Chapter Eight #2
Her favourite book, The Three Dahlias by Katy Watson. His, The Gone Away World by Nick Harkaway.
Her favourite play, Arcadia by Tom Stoppard. His, Le Vent Des Peupliers by Gérald Sibleyras.
Her favourite flower, a cornflower. His, an iris. His mother had always worn them in her hair, he remembered with surprise.
Her favourite place, home .
The word catching in his mind even as he evaded answering the question himself.
Home. He’d intentionally avoided having one.
Certainly not because he couldn’t afford to, but because he’d not wanted something that could be taken away from him.
And then he thought of how he’d feel when Erin was taken away from him. ..
And just like that reality hit hard, weighing him down like an anchor tied to his foot, dragging him beneath the surface of things that could drown him if he let them.
In the short time that they’d been in Florence and Livorno, Enzo’s lawyers had magicked the prenup and the documents had been waiting for Erin by the time she returned to her suite on the yacht.
She scanned through it vaguely, skipping over the legal jargon, ensuring that Enzo’s assets would be protected in full in case of divorce or annulment.
If she was being honest with herself, she was wavering.
Each little bit of time she spent with him, her determination and drive towards Charterhouse slowed and weakened.
She called the captain, who arrived at her suite in time to bear witness to her signature.
‘Congratulations, Ms Carter,’ the captain said, and Erin returned a smile that she didn’t feel. ‘Would you like me to make sure that Signor Rossetti gets this?’
‘Please,’ Erin replied, before retrieving her phone from her bag. She’d had it on silent all day.
Are you okay?
I’m getting worried.
Is it time to call Interpol?
She sent a message to Sam letting her know that she was okay, or rather that she was alive. Took a selfie as proof of life and hoped that her friend couldn’t read the confusion she read in her own eyes.
Enzo had wanted to take her for drinks that evening at a bar he knew not far from the Cannes marina and she was pleased that at least it wasn’t another party.
That it would just be the two of them. The day hadn’t ended, and she found herself greedy for more of him.
Just him. And just her. Before everything else got in the way.
The speed with which the yacht had covered the distance between where it had been moored just outside of Livorno and the marina in Cannes had been ferocious, and when Erin peered out through the porthole window of her suite barely three hours later she was surprised to find herself looking out at the French harbour shortly after dusk.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror and paused. She probably shouldn’t have chosen to wear the outfit she’d bought in the boutique. Not because she didn’t look pretty, but because she wanted him to think that she did.
Because that had become important to her.
He knocked on her door and she went to answer it, heart thudding as he stood there in his dark linen suit with a dark shirt. Unknowingly they’d both dressed in the same midnight blue colour.
‘You look incredible, cara .’
‘Erin,’ she said, clearing the slight catch in her throat. ‘You can call me Erin,’ she clarified. She didn’t want to be Rin anymore. She didn’t want him to want Rin. She wanted him to want her .
‘Erin,’ he said slowly as if trying it on for size. He nodded, and then grinned easily, offering her his arm.
She picked up her clutch and let him lead her from the suite, off the yacht, out of the marina where it was moored and onto the bustling streets of Cannes.
Wide-eyed, she took in the opulence and the architecture, similar but different to Italy.
The switch from Italian to the more familiar French was strange as she now recognised snippets of passing conversations and street signs.
Enzo seemed to know where they were going and she was content to be led.
Their destination proved to be a small, but absolutely packed bar, where everyone seemed to know him and greeted him with cheers and a lot of enthusiasm. People air kissed, grabbed and hugged, and met her with the same exuberant welcome, which she couldn’t help but be charmed by.
They were thrust towards a small standing table parallel to the bar and a bottle of wine and two glasses were placed in front of them by Jean-Pierre whose name was actually Michael, but no one called him that.
It was bright, and loud, and vivacious and Erin was utterly enchanted.
‘How long have you been coming here?’ she asked, having to almost shout to be heard.
‘More years than I’d admit to, on pain of death,’ Enzo replied with a generous smile, as he poured the rich, punchy red into two tumblers.
It struck her that this was far removed from the sophistication of the party where she’d met him.
It felt a little as if this was the real Enzo.
In France. How controversial, she thought to herself, amused.
‘Something you find funny?’
‘Only the Playboy of Amalfi being more at home in a French bistro—’
‘Lies!’ he cried out, loudly, making her laugh, really laugh. ‘Sacrilege! Slander,’ he insisted dramatically with a wink that made her think that she’d read him right.
A few people stopped by to have brief conversations with Enzo, some chatting with her, some rushing off to see other friends, but for the most part they were left alone.
Talking about wine, about travel, about small things that felt as real and as important as the big thing that they couldn’t share.
Her hand found his forearm often, his shoulder a few times, swept a hair from his forehead once.
He brushed her hair from her shoulder, cupped her jaw.
The easy touching building towards something else, she thought, something she wanted.
Their looks lasted longer, penetrated deeper, built up towards a moment where she thought he might kiss her.
Until everything changed, when a tall, older dark-haired man came to the table, seemingly worse for wear, and slapped Enzo on the shoulder.
‘So, after dodging my calls for. A. Month. This is where I find you?’
Ice shot out from where his father had clamped a hand on his shoulder, leaving his chest locked and his mind frozen.
All Enzo could think of was how bad this was going to be.
And how damn furious he was that his father would choose here, choose now to confront him.
He looked at Erin who had leaned back a little, as if wary. God, he wished he could stop her from seeing this. He wasn’t ready. He would never be ready.
‘Luca—’
‘Luca? What, you don’t call me father anymore?’
‘What are you doing here?’ he ground out.
Madonna mia , he hadn’t been a father to Enzo for years. But Luca had known that. This was for Erin’s benefit, Enzo recognised.
Luca turned his head and whispered heavily into his ear. ‘You left me no choice, son,’ he said, slapping him on the back a little harder than necessary. ‘You contacted my accountant. ’
So, this was punishment, Enzo realised.
‘But this is where you always come!’ Luca exclaimed louder, for Erin’s ears.
‘The moment the press announced you were on your way to France, it was just a happy coincidence that we were too.’ Luca peered at Erin.
‘Are you not going to introduce me?’ he said, not bothering to direct his question at Enzo.
‘He doesn’t have to, Mr Rossetti. Your reputation precedes you,’ Erin said, not offering her hand or any other sign of welcome.
She hadn’t fawned over the famous actor, she hadn’t fallen for his supposed charm that was by now getting a little old. But still, many of Enzo’s other friends failed to resist—and the fact that she had...
‘I wanted to talk to you about invitations to the wedding.’
Enzo huffed out a laugh. Unbelievable. His father had already heard of his and Erin’s engagement and this was the excuse he was using to make his approach, to ask for more money? There was no way—
‘You’re invited of course,’ Luca pressed on. ‘Isn’t she beautiful? And of course, you can bring your friend,’ Luca said, pointing to Erin.
It took a moment for Enzo to realise that his father was talking about his own engagement. He was getting married again?
‘She deserves the world ,’ Luca said of the woman standing at the bar looking bored and tapping on her phone.
The long hair, high heels, Enzo would never judge, but she was at least twenty years Luca’s junior.
This must have been what all the phone calls had been about.
His father, looking for money to have another huge, over-the-top, horrible wedding.
Luca grinned at Enzo, and he’d had enough.
‘No.’ The word had seismic impact on the man who should have known better.
‘What do you mean, no? You’re not coming?’
‘Not coming and not paying for it either.’
Luca bit out an angry laugh. ‘I don’t know what you’re—’
Enzo stood from his chair, caught Jean-Pierre’s eye and thrust a few notes under his glass, and held his hand out for Erin. He had to get them out of here, before his father made more of a scene.
‘What kind of son—’
Enzo grabbed the lapel of his father’s jacket in his fist and dragged him close. ‘What kind of father ,’ he growled into Luca’s ear. ‘What kind of...’
Fury cut into his words, and his control, until Erin pushed between him and his father, her cool hands seeking him out and giving him a moment’s respite.
She looked up at him, her hands coming to frame his face, to lock her eyes with his.
‘Let’s go,’ was all she said, and he clung to her as they left the café.
The reporters descended the moment that they hit the street, presumably alerted by Luca himself. They crowded around them even as Enzo typed out a message to the boat to send security.
‘Rossetti!’ someone yelled.
‘Do not speak to them,’ Enzo commanded, low and dark.
‘Do not rise to whatever antagonism they taunt you with. If you can smile, smile, if not, don’t, but do not engage with them, because it will only make things worse, okay?
’ he said, staring at her as if he could force the knowledge of what he was saying into her psychically.
‘Okay,’ she said, and he felt the shiver run through her body into his.
‘Enzo, how do you feel about the engagement?’
‘What do you think of the age difference?’
‘What did your mother say?’
The shouts came thick and fast as he tried to force himself and Erin out of the circle that had formed around them.
She put a hand on his forearm, as if to let him know that it was okay.
But it wasn’t. None of this was okay. The simple flex of her fingers let him know that she was with him, whatever he needed.
And it felt...strange. Usually he was on his own, facing down the press.
But to have someone there for him, not for the cameras, not for the press.
.. But that was all a lie, wasn’t it, because she was getting something from him. He just didn’t know what it was.
A dark car came speeding towards them and came to a sudden halt, and Enzo could just make out Frederick coming out of the driver’s side to open the back doors for them.
He pulled Erin behind him towards the car, but she dropped her clutch in the commotion and when she reached down to pick it up, he almost heard the audible gasp of shock from the crowd.
Her ring.
‘Are you engaged yourself, Enzo?’
‘Enzo Rossetti? Engaged?!’ came the cry as the press closed in on them, the weight and jostle accidentally, but no less for it, threatening.
Enzo bit back a curse. This was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? The press interest at fever pitch, all the better to publicly punish those who came after him for their own interests? But they hadn’t found out as quickly as he’d liked, and now it just felt as if it were all going horribly wrong.
‘Who are you with, Enzo?’
‘Tell us her name!’
‘Are you engaged?!’
A thousand flash-bulbs blinded them both as he finally pushed through to the car and got Erin into the back. He slipped in beside her, closing the door, and told Frederick to floor it. But not before he heard the final shout of one last reporter.
‘Will there be a double Rossetti wedding?!’
The words echoed around the back of the car taking them the short distance between the bar and the marina, making Erin’s head spin.
‘Is it always like that?’ Erin asked, shocked, as the car pulled up to the marina.
‘That? That was nothing. You wait until after the wedding, when news of his affairs and her heartbreak come out. That’s when the fun really begins,’ he said bitterly with a laugh, as he got out of the car and held out his hand for her to take.
As she stepped onto the smooth concrete track that led down to the floating wooden pathway that wound between the world’s most expensive yachts, she saw nothing but him. And the pain that he tried to hide.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked.
‘Of course. Honestly? I’m just bored of it all now,’ he said, turning away to walk back to the yacht.
She stared after him with solemn eyes, not making a move to follow him, heartsore and sad.
She had not been fooled by his father’s false charm—so different from his son’s.
She had not been fooled that Luca and his fiancée had just ‘stumbled’ across them at a bar that Enzo was known to enjoy.
She had not been fooled by the easy extension of an invitation to the wedding.
Enzo’s father had needled him for money, and it hadn’t been the first time.
She thought back over what he’d said of his childhood, what she’d uncovered in her research. The publicity around his parents’ divorce. How he’d been used like a pawn...
And then it hit her. Truly hit her. She could not continue with Gio’s scheme.
She couldn’t go through with it, she couldn’t continue to pretend like it didn’t matter, like Enzo didn’t matter.
Because he did matter. And no, she might not be getting something from him, but she was most definitely using him.
‘What?’ he asked when he realised she wasn’t following him.
‘I...’ She shoved down that thought. She would deal with that later. Because right now, he was more important. He was the most important thing to her.
‘You don’t have to do that. Not with me,’ she said, quietly.
‘Do what?’ he asked with a shrug.
The carelessness. She’d thought all along that it was how he lived, that he genuinely didn’t care. But it wasn’t just other people he was careless with. It was himself. And she hurt for him. She hurt, because she realised that’s how people were with him. They were careless with him .
‘You don’t...’ She trailed off, holding back her words. ‘Have to lie .’