The Correttis (Books 1-8). Кейт Хьюит

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      ‘No,’ Ella said. ‘She worked in a factory till she had me, then gave it up to help out in my father’s shop.’ She peered into the window as Santo slowly passed. ‘It’s nice to see it.’ It really was. There were a few people walking, and some women sitting in the front of their gardens talking. And it was actually nice to see it for the first time with Santo rather than alone. She took a breath. ‘Could we get that coffee?’

      ‘Sure.’ He turned the car around on a very narrow road with a very steep descent on one side. Only that wasn’t what had the sweat beading on Ella’s forehead. She should take a moment to touch up her make-up. She was supposed to look nice at all times, but she wasn’t actually working, Ella realised.

      This was very personal indeed.

      They walked along the narrow pavement. Even the street was cobbled—it was like stepping back in history. They stopped outside a tiny church.

      ‘My mum gets so upset when anyone gets married. She’s told me all about the church. She says the parties afterwards are amazing….’

      ‘The whole street comes out,’ Santo said. ‘Tables are set up for the reception.’

      ‘It’s just so different from anything I’m used to,’ Ella said. ‘Not just here, the whole of Italy. Everything’s so much newer in Australia, even the old buildings aren’t comparatively old.’ She looked around at the relatively unchanged architecture, could completely understand how her mother missed it, how Gabriella could still picture it so well, because it was just as it appeared in the photos. ‘Nothing’s changed,’ Ella said.

      ‘Of course it has,’ Santo responded. ‘The changes just don’t show.’

      They climbed the narrow steps to a café and certainly they turned heads when they walked in. Ella was quite sure it was because Santo was a Corretti, and that it had nothing to do with the fact he was possibly the most beautiful man in the world.

      The whole place fell silent and they were shepherded to a seat.

      ‘Are they scared of you?’ Ella asked in a low voice. ‘Or angry?’

      ‘Both,’ Santo said. ‘I hope soon they will be neither.’

      He ordered—coffee and crêpes that were filled with gelato. It was just so nice to be away from set. The locals were starting to talk amongst themselves again, and yes, the gelato was as good as her mother described.

      ‘It’s nice to be out, thanks for this.’

      ‘No problem.’

      ‘How come you’re not on set?’

      He just shrugged—those reasons could wait. For now Santo just wanted to talk about her. ‘Your mother’s never been back?’

      ‘Nope.’

      ‘One day, maybe?’

      Ella didn’t answer.

      Even when they were back in the car, when he tried to work out just what it was that had upset her so much today, still Ella spoke about work.

      ‘I spoke with Paulo and arranged his interview and I left a message for Marianna. Paulo sounds really good, he’s just not able to start yet.’

      ‘Which is a problem,’ Santo admitted. ‘I need someone who can start as soon as possible.’ He had, Ella realised, stopped trying to dissuade her from leaving. ‘What about Marianna?’

      ‘The truth?’ Ella checked. It was nice to be chatting, nice to be driving and away from everything, and just so very nice to be with Santo.

      ‘The truth,’ Santo confirmed.

      ‘She’s awful,’ Ella said. ‘She’s incredibly confident, treated me like I was her secretary, wanted to only deal directly with you. She refused to give an inch when I tried to pin her for a time to come in for an interview.’ Ella rolled her eyes. ‘To sum up, I think she’ll be perfect for the job.’

      ‘I thought I already had perfect.’

      He glanced over and reluctantly she smiled. ‘No, we both know that you didn’t.’ Maybe it was because Santo was so open and honest, that in this, Ella found that she was able to be. ‘I’m not tough enough.’

      ‘I don’t always like tough.’

      ‘I’m not…’ She didn’t really know how to say it, how to admit just how much it all had hurt her. ‘I don’t think Marianna will sulk if you don’t send her flowers.’

      ‘So you were sulking.’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘What else is Marianna good at?’

      ‘Multi-tasking apparently.’ She looked out of the window at the ocean and the beauty of the day and hated her melancholy, hated that she hadn’t been able to play by the rules and happily tumble in bed with him without adding her heart to the equation. ‘She’d probably be taking dictation now and giving you a quick hand-job as she did so.’ Ella turned to the sound of his laughter, realised she was smiling now too, because that was how he made her feel. Yes, it was so good to get out.

      He pulled the car over and he just smiled as she sat there blushing, as the best lover in the world, as the man she had so foolishly thought she could bear to lose, cupped her face.

      ‘I walked into a storm that morning—I lost my director, I had stuff going on with my family, I had my brother out at sea.’

      ‘I know, I know.’

      ‘But when I knew you were arriving I did arrange flowers,’ Santo said. ‘I had them sent to the room, the same room that you took one look at and left. And I organised dinner—I really wanted to tell you how much our time together had meant, how I was looking forward to seeing you, how it killed not ring—’ He looked at her for the longest time. ‘Who hurt you?’ He saw her rapid blink. ‘Is there an ex-husband?’ He saw her frown.

      ‘Of course not.’

      ‘What do you mean “of course”?’ Santo said. ‘I know nothing about you, Ella. What I do know I could write on a Post-it note. I know your parents are together, that there are no brothers or sisters, that your mother is from here.’ He saw the well of tears in the bottom of her eyes. ‘That the sex was like nothing I have ever known, but I don’t know you….’

      ‘You’re my boss, you don’t need—’

      ‘I’m your lover!’ He almost shouted it. ‘Get it into your head.’

      ‘For how long though…’ She hated the neediness, but it was the truth, because he was telling her to open up to him, to give him more than sex, and she was terrified to.

      ‘Who knows?’ He was completely honest. ‘But if we can’t talk, then not for much longer.’

      ‘You don’t talk about the stuff that troubles you.’

      ‘I’ve tried more than you,’ Santo said.

      ‘Santo, СКАЧАТЬ