The Correttis (Books 1-8). Кейт Хьюит

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      ‘I’ll need it…’ Santo rolled his eyes.

      ‘What are you going to say to Taylor about the photos?’

      ‘What’s the point saying anything?’ Santo shrugged. ‘I told her to behave. I told her how much the film was relying on her to stay out of trouble. Really, it might be easier to just stitch her knees together.’

      Ella laughed as she said goodbye to him, but her heart wasn’t in it—because even with her knees stitched together Taylor was still breathtakingly beautiful, and Ella wouldn’t put it past Santo to be ringing her at midnight with an urgent call for scissors!

      Except, Ella remembered, she was turning off her phone.

      It was bliss to climb into bed and to know that nothing would disturb her, except she hadn’t counted on her thoughts. The panic that had gripped her in the hotel bathroom was back now.

      It wasn’t just sex.

      She lay staring up at the ceiling, still trying to tell herself that it was, that she could do this. Ella had long since guarded her heart well, so she certainly wasn’t going to start holding out hope for Santo. She smiled at the very thought of him reformed, but then it faded, because even if the reformed Santo came tied up with a bow she’d never be able to trust him.

      Ella slept well into late afternoon, but of course as soon as she woke she checked her phone—presuming, because she knew how he operated, there would be an awful lot of calls and endless texts from Santo. To be in his spotlight was intense.

      Nothing.

      She checked and checked again, trying to batten down her disappointment before it properly took hold. Surely she should be pleased he hadn’t bombarded her, except…yes, the high she had been floating on was starting to disperse. Without her propping Santo up, there were no flowers arriving at her door bearing cards filled with overused sentiments. Ella even managed a wry smile as she recalled one of their recent conversations.

      ‘What should I put?’ She’d checked when he’d told her to send some flowers.

      ‘You decide.’

      He’d clearly had second thoughts about leaving this particular note to Ella, because he’d buzzed her a few minutes later. ‘What did you put?’

      Ella had sighed before replying. “I enjoyed our weekend. You were amazing. Santo.”

      ‘No, that’s the flowers she should be sending me.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Don’t worry about flowers, just some jewellery, sapphire.’

      ‘She’s got blue eyes then, has she?’

      Yes, she knew him too well.

      Stop it, Ella, she told herself as she set about packing for the shoot, reminding herself that she wasn’t going to let Santo upset her, that she had gone into this with her eyes wide open. Then, refusing to heed Santo’s advice on her career, she replied to Luigi and accepted the job and then wrote out her resignation—because whatever happened now between her and Santo, she wouldn’t be working for him for much longer.

      She got through the night without a single word from Santo and long into the next day, running the million errands a wild weekend in Santo Corretti’s life generated. It was actually late evening by the time she finally pulled up at the boutique hotel, close to where filming would take place. The drive should have been a pleasant one—the scenery was stunning after all, the traffic light—but she passed a few signs for her mother’s village, and though the area where they were filming wasn’t where her mother had come from, it was closer than Ella felt comfortable with. Stepping out of her car, there was a knot of unease in her stomach. It was her mum’s birthday in a few days and she’d have no choice but to ring her. If her mother found out just how close she was to her village, it would be terribly awkward not to visit her aunts.

      Rude, in fact.

      There were certain rules in all families, but none more so than a Sicilian one, Ella thought as she walked through the glass revolving doors.

      There was a faded beauty to the hotel, a quiet elegance to it, and the staff were formal but friendly. Once checked in, Ella headed to the gated lifts, blinking as Taylor Carmichael stepped out. She was wearing huge dark glasses, and Ella gave a shy smile of greeting, but of course, Taylor had no idea she worked for Santo and naturally she was ignored.

      Still, it was so exciting to glimpse such a celebrity, and to think that tomorrow she might get a chance to watch her acting and the movie Ella loved start to unfold.

      Ella found her room and swiped the card but frowned as the door opened. The hotel was gorgeous, but this room was seriously stunning. Ella stood a moment. The French windows were open to a large private terrace, taking every advantage of the aquamarine sea, and surely she would ask for the rich heavy drapes to be left open at night, just to drink it all in. Ella looked at the antique furniture and huge gilded mirrors and wondered if she’d been upgraded. There were vases of fresh flowers, even champagne chilling in a bucket, and she blushed at the memory of the other night, a smile playing on her lips as she did so. Realising now that this was the work of Santo, she was touched that he had been so thoughtful. But it faded as she heard Santo talking from the bedroom and, realising the mistake, she walked over and picked up the internal phone.

      ‘Ella…’ Santo came out then. ‘At last, you’re here.’

      ‘I am!’ She was suddenly awkward, embarrassed that she had thought he’d ordered flowers and champagne for her room. ‘There’s been a mistake at reception. I think they thought I was sharing with you.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I spoke in Italian when I made the booking. I must remember not to in future.’

      ‘There’s no mistake.’ Santo smiled. ‘I asked them to send you to here. I thought we could have dinner, talk—there has been so much happening….’

      ‘You can’t just move me in.’

      ‘I am not just moving you in,’ Santo said.

      ‘So where’s my room?’ Ella asked.

      ‘Ella, we will be working fifteen-hour days…or at least I hope that we will.’

      ‘Sorry?’

      ‘The director quit.’

      Ella’s mouth gaped open, her living arrangements temporarily forgotten.

      ‘He quit?’

      ‘He gave ultimatums. I do not like ultimatums.’

      Ella had seen him clash with directors now and then, but to lose one on the first day of filming…it must have been a pretty spectacular row. She asked him what had happened.

      ‘It’s finished with now.’ Santo shrugged. He was never one to go over the past, as always he moved easily on. ‘I have been chasing around trying to think of who would be best to direct the movie, and who is available too, but I think that finally it is sorted.’ He was pouring champagne and there was a small flurry in Ella’s stomach as he handed her the glass that had bubbles rising in it, like the sudden hope that for Ella flared. ‘I have found someone good, someone who I think shares my vision, who really is keen to bring out the very best in Taylor.’ He smiled at Ella and she gave a tentative one СКАЧАТЬ