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‘It’s tomorrow?’ Jessie felt a rush of trepidation. ‘I hadn’t realised that it was tomorrow. I haven’t had a rehearsal.’
‘We will arrive in the afternoon and you can rehearse with the band members.’
‘I don’t even know what they want me to sing. I might not know the songs.’
‘They’re happy for you to sing whatever you like.’
‘What have you told them about me?’
Silvio smiled and started the engine. ‘That they should make the most of your reasonable rates because after you’ve sung at their wedding, you’ll be too expensive for most people to hire to sing at a private function.’
Jessie groaned, thinking of the expectations that people would have. And how she was going to disappoint everyone. ‘You’re living in fantasy land.’
‘It’s reality.’ Silvio gripped the wheel with strong, confident hands. ‘Wait and see.’
‘It isn’t reality! I’m not sure I can do it. Can’t you ask someone else?’
‘They want the best. And you’re the best, Jessie.’
‘I’m nobody, Silvio.’ She stared straight forward as they drove back along the dusty roads towards the yacht. ‘If this is the society wedding of the decade, they’re going to want someone famous.’
‘Trust me on this one, Jess.’ There was a hint of exasperation in his smile. ‘By the time you’ve finished the first song, you’ll be famous.’
‘Don’t say that! Don’t put so much pressure on me.’ She ran her hand through her hair and winced because it was stiff from the wind and the salt. ‘You just don’t get it, do you? I can’t stand up there in front of all those rich people and sing.’
‘You sing all the time, Jess. You were always singing. It doesn’t matter who you’re singing to. It certainly doesn’t matter what their income is.’
‘Yes, it does. They’ll all be judging me.’
‘They’ll be envying you,’ he said dryly. ‘As anyone would when they hear a talent like yours. You’re happy to stand in an alleyway and fight off a bunch of thugs, but you won’t sing in front of people who have wealth. What sort of logic is that?’
‘Warped, probably,’ Jessie admitted, ‘but it’s how I feel.’
‘You’ll be fine.’ He parked the car and turned to face her. ‘You just need to forget the audience. I’ll sit in the back. You can sing for me.’
Realising that she couldn’t make him understand, Jessie dropped the subject. He was confident in this new world he inhabited. He’d earned his place among the rich and famous.
She stared at the yacht—a visible symbol of his astonishing achievements.
It had been slightly easier to forget the differences between them when they’d been driving round the island. She’d felt like a tourist. Lovers on holiday. Today she’d spent time with the man, not the boy she’d once known.
Looking at the boat, it was hard not to feel like an impostor, but still she relished the new closeness that had sprung up between them.
He’d said that she could ask him anything, and she found it remarkably easy to do so.
In the intimacy that followed another incredible lovemaking session, she lifted her hand and touched his scar. ‘In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never told me about this. There were so many rumours but you never talked about it.’
Silvio was very still. ‘It was a long time ago.’
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.’
‘I told you, you can ask me anything.’ He slid his hand behind her neck and lowered his mouth to hers. ‘I’m not proud of that time. I’m not proud of who I was.’
‘You chose a different life. You should be proud of that.’ Jessie remembered the night in the alleyway. ‘And the scar has its uses. It helps scare people away.’
But he didn’t laugh. Instead, he rolled her onto her back, his dark eyes oddly intense as he gazed down at her.
‘Do I scare you?’
