’ she said, frowning.
‘Yes, that’s how he likes it,’ said Mariella, bustling up. ‘Trust me—the fact that he’s getting personally involved is not something that happens every day. So, top of your game everyone. Coral, are you well prepared? It’s a tiny little shoot with Kyla this afternoon. We’ll do it outside—on the loggia. Yes? Happy with that? No need for any fancy ideas, OK, sweetie? Try not to panic. Speak only if spoken to. Leave it to the pros.’
Coral’s heart sank. Outdoors? The loggia? So her creative input was going to be limited as to where to position the reflective umbrella. After all the effort she had put in to winning this commission.
Her portfolio had been super-sharp, super-artistic. She could just imagine her mother gasping when she heard about this. Lynda Dahl would be horrified to hear that the pinnacle of her talented daughter’s art school career was a point-and-click camera shoot with some billionaire’s babe.
Oh, well. It was a start. The start she and her mother had dreamed of for years. And it was on Hydros. And she’d be published in Heavenly. All things considered, that was pretty good going for her first month as a professional photographer.
Despite the air-conditioned chill, Coral warmed at the thought of her mother. After everything she had been through, the pride on her mum’s face when she’d watched Coral graduate had been the best feeling ever. Even though this job wasn’t high art, Coral knew that it was going to mean the world to Lynda.
Inside, the team were getting more and more hyper, but outside the Adriatic Sea was calm and jewel-blue. The jet’s wing sparkled in the sunshine. The whole day twinkled like a golden blessing. This was going to be the start of an amazing chapter in her life. She could feel it. Things were finally turning around...
The plane landed smoothly, the wait to disembark was mere moments, and then they stepped out into the spectacular sunshine of the Adriatic springtime.
She walked away from the magazine staff and tried to call Lynda. The confidentiality clause was real, but her mother was a worrier. And when she worried she got anxious, and when she got anxious...
That was something to be avoided at all costs.
There was no answer. Out of the corner of her eye Coral saw them all skipping off towards some cars.
She sent a text.
Touched down on a secret island in Greece! On my way to meet the client! Wish I could tell you more but I’m sworn to secrecy! Hugs xx
That should do it, she thought, tucking the phone back into her bag and running to catch up to where the others were all standing like a chorus line, bubbling with excitement. She came up right up behind them—and then saw what had their attention.
There, in between shoulders, she glimpsed a fleet of cars. They were parked one behind the other. The drivers’ doors were open and standing at each one was a man in black trousers and shirt. Everyone seemed to be staring, waiting.
And then, from one of the cars, a man emerged.
‘Oh, my God,’ she heard being whispered along the row. ‘Everybody take cover. Here comes the walking sex bomb.’
Coral strained to see clearly. Was Raffaele Rossini really such a big deal? With her photographer’s eye she scanned and judged.
Tall and toned—just like they all were. Proportions? Perfect. Head to shoulder, chest, waist, hips, legs. Handsome? Yes. Off the charts. Brown hair as opposed to black. Shorter than execs normally wore it. And a close-cropped beard that sculpted his cheeks, lips and jaw. Stubble wasn’t her thing. Normally.
He moved around the cars and then she felt it. Wow. There was no way to deny that this man was utterly magnetic.
But he was going to be her boss. Off-limits was the only rule that applied.
He moved forward slowly. There was nothing to see under the mirrored shades of his Aviators. The slant of his mouth was neutral. But the slow nod of his head as he checked them all out was like a caress. His voice, when he spoke, an embrace. They sighed as they budged a little closer.
‘Welcome to the Island of Hydros. I hope you had a good flight. My men will escort you to your villas and make sure you’re comfortable.’
Mariella breathed her appreciation as everyone else fluttered thank you with their eyelashes.
‘You have all signed non-disclosure agreements, so you’re fully aware that there will be no unauthorised photography, recording or social media.’
The gang gushed an obedient yes. He turned to Mariella.
‘And your protégée, Mariella—where is she?’
As if she was infected with some plague, everyone shuffled away from Coral. The dust from the ground swirled and the wind blew her hair. Coral lifted her hand to sweep it from her face as his gaze zoomed to her.
‘This is Coral Dahl, Raffa. She’s the one I told you about.’
Coral smiled and waited for him to speak, but he didn’t. His eyes flashed over her quickly, and then he seemed to nod slightly.
‘You won the commission to photograph Kyla.’
It didn’t sound like a question, but she found herself nodding.
‘Yes, that’s right. I’m really thrilled to meet you and get a chance to work on the magazine.’
He stared.
Silence settled over the whole group as he began to walk towards her.
‘Let’s talk about that as we drive. Pass me your bag.’
She looked down stupidly to the huge leather tote that doubled as handbag, briefcase and holdall.
‘No, no. It’s fine. I’ll manage,’ she said cheerfully.
He waited, as if she hadn’t understood him, and then she got it. Obviously whatever Raffaele said, happened. No questions, no rebuttals, no argument. She handed it to him. Fine.
‘There.’ He indicated the second car in the line—low and sleek, compared to the four-wheel drives. He opened the passenger door and she slid inside.
She scented leather and musk, and then the man who got in beside her. The brilliant day was left behind as he closed the door and sealed them in.
She didn’t so much as glance to the side as they passed the others but she could sense them all staring. Raffaele turned off down a narrow road and immediately put his foot down. She lurched back, grabbed at the seatbelt.
‘So, Coral, tell me a little bit about yourself.’
‘Well, I’m twenty-four. I live in London, in a little flat in Islington. I work in a café round the corner. But all my life I’ve wanted to be a fashion photographer. So that’s why this commission is my dream come true.’
‘I see. And you studied art?’
She braced herself as he took the corners on the road which twisted like a corkscrew along the cliff.
‘Yes, I started out doing Fine Art. My mother is an artist and I practically lived in art galleries growing up. She took me all over the country when she could. When she wasn’t...’
‘Wasn’t?’
‘What I mean is, I chose photography for my Master’s because my mother had struggled so hard to make ends meet. I want to have a creative career but with an income, and—’
‘It’s a crowded market. What makes you think you will succeed?’
‘Because I’m good,’ she said. She didn’t mean it as a boast. She knew she was good.
She waited to see what he was going to say, but he drove on in silence. From the corner of her eye she could see the length of his thigh and the hard muscle that flexed as he pressed on the pedals. There was no doubt about his physical perfection, but it was almost impossible to read what he was thinking.
‘You took a Master’s in photography. And my senior creative director thought your work was outstanding.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, suddenly brightening. Finally a compliment.
‘But, for me, this is too important a project to take risks with a novice.’
So that was what the problem was. Oh, dear. It wasn’t all going to land in her lap after all.
‘Let’s start with the creative angle. What have you got in mind? A story? A concept?’
So much for outdoors on the loggia. She wasn’t going to be the one to tell him that Mariella had it all decided. Her heart raced. Her mind ran. She looked at the vista, the distant scattering of volcanic islands wrapped in ribbons of blue sun and sea.
‘Of course! I—I’ve been thinking since we took off—knowing that the light would be so good and the colours so strong—that I’d like to take a fresh look at the Greek goddess trope.’
Words poured from her mouth before she even knew what they were, but it was obvious that she had to sell him something pretty amazing or she was going to be sent home.
‘When I think of Athena and all those mythical goddesses I’m seeing seventies women—liberated, but still incredibly feminine. I want to use the clarity of the landscape and the light and juxtapose it with soft silhouettes.’
‘I see.’ He frowned as he turned down a road.
A modern building came into view, its huge windows curving off to the right as it hugged the cliff.
He parked and got out beside a wide stone entrance where two huge black dogs lay sleeping in the sun. She glanced up at him as she got out of the car. His eyes were still hidden behind sunglasses, his mouth impassive. But at least he wasn’t telling her to go home.
‘Avanti,’ he said.
He touched her arm lightly, swung her bag over his shoulder and guided her to the wide steps. The dogs watched carefully as she passed, but didn’t make a move.
Inside, light beamed down—radiant and golden. Every single surface reflected understated wealth, from the crystal glints of an elegant chandelier to the aquamarine depths of a sunken rock pool that stopped her dead in her tracks.
‘Wow!’ she said, unable to hide her awe.
‘Aphrodite’s Pool,’ he said. ‘It is said that she bathed the baby Adonis in it.’
Coral wandered closer. The water babbled like giggling children. But beneath the surface rocks gave way to slippery darkness. She stepped back as if she might fall.
‘Aphrodite was so completely spellbound by Adonis’s beauty that she couldn’t bear to be parted from him. She had to share him with Persephone, the goddess of death, for six months each year.’
‘Children aren’t parcels to be passed around,’ said Coral indignantly.
‘Indeed,’ he said, his voice low and calm. ‘But no one argued with Zeus.’
‘I’d give it a try!’ she smiled.
‘Yes. I imagine you would,’ he said quietly.
He’d removed his sunglasses and was standing close by, watching her. She smiled into the heavy silence and then found herself staring, mesmerised by the navy rings around ice-blue irises and the high cheekbones that seemed slightly flushed underneath the honey skin. The close-cropped beard that framed his mouth...
That mouth. She so badly wanted to photograph the absolute perfection of it—wanted to touch and mould it with her fingers.
Wow. He was the real deal and no mistake.
‘You were saying something about being inspired by Greek mythology?’
She snapped out of her reverie. He was beginning to sound impatient, but before she could answer she heard music. The silly ringtone she’d set for her mother’s calls. The only ones she answered, regardless of where she was or who she was with.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, reaching for her bag. ‘My phone’s ringing.’
‘You can call them back. This won’t take long.’
Her fingers closed around her phone. Maybe now wasn’t the best time to argue. Surely her mum would know she was busy and would call back...
‘Sure,’ she said.
She smiled sweetly and turned to see him pointing at a perfect lounge with an ornate love seat. Her shoes squeaked on the marble floor as she walked and she was intensely aware of how casual she looked in her favourite fifties sundress. She’d hoped vintage would cut it among the fashionistas, but around all this money she simply felt shabby.
Not everyone is born with a silver spoon in their mouth, she thought defensively.
Gathering her skirt, she sat, intensely aware of him watching. His eyes flicked over her, but still his face remained impassive.
‘I’ll be honest. Your concept does not sound innovative or new.’
Oh, great...
He pinned her with his intense blue gaze. She forced herself to look right at him.
‘The Greek goddess thing has been done to death. Kyla is an Australian marrying into Italian nobility. I thought with your youth you might bring a fresh approach.’
‘I’m sure I can do fresh. I’ve got loads more ideas—’
‘Your portfolio contained high fashion—art. Very beautiful. Intelligent. But this feature needs to be something much more glamorous. Heavenly readers deserve a twenty-first-century fairytale.’
‘Absolutely. A prince marrying his Cinderella.’
He sighed impatiently.
She swallowed. Come on, Coral! This was going badly wrong. She’d put in so much work. There was no way she was going to let it fall apart now. She had to pull it back.
‘If you could tell me more about what you have in mind I’m sure I can deliver.’
Her phone started to ring again. She glanced at her bag. Her mother would be getting in a panic. They hadn’t seen or spoken to each other for two days now. And she was hundreds of miles away on an island, on the cusp of what might be the most important move in her career.
Or the worst.
‘Sorry, I thought I’d put it on silent. Would you mind if I took the call?’
‘Don’t you think you’re a little busy right now?’
She squirmed on the seat and tried to put it out of her mind.
‘Signor Rossini, I will deliver exactly what you want. When I set my mind to something I don’t give up until I succeed—’
He cut her off. ‘The photographers I work with are legendary.’
He wasn’t even giving her a chance. It was as if he had made his mind up already—and that was just plain unfair.
‘Everyone’s got to start somewhere! I only found out what the commission was two hours ago, if you’ll recall?’
‘Maybe so, but I would have thought that on the flight over you would have worked up your ideas.’
‘This is not how I would expect to carry out a commission. There should be consultation and discussion, and various themes explored with the client. Not two hours’ notice and then an interview that feels more like an interrogation.’
‘This feels like an interrogation?’
She swallowed, regretting her brave words. But she couldn’t take them back.
‘If you feel that this is an interrogation, you’d better get a new career. This is business—and it’s personal. As owner of Heavenly, I am simply making sure that a complete novice gives me the quality of work and the discretion I require. I have never met you. I have no guarantees about you. No recommendations other than Mariella’s and the words that come out of your mouth. So far they’re not up to my standards. You understand my concern?’
His tone was so quiet, so controlled.
The phone. Again.
‘If you’d rather chat on the phone, be my guest.’
He was mocking her now. She dipped her hand into her bag, faced him grimly and grabbed her phone.
‘I’m taking this,’ she said, then turned her head slightly. ‘Mum, I’m fine. Yes, everything is fine. I can’t talk now because I’m being interviewed. Hydros—the island is Hydros. There’s no need to panic. You’ll only get yourself upset. I’ll call you right back. I won’t be long. I promise.’
He watched, one eyebrow raised, as she switched the phone off and then put it back in her bag. Her face was flushed, but the burn she felt on her cheeks was nothing to what she felt in her chest.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but it’s my mother. I had to tell her where I was. She gets worried about me and she can be quite ill with nerves. I know this was all supposed to be kept hush-hush, with your non-disclosure forms, but I’ve never gone to the end of the road without letting her know before. Maybe that’s not how your “legends” would behave, but that’s how we are.’
He looked utterly impassive and she felt the tension inside her bubble higher.
‘You know, you’re not the only one who cares about their family,’ she said, filling the hideously blooming silence as he continued to watch her. ‘My family is every bit as important to me as yours is to you. So my clothes are from a charity shop and not couture? So what? That woman on the phone is my mother. And, since this interview doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, I’ll head back to England to see her right now.’
She stood up.
‘Sit down,’ he said.
Despite the glare she fixed him with her legs buckled and she sank back down, bracing herself for his verdict. Her eyes flicked away, over his shoulder, to the other end of the cove, where the majestic old Villa Di Visconti sat against a hillside of olive groves.
The team would be getting it ready for the shoot. She desperately wanted to stay with them and complete her first big job, but she wouldn’t be bullied into ignoring her mother when she needed her. Not by anyone.
‘First of all, I make the decisions about who comes and goes from this island. The only way on and off is by my boat or my plane. So forget any plans you have for dramatic exits. Unless you’d like to take your chances swimming to the mainland?’
Coral’s mouth tightened. No way was he going to threaten her.
‘Secondly, respect is non-negotiable if we are to have any kind of relationship. You will never speak to me like that again.’
‘Relationship?’ she spluttered.
‘Relationship,’ he repeated, his tone now rich and velvety. ‘As in client and creative.’
‘I don’t get it...’
He sighed, almost imperceptibly, and sat down opposite her.
‘Let’s just say you’ve passed the first test.’
‘I have?’ Coral’s bag slid from her lap and her shoulders slumped. She felt her mouth hang open. ‘How come? What did I say? The seventies thing?’
Suddenly his face relaxed, and for a second a tiny smile curved the corner of his mouth.
‘Definitely not the seventies thing. No. Your loyalty. Family values. Very strong. And for me that is a pretty good indication of a person. I know you can take pictures, so we can work with the rest.’ He waved his hand dismissively.
‘I don’t understand,’ she whispered, staring. ‘You’re hiring me but you don’t like my ideas?’
‘Let’s just say that I’m confident you won’t let me down. What you feel for your mother mirrors what I feel for la famiglia Di Visconti. As long as you are sensitive to that, I think we will be able to work together.’
‘I don’t know what to say. This is all very—’
‘Say nothing. Just convince me now that you can work the magic you say you’re capable of.’
‘OK,’ she said, sinking back into the seat a little. ‘It shouldn’t be difficult. All the ingredients are there already. They’re a lovely couple.’
He regarded her silently. ‘There are some quite important differences. The Di Viscontis do not court the media. But Kyla is...shrewd. She wants to create an empire—for the world to witness every moment of her life. It is my job to control what the world sees.’
He sat forward, leaned his elbows on his hands and stared with such intensity that she had to fight the urge to slide back in the seat.
‘Giancarlo spent the last twenty years of his life making sure that his family were undisturbed by the world. He adopted me when I was eight, so I think I’m in a good place to judge. There’s no way I’m going to let the family’s privacy unravel because of someone’s vanity.’
Coral sat up and blinked. His emotion was completely under control, but she could feel the passion and the warning in the words that he spoke.
She nodded. ‘I didn’t realise. I thought you were his son...’ Her voice trailed off. ‘Not that it’s any of my business.’
‘Correct. It’s not your business, but it is public knowledge. I was at school with Salvatore, in Switzerland. We were waiting for our parents to collect us for the Christmas vacation but mine never came. I was eight. They were late because my mother had to fulfil other commitments—an interview. She was an actress and had a new film to promote. And then bad weather came down. She and my father were killed in an avalanche on the way.’
‘Oh, my God, I’m so sorry. Really.’
‘Don’t apologise. I was scooped up by Giancarlo the day it happened and he looked after me ever since. I’ve been blessed beyond words to be part of this family, so you understand now why I don’t want the Di Visconti name to be tainted by this—
‘Fairytale?’
‘Charade,’ he said, watching her closely. ‘I want it stage-managed down to the last dusting of powder on Kyla’s cheeks.’
‘So you’re not really bothered about the art? This is all about making sure no one will kiss and tell or show your family in a bad light.’
‘I know that no one will kiss and tell because I would slap an injunction on them and on any publication stupid enough to print it. Have no doubt about that, signorina.’
‘I hope you’re not implying that I would do something like that? I’m here because I want a proper career as a photographer. I’m not in it for the fame.’
He stared at her, and for the first time some emotion flickered in his eyes. It was so intense she couldn’t hold his gaze. She looked down at her lap, at her crushed and crumpled dress, the scuffed peep-toe sandals, her shabby bag.
‘I’m only saying that I’ve got my principles too,’ she said quietly.
After a long moment he stood up, his hands on his hips.
He watched her, then nodded. ‘I think we understand each other. I suggest we get some lunch and then I’ll show you around. You can tell me a bit more about yourself and your ideas about fairytales. Let’s call it part two of the “interrogation”.’
She let out the long, slow breath she’d been holding in. Maybe things would turn out heavenly for her after all.
‘Sounds good,’ she said, swallowing the smile that was spreading from her chest. ‘Though maybe we could leave out the interrogation part? I respond better to the carrot than the stick.’
‘We’ll see,’ he said, and it was as if some kind of mask had suddenly slipped from his face.
He walked to the doors that opened onto the terrace and turned, fixing her with the most devastating smile.
‘If that’s what gets results, why not?’
She beamed back at him—a completely involuntary reaction, but the only one imaginable in the full glow of that smile.
He was so handsome it almost hurt to look at him. She could totally see why the team were falling over themselves to impress him. A date with ‘Raffa’ would be like dining on ambrosia. Everything else would taste like dust afterwards. Thank goodness theirs was definitely going to be a strictly professional relationship.
They walked across the terrace and took a short flight of steps side by side down to a beautiful dining area. Under an arbour planted with climbers, popping with bursts of pink and white, stood a long table draped in white linen, heaving under the weight of baskets and bowls of the most delicious-looking food.
‘This is amazing. What an incredible view.’
‘You know you’re not totally in the clear yet? I’m still waiting to hear something better than your seventies goddess idea.’
He pulled out a chair for her, waiting as she walked over.
‘The Greek Charlie’s Angels trope isn’t working for you?’
She glanced up at him as she sat down. His eyes crinkled as he smiled at her little joke and it quickened her heart.
‘You don’t really want me to get the thumbscrews out, do you?’
‘I don’t think I’d suit them, thanks all the same,’ she said, shifting slightly in her seat before she dared look up at him. ‘I can think of many more attractive accessories.’
‘Are you flirting with me, Miss Dahl?’
He was sitting down now, utterly relaxed, one arm on the back of his chair, head cocked, watching her. His eyes drew her gaze like twin blue magnets. His mouth was ever so slightly curved in a smile.
‘What?’ she said, flushing. ‘I’m sorry if I came across like that. I can assure you that I don’t even know how to flirt.’
She reached for her glass, which had just been filled by a server. Her fingers closed around the crystal, damp with condensation, and she stared at the pale golden liquid that sloshed inside, glad to have something to focus on other than the impenetrable, delectable Raffaele.
‘I find that hard to believe.’
She flicked her eyes to his in a determined stare and breathed deeply. ‘You can believe what you like. It’s not my way, and I wouldn’t have thought you’d be open to such an obvious approach.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought so either,’ he said, lifting his glass and toasting her. ‘But today seems to be full of surprises. I didn’t intend that you would make it off the Tarmac, and here we are having lunch.’
‘May I ask what changed your mind?’
He placed his glass down and looked at her. A long, slow stare that reached deeper than his eyes.
‘Let’s just say I liked what I saw.’
Coral swallowed. ‘You felt I had potential?’
‘I did. Do you?’
‘Have potential? I’m biased but, yes. I think I can deliver whatever you have in mind.’
He flashed her another amazing smile. But just as quickly his face became impassive once more.
‘Let’s get back on track. We’ll finish lunch, then go and find Kyla. She has her own ideas. I’ll sanction the ones that are appropriate and you can take it from there.’
She dipped some bread in oil. ‘Do you sanction everything around here?’ she asked, as nonchalantly as she could under the circumstances.
‘You really have to ask?’
She let the oil-drenched bread slide down her tongue and swallowed as calmly as her beating heart would allow. She knew he was watching her very carefully. There was more than the midday sunshine warming the atmosphere.
‘Are you flirting with me, Signor Rossini?’
He put his head back and laughed.
‘If it’s that obvious I must be losing my touch.’
In all her experience with men she had never felt anything that came close to that moment. She’d known him less than two hours, but she knew she’d hit pay-dirt when she made Raffaele Rossini laugh unguardedly.
‘Let’s just say I’m no push-over. It’ll take more than a free lunch in paradise and a commission from one of the world’s bestselling glossies to make me fall at anyone’s feet.’
Raffaele’s look across the table was straight and true. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say that sounds like a challenge.’
‘Not at all,’ she said, leaning forward on the table. ‘I’m here to follow my dream. And I won’t let anything get in the way. You can count on that.’
His thousand-watt gaze still beamed down on her and she was beginning to wilt under it. But she wasn’t going to show weakness. She brushed her fingertips together to get rid of some imaginary crumbs, smoothed her dress and sat back in her chair.
Then she slanted him a look that said—Is that all you’ve got?
He raised an eyebrow, put down his glass and stood. She raised her arm to shield her eyes.
‘It sounds like we’re on the same page,’ he said, nodding. ‘As long as you’re every bit as good as you say you are.’
‘Only one way to find out,’ she said, rising. She nodded at the old villa. ‘Shall we?’
