Reminding them both about that kiss.
As if she was likely to forget it.
But their whirlwind romance was picking up speed and better yet, according to the excitable Gabriele,inevitability. Soon enough it was time to head off to a private island in the Mediterranean that was owned by one of Giaco’s old friends. Or possibly Giaco himself—he had been offhandedly opaque about its provenance.
Ivy supposed it didn’t matter, really. They weren’t going to interact with anyone. They were going to sell the big upgrade to their story—the impossible engagement of the world’s most untamable lover to his personal saint—and deliver Umberto what he wanted. So that once they did, it would get them whattheywanted. Win/win all around, or so she kept telling herself.
They took a private jet boat from Athens and were delivered to an unspoiled beach in the Ionian Sea. They were met there by staff who ushered them up steps carved into a rugged cliffside and into a gleaming villa that sat on top. A number of the staff members Ivy was used to from Rome came with them, and Gabriele was there too, because he would be directing this particular production.
While Ivy wandered around the villa, gazing out at the spectacular views of shining sea and white-sand beaches, rolling fields and lush olive trees, she could hear Gabriele in the background. He was barking out his orders, making sure that everything matchedthe vision.
When she heard a particularly frenzied bit of carrying on, she found her way outside to one of the terraces that looked out over the rest of the small island, making it clear that there was no one here but them. She found Giaco out there, standing at the railing much the way he had in Cap Ferrat.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to intrude.”
“I find it better to let Gabriele do his thing,” Giaco said, without turning to look at her. “He will anyway, so it’s better that he has the space to bring his various ideas to life. Otherwise we’ll pay.”
“It sounds as if some people are already paying,” Ivy murmured. She moved to stand next to him at the rail, but nottooclose. They were both so careful in these unscripted, uncoded, unplanned moments. If anything, it made her more aware of him, not less.
“He is invaluable,” Giaco told. “I’ve never met another person who can so perfectly capture the public’s imagination. Gabriele is always on point. He always knows exactly how the scenes he stages will be received. It’s quite a talent.”
Ivy opened her mouth to ask him a question, but thought better of it. There was no need to ask, was there? Gabriele had been here long before she was. For years, one of the other staff members had told her. Since university, another had said. They had been inseparable ever since.
If it weren’t for the fact that Gabriele had been married to his husband for the bulk of this time, Ivy might have been tempted to assume that all of the staging was to disguise Gabriele’s relationship with Giaco himself. Before the kiss, that was.
The kiss had been clarifying in a multitude of ways.
Whatever it was that Giaco was hiding, it wasn’t a love affair with Gabriele.
“What do you do when you’re not plotting out these elaborate set pieces?” she asked now, her gaze on the sea in the distance.
“Haven’t you heard?” Giaco asked her, and it took everything she had not to turn and look at him. Because she was certain that she could feel all of that wild, dark jade beating into her. “All the world’s a stage, little saint. I decided long ago that if that was the case, I might as well play out my part to my own satisfaction.”
She did turn then. She couldn’t help herself. “Is that how you’d describe yourself, Giaco? Satisfied?”
It was moments like this when she thought she saw so much…morethere. That glittering dark gaze of his. The ghosts she was sure she could see move through his eyes. The way his face changed, as if he really was wearing a mask.
“I will be,” he told her in a voice that matched his simmering gaze. “I can promise you that.”
When he walked away, she felt as if he took part of her with him, though she couldn’t have said what. Or why she found herself pressing her palm to her chest, right over her heart, as if that might get it back.
And a few days later she was back in gray and drizzly London, tucked up in her little house in Kensington, when all the pictures hit the media.
She knew they hit because her doorbell started ringing, loudly and repeatedly. It shocked her so much that she almost threw the door open to see if a neighbor needed medical assistance or perhaps a fire had broken out—but some shred of self-preservation intruded at the last moment. She paused and looked through the peephole instead.
And there they were. Paparazzi on her front door. Packs of them.
Because she was the woman who had finally claimed the eternal bachelor. She was the only one who had managed to do the thing no other woman had. She had the ring on her hand to prove it—and now the papers had the evidence.
Her time as a relatively private citizen was up.
Ivy backed away from the door and heard the old landline she’d forgotten about ringing. She didn’t answer it. Instead she found herself running up the stairs to her bedroom, her heart pounding as if she was under attack, only to find her mobile under the same assault. So many messages. So many calls. But she was afraid to pick it up in case she accidentally answered the wrong person. The very idea made her feel panicky
She pulled out her laptop, ignored her inbox, and typed in her name at the top of her browser. And there they were.
Gabriele had put them through their paces. He had taken care of everything. It had been a beautiful day and had become a lovely evening—likely because Gabriele had decreed the weather needed to be perfect and it, too, had obeyed.
Staring down at the photographs, Ivy tried to make her memories match what she was looking at on her screen. She remembered walking down the path toward the cliff-top gazebo, the way lit by lanterns. Giaco had been waiting there for her. The photographs showed the two of them smiling at each other, sitting down, and enjoying a beautiful dinner overlooking the sea. In the pictures, she saw a couple lit up with each other. Consumed with each other.
