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He led her towards some waiting cars. He gave a nod to a uniformed chauffeur outside a long black limousine and threw their bags in the boot as the chauffeur opened the door for her. As the door closed behind her, Portia was happy to hide behind the black tinted glass.
She was starting to feel self-conscious. In Los Angeles she always took care of her appearance when she was out and about. Lots of people recognised her from the TV show and it would be bad publicity to be snapped looking frumpy and tired.
She hadn’t even thought about it this morning. Even though she had the evening dress in her bag, she’d thrown on a pair of jeans, tied up her hair and not bothered with make-up. Her only partial saving grace was the sunglasses she was wearing.
‘What’s wrong?’ Javier slid his hand over hers.
‘Nothing.’ She tried to push the self-conscious thoughts from her head. No one cared what she looked like. No one knew who she was.
He gave her thigh a squeeze. ‘Have you visited Naples before?’
She shook her head. ‘No. Never.’
His brow furrowed. ‘If I’d planned ahead we could have stayed longer—done a tour of the city.’ She could see him biting his lip. ‘Do you want to see if we can stay an extra day?’
She shook her head. ‘No, it’s fine. To be honest I’ve been enjoying the sanctuary of Villa Rosa. I can’t stay there forever and it’s been a long time since I had a proper holiday. I’m learning that I can actually live without social media, and it’s a revelation.’
His face broke into a broad smile. ‘It is, isn’t it? There’s something nice about not living at such a frantic pace.’ He rested back against the leather seats. ‘Have you been to the opera before?’
She shook her head. ‘Never. We weren’t an opera kind of family. My parents—as you know—were Shakespeare nuts. We spent our lives seeing every production of Shakespeare. Then, when Posy was young she loved musicals. I’ve seen every one of those until they were imprinted in my brain. And the last fifteen years, it’s been constant ballet. I’ve spent a lot of time sitting in a theatre—just never at an opera.’
He gave a nod. ‘I can’t wait until we get there. Teatro di San Carlo is magnificent. Like something from a bygone age. You’ll love it.’
She smiled back nervously. ‘I hope so.’ She looked out of the window at the city flashing past outside. ‘Where are we going to stay?’
‘I’ve booked a suite at one of the hotels for the night. I’ve stayed there before. If you’re hungry we can order some room service before we head out to the opera.’
She gave a nod and took a deep breath as she watched out of the window. Javier’s hand stayed over hers. Naples passed by quickly. A suite. What did that mean? After what had happened last night between them, she couldn’t help but think about what would come next. A suite in a luxury hotel somehow felt like the next step on the horizon. Nervous excitement bubbled in her stomach. It was like being a teenager all over again.
The limousine pulled up outside a grand-looking hotel. Everything was perfection. The foyer was all exquisite cream marble. They were shown to a private lift that took them up to the twenty-fifth floor.
As the elevator doors slid open Portia let out a gasp. The suite was huge, with spectacular floor-to-ceiling glass doors looking out over the Bay of Naples.
Javier tipped the concierge and took their bags, walking across the room and pulling one of the doors open, letting the warm air flood in.
He walked outside onto the balcony, resting his hands on the railing, and sucked in a deep breath. He gave her a smile. ‘It doesn’t quite have the tranquillity of Villa Rosa, but this place comes a close second for me.’ He waved his hand downwards. ‘On one side of the suite you can watch the buzz of the city, from the other you have this, the beautiful bay.’
She stood alongside him and admired the view. Vesuvius was in the distance, along with the coastline of Sorrento and isle of Capri. Underneath them was a whole array of million-dollar yachts.
She laid her head on his shoulder. ‘I often wonder how long it will be before Vesuvius erupts again. I visited Pompeii once with my family. It was like stepping back in time. Everything about it felt so real. From the stepping stones, to the mosaics, and the amphitheatre.’
He nodded. ‘We should go there again some day.’
Her mouth dried. That almost sounded like a plan. Something for the future. She wasn’t quite sure how to reply.
Javier turned back towards her. ‘I have a business meeting I need to attend.’ He hesitated then pointed inside the suite. ‘You’re welcome to take any of the rooms, or you can share mine. And I’ll order some room service while you get ready. Teatro di San Carlo is only five minutes from here.’
She gave a little nod. He seemed a little nervous too; he hadn’t made the assumption she’d be sharing his room—that was up to her.
He bent down and brushed a kiss on her cheek. ‘I’ll see you in a couple of hours.’
She gave a nod as he disappeared back out of the door of the suite. Portia turned and faced the Bay of Naples again. She wasn’t quite sure what the night would hold, but she couldn’t wait to find out.
* * *
The meeting went well. Things were finally falling into place in his brain. He’d recognised something in the last few days. Aldo had left a message saying he wanted to talk.
Talk. It was the common theme for people with bipolar disorder who were feeling suicidal. Javier had done his research. There was no specific charity in Italy for people who had bipolar disorder. One of his biggest ambitions was awareness raising. There could be other families out there watching a loved one deteriorate and not recognising the signs. Not recognising the condition. And for people already diagnosed and experiencing the extreme mood swings that could come with bipolar disorder there would be somewhere they could call. A safe place when they were struggling. How many people could be helped if they had a place they could call when they felt at their lowest? Could it have helped Aldo?
He’d never really know. But it made him feel as if he were doing something. Something that might help others who felt the same way.
The charity was his starting point. He had more than enough money to fund this. He just had to make the right connections to make sure this could be set up safely, and well. And that was exactly what he’d been doing today.
He glanced at his watch. The details had taken longer than expected. He’d need to be quick to get ready for the opera. When the doors of the lift opened, he could see signs of Portia throughout the suite. A coffee cup. A plate of pastries. Her computer sitting on the desk.
Music was playing in one of the other rooms. His heart sank a little as he walked through to the main room and then stopped. Her bag was lying in the corner of his room. She might be taking time to get ready in another room, but it looked as if it was her intention to sleep here.
His heart gave a lurch in his chest. He could almost feel the blood quicken around his body. He strode into the bathroom and turned on the shower. His tuxedo was hanging in the wardrobe and the champagne that he’d ordered was sitting chilling in a bucket of ice.
It didn’t take him long to shower, shave and change. He carried the ice bucket and glasses out into the main room just as the music in the other room was turned off.
The sun was beginning to set outside, filling the bay with streaks of orange and red. Javier glanced at his watch. They only had a little time before they would need to leave for the opera. Just as he thought about calling her, Portia opened the door from the other room.
He could tell she was nervous. She was taking tentative steps and had one hand on her stomach. The off-the-shoulder long re
d dress was stunning; it both hugged and complemented her curves, dipping slightly at the front. Her hair was curled, cascading over one shoulder. She had no jewellery on. She didn’t need any. Instead, she wore long black gloves, completing her look of elegance.
‘Wow,’ was all he could say.
She looked over her shoulder as if he were talking to someone else, then her face broke into a wide smile. ‘You think it will do?’
He popped the cork on the champagne and filled the two glasses, holding one out towards her. ‘I think...’ he paused ‘...that you’re perfect.’
She was wearing make-up now. Black kohl around her eyes and red lips to match her dress. Her hand shook as she took the glass from him. ‘I am?’
He nodded as he placed one hand at her hip. ‘You are.’
The nervousness started to fall away from her face. Her dark eyes swept up and down him. ‘You don’t scrub up too badly yourself.’ She winked at him. ‘You should try and get a part that means you wear a tux in a film.’ She sipped her champagne as she smiled. He got the hint about the world’s most famous spy instantly.
He laughed. ‘I think you’ll find that particular part is quintessentially English.’ He did his best impression of an English accent.
Portia laughed too. ‘I’ve always thought that was a flaw.’ She waved her champagne glass. ‘They need to broaden their horizons. They’re missing out on some prime candidates for the role.’
He guided her over towards the view of Naples bay again. She let out a little sigh. ‘It’s like someone planned this night perfectly.’ She held out her hand. ‘A stunning dress, a wonderful view, a luxurious hotel...’ she turned and rested her hand on the front of his tux ‘...a handsome man and then...opera. What more could a girl want?’
She tilted her chin up towards him. ‘What more could she want indeed?’ he whispered as he bent to kiss her. He could taste the champagne on her soft, tempting lips. Her body turned towards his and it was easy to slide his hand down her back and press his hips against hers. Her perfume wound its way around him, pulling him in like the music of a snake charmer.
