The Correttis (Books 1-8). Кейт Хьюит
the bed and looked at his scowling face. ‘I don’t know for sure if I’m leaving yet,’ she said.
‘That trip to Rome wasn’t for the doctors…’ She blushed darker as he said it. ‘The film industry is a tight one, Ella—people talk.’
‘I don’t even know if I’ve got the job.’
‘Well, it sounds like you have. Luigi rang yesterday for your references,’ Santo said. ‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t offer my congratulations.’
And she wanted more details but, given the situation, it would be unfair to ask for them. She daren’t get her hopes up either, not till Luigi contacted her. Maybe all it would be was an invite for a second interview. ‘Can we talk about this later?’
‘We’ll talk about it now.’ Santo glared at her. ‘I understand you want to be a director—I get that you want some involvement—but the director I have hired for this movie comes with his own team.’ He took a breath, realised that he did not want to lose her. ‘When I hire for the next movie, I will make it a priority to see if whomever I hire—’
‘I wanted in on this movie, Santo.’ Ella looked at him. ‘I love the script so much, you know that.’
‘And you know how important this film is to me, Ella, even more so now.’
‘Now?’
‘I am not going into that, other than to say I am not taking any risks with it.’
‘Unless it’s a risk called Taylor Carmichael,’ Ella snapped.
‘And look how that risk has paid off? But I will consider you for the next one.’
‘It’s not just that.’ Ella closed her eyes. When you were Santo’s PA there was plenty of other stuff to complain about. ‘I don’t get a moment….’ She looked at him. ‘You’re way more than a full-time job, Santo.’
‘This was an exception. I do not ring you usually on a Sunday.’
‘Santo, Sunday starts at midnight on a Saturday night, so actually, quite often, you do.’
This was her job, Santo consoled himself as he sat there, but he knew he had been pushing things this weekend. Though he would never admit it out loud, he did concede that he had been nervous about the wedding, at the two families in the same church and the reception afterwards. Spending yesterday morning with Ella had been somewhat soothing.
Today, facing his brother, he had wanted her alongside.
‘You’ve become indispensable.’
‘No,’ Ella said, refusing to give in to him. Santo had a way with words and was very good at saying the right thing when he wanted his own way. ‘No one is.’
‘Perhaps,’ Santo said, and then thought for a moment. ‘We get on.’
‘Not all of the time.’
‘I thought we did—we have had some laughs.’
She looked at his depraved face, at a man who so easily made her laugh and had no idea what a feat that was—no idea how tender and bruised her soul had been when she had first met him. That the smile she had worn for her interview had been false on so many levels. Of course she could share that with no one and so Ella looked down, took a croissant from the plate and peeled a piece off and then popped it in her mouth, aware that he was closely watching.
‘I thought you were about to feed me.’
She was glad to see the slight return to his humour.
‘Not a chance.’ She gave him a weak smile as he checked his phone. ‘Any messages?’
‘Nothing.’
She could see the worry in the set of his lips. ‘I didn’t realise you and Alessandro were so close.’
‘We’re brothers,’ Santo said, as if that explained everything. ‘Do you have a brother or sister?’
‘Nope—just me.’ He noticed the slight strain to her voice, and he should have left it, really, except he did not.
‘You hardly ever speak of your family.’
‘Because we hardly ever speak.’
‘How come?’ Santo asked, but Ella shook her head. She just wasn’t going to go there with him. It was time she left the room now and so once he’d eaten a croissant and drained his coffee she took the tray and stood.
‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’
‘You know there is.’
Yes, his humour was back!
‘Get some sleep,’ Ella said and turned off the hotel phone by his bedside. Then she headed over and drew the drapes, more than a little aware that Santo was watching her. She was just too aware of him too much of the time. As she glanced down she could see the press outside the hotel, still hovering, and she knew that this wasn’t going to go away any time soon.
‘Okay.’ She walked back over to the bed. ‘I’ll leave you till about two.’
‘You’re staying?’
‘I’ll do some work in the lounge.’
‘Come in and check my pulse.’
‘No, but I will answer your phone. Is there any comment you want me to give?’
‘I’ll deal with all of that.’
As she went to take his phone from the bedside he stopped her, his hand closing over hers. ‘No.’
‘I’ll deal with the calls,’ Ella said. ‘Santo, that’s what you pay me for. If it’s Alessandro I’ll bring the phone straight through to you.’ She was terribly aware of his hand over hers, and more so when still it remained. She should simply have lifted her hand and walked out the room, as she would have on any other day, except she didn’t and neither did she resist when he pulled her back to sit on the bed. With the curtains drawn it was unlike before—dark and more intimate and too much for her racing heart.
‘Do you have to leave?’
‘Santo, please…’ Ella really didn’t want to talk about it now. ‘I have to think about my career. Can we…?’
‘I meant, do you have to leave the room?’
‘You didn’t mean that.’ Ella blushed as he smiled. Usually she rebuffed any flirting easily. It was just a little harder to do this morning and not just because they were on a bed in a very dark room, more because she felt as if she had glimpsed today the real Santo, the one behind the very expensive but very shallow facade.
‘I would miss you.’
‘For a little while.’ Ella smiled.
‘There could be advantages though….’ As he spoke, Ella’s heart thumped in her chest, knew what he was leading up to. ‘Remember how you told me you would never get involved with someone you work with?’
‘I do.’
Her second day at work, they had gone for dinner after, had sat side by side and pored through his diary, Ella taking notes, trying to be efficient but terribly aware of his beauty and trying to ignore it, just trying to work, when his hand had reached for her face.
She’d tried to emulate the hairdresser, had done everything they had said, except her curls hadn’t been quite so glossy and kept escaping the hair tie. She’d felt his hand move to her cheek, his fingers capturing a lock of her hair.
‘Don’t.’
Refreshingly he hadn’t made an excuse and neither had he apologised as he dropped contact. Instead he’d asked a question. ‘Why?’ His eyes had frowned a little, a curious smile on his lips at her response. No doubt it was one he wasn’t used to.
‘I