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Javier gave her another grin. ‘Do you want to see what I’ve found?’
She tried to glance over his shoulder. ‘Why? Is it something good?’
‘I think you might recognise it.’
She put the photographs back on top of the trunk, trying to remember she’d need to email Posy about them, then crawled on her hands and knees over to where Javier had another large case opened.
He pulled out one of the items at the top. It was an old Italian Monopoly game. Portia gave a little shriek. ‘Really? That’s what you found?’
She couldn’t help herself; she immediately started scrambling through the case, finding a whole host of other childhood games she used to play with her sisters. She pressed the well-worn box to her chest. ‘We couldn’t understand parts of it. We loved the names of the Italian streets, but when it came to the Chance and Community Chest questions we just had to guess what they meant. I’m sure that Immi used to cheat. Every time she got one, she said it was her birthday and we all owed her money.’
She looked in the case. It was packed full of things she remembered. She pointed at a few. ‘We had a huge fight over that chess set. Miranda and I both wanted to be black—the knight especially in the shape of a horse was really fierce and we ended up stomping off to other parts of the house rather than play each other.’
Javier was looking at her thoughtfully. ‘You have lots of good memories here, don’t you?’
She nodded. ‘We had the best times here.’ She tilted her head to the side. There was something about the way that he’d said that. ‘You must have had too?’
He opened his mouth and then hesitated. ‘Well, yes, and no.’
She set the board game back down. ‘What do you mean?’
She watched as he sucked in a deep breath. ‘My mother wasn’t always at her best when she was here. And I’m not sure Sofia knew how to relate to a young boy. She was kind. I was never neglected but—’
‘But, what?’
He gave a tiny head-shake. ‘I’m quite sure she had no idea how to entertain an eight-year-old boy. Then a nine-year-old, then a ten-year-old...’
He let his voice trail off then took a deep breath and spoke softly. ‘My mother has bipolar disorder. At times in her life she’s been quite unwell. In those days most people called it—what was it—“highly strung”. But it was much more serious than that—particularly if she went off her meds. Sofia was good for her when she was like that. She would encourage her to take her meds and start eating again. Sometimes it took days, sometimes it took weeks.’
Her breath caught in her throat. It was the first time he’d ever really shared something so personal with her.
It was almost as if a wave of acknowledgement swept over her. ‘How often was your mother unwell?’
It was the first time she’d seen him look kind of sheepish. ‘She was at the height of her fame then. She was under a lot of pressure.’
He was making excuses for his mother. Even all these years on, as an adult he was still doing his best to protect her. She liked that about him, but it also made her ache for what he’d been put through.
She reached over and put her hand on his arm. ‘And you were a young boy.’
He nodded. ‘I was. But for some reason, even though my mother wasn’t well, I still liked being here. This place. It’s warm. And my mother always got better, and as she did she had more time for me. We walked on the beach. We took trips on the boats at the port.’
‘What did she think of you being friends with the Princes?’
He laughed. ‘Believe it or not, my mother wasn’t too happy. She didn’t like Ludano. She didn’t think he was good for Sofia.’
Portia smiled. ‘He probably wasn’t. But it was different times then. There wasn’t the same news reporting or social media that there is today. Sometimes I wish we could go back in time.’
‘So do I.’ His voice was wistful. He shook his head. ‘Things were better here. On the mainland in Italy, my mother was hounded by the press. I can hardly remember a time when I could look out into the gardens and there wasn’t a photographer hiding in bushes somewhere. Times were changing—even then.’ He held up his hands. ‘But here? Here was a little piece of paradise. A little bit of sanctuary for us all.’
She gave him a warm smile. ‘It seems that Villa Rosa has lots of memories for us.’ She looked around the cramped attic and held up her hands. ‘This place. It’s full of Sofia. Everything I see, everything I touch reminds me of her. How is Posy supposed to decide what she should get rid of? The other morning I woke up, and for a second, just for the tiniest second, I forgot that Sofia was gone. Then, in the blink of an eye I remembered again. It was like getting that phone call all over again. I know it sounds strange. I know it’s ridiculous. But I wanted to sit in that split second—just for a while.’
She knew he didn’t realise it—but it wasn’t just Sofia she was talking about. It was everything. It was back to a few years ago when everything in her life had just seemed too good to be true. It had taken her until now to realise it had been.
Reality sucked.
Or did it?
The glamour had been fun. Some of the personalities had been fun too. She’d met a few of her all-time heroes. Some had disappointed. Some had lived up to and beyond her expectations. But times were changing for her too. She didn’t feel the same fire, the same excitement about her job. She certainly didn’t like the direction her boss had been pushing her in lately. She was spending longer and longer playing around with her writing. The words came easily—they just flowed. In a way she was glad that Javier was here. He was a welcome distraction. If she’d been here alone, her resolve might have crashed and she could have been back on a flight to LA by now.
She looked over at Javier. Something was wrong. He looked almost grey. As if he were unwell. He was staring blankly at the wall as if he were lost in his thoughts.
She sat up on her knees and cupped his cheek with her hand. ‘Javier? Are you okay?’
He blinked. There was a sheen in his eyes. Was Javier going to cry? What on earth had she said?
He put his hand up over hers, sending little shots down her arm. His head gave the briefest of nods. ‘Yeah, I’m okay. Or, I will be.’ He paused for a second. ‘Portia, how do you feel if we take a break? Cool off down at the beach for a while?’
Her stomach curled up. He was sad. She’d done something that made him sad. And right now she would do anything to change that. ‘Sure, if that’s what you want.’
He nodded. ‘I do.’ He put his hand into hers. ‘Let’s go.’
* * *
Things were starting to fall into place in his head. He was starting to almost find a way that he could feel as if he were doing something.
Some of the things that Portia had said today had really hit home. She didn’t even realise how many of his buttons she’d pressed. But as he’d watched the sincerity on her face, he’d known she was talking from the heart. It didn’t matter she was relating it all to Sofia.
Her feelings were true. Just as his were.
The walls of the attic had felt claustrophobic, as if they were closing in around him. He’d had to get out of there. But he knew exactly who he wanted to get out of there with. She’d revealed a little of the heartache about her sister. As he got to know her just a little more it was clear that Portia Marlowe had just as many chinks in her armour as he had.
For him it was a relief. Portia might be press. But slowly but surely the press walls around her were fading away.
She’d taken less than five minutes to get ready for the beach. He loved that about her. He’d spent days on set waiting six hours for his female co-star to get ready. This was a revelation.
He’d just pulled a different T-shirt on and grabbed a pair of swimming shorts that he’d purchased on one of his
trips into the village. He might be Italian—but he didn’t do trunks. As far as Javier was concerned they were for competitive swimmers and multimillion-dollar advertisements.
Portia came out with her hair around her shoulders and wearing a hot-pink bikini and matching coverall. It made his heart zing. She looked amazing, and it was clear she was completely unaware of this.
She patted her stomach. ‘This is when I’m especially glad we’re not in LA right now. A few weeks here, with all the pastries and coffees, makes me lazy. I never want to exercise again.’
‘What do you do back home?’
‘For exercise?’
He nodded.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Same as everyone else. I have a personal trainer. I try not to obsess. You’ll know, there’s too much of that in Hollywood. Anyone who’s bigger than a size two over there is considered overweight. And let’s face it—there’s history in my family that makes me not go down that road.’ She looked sideways at him as he grabbed some water and a few beers from the fridge. ‘What do you do?’
He pulled a face. ‘Depends entirely on the movie. For the action movie they wanted me to be pure muscle. I’ll not pretend. It was hard. Training six hours a day for two months before filming began, and eating six weird tiny meals a day. I was quite irritable. It didn’t suit me.’
She smiled. ‘Did your co-stars complain about you?’
‘Who knows? If I was tense, I took myself out of the way. Filming is full of coffee and donuts and if I wanted to keep my physique on set I had to steer clear of all that. When it’s sixteen hours a day it’s hard.’
They walked out onto the terrace then down the narrow path. Javier walking ahead and taking her hand down the steep bits. He glanced back as they walked down the path. She’d mentioned something back in the kitchen that made him curious. ‘Your sister—Immi—is she well now?’
Portia nodded. ‘She is. It took a few years. And I have to admit we all still have the signs tucked away in the back of our minds. Seeing your sister unwell is tough. We all felt as if we’d failed her—especially Mum and Dad. But Miranda, Andie, her twin, took it really badly too.’
Javier looked thoughtful. ‘How did she get well again?’
