Venice Nights (10 page)

“My father used to say there were two things he loved about Italy: the food and the women.” Jacob poured wine in the first glass, filling it halfway. When he reached for the second, he nearly poured it to the rim. I expected him to pass the full one to me, but he handed me the other. “
Salud
.”

We clinked our glasses together.

“I saw the papers, just like everyone else,” he continued. “The women grinning into the camera. My father with jackets held over his face, trying to hide the fact hat he was doing more screwing than acting. My mother would lie to me and say they were his co-stars. And even though I was young and didn’t want to believe he left us so he could sleep with other women, I understood that he wasn’t joking when he said he loved Italian women.

The only woman he ever let me meet was Allegra, and when I was older and asked about his time in Italy, he changed the subject.” Jacob leaned back against the counter. “It wasn’t until I took the reins of the company and we hosted a film festival in Venice that I started spending a good deal of time in the country myself—and met Isabella.”

I sipped my wine, sparks of warmth firing all over me. “You’ve only known each other for a couple of years? You seem a lot closer.”

He sliced a hand through his hair, his eyes hardening. “That makes sense. We were almost family.”

I frowned, not understanding.

“Isabella was one of the women my father hooked up with while he was abroad,” he explained.

I had figured as much. “But he was only in a long term relationship with Al, right?”

Jacob nodded. “That’s right. He was hopelessly devoted to Allegra. Hell, he completely ended things with Isabella as a show of his love to Al because they were friends.” Jacob put his wine glass aside, all liquid gone.

I shook my head in a mixture of awe and disgust, but I still did not understand what that had to do with Jacob and Isabella almost becoming family.

“This all sounds like some soap opera.”

“Oh, this is better than any soap,” Jacob said with a bitter chuckle. “My dad was a real romantic—just not to the wife he had back in the U.S. And to hell with the
other
other woman that was carrying his child.”

My eyes bulged from my skull. “Your dad had another kid?”

Jacob bit off a single word. “Yes.”

The final pieces clicked together. “Isabella.”

I finished my wine in a single gulp. I was not sure what was more shocking; that Jacob had a half brother or sister, or that Allegra had been friends with Isabella.

But then there was the painting. The look on Jacob’s face as he showed it to me. It had something to do with Isabella.

The Grieving Mother
.

I gasped as a chill settled over me. “Jacob, she didn’t lose the baby, did she?” I knew the answer, but I did not want to believe it.

“A little girl.” His voice was hollow inside. “Yes, she lost the baby.”

A sister.

I rushed to him, throwing both arms around him and squeezing tight. Tears flooded my eyes. “I am so sorry.”

He did not hug me back, his body rigid and unyielding. He waited until I took a step back to speak. “You have nothing to apologize for. You didn’t abandon Isabella when you knew she was pregnant, and ignore her after the baby was born too soon with extensive health problems. Health problems that could have been solved with a flick of his pen.”

I didn’t know what to say. The whole situation was so heartbreaking. As mean as Isabella had been to me, I felt so terrible for her. It must have destroyed her, having a sick child and knowing the father was a celebrity with an abundance of money and influence that he refused to provide.

“She didn’t go to the press?” I said, ticking off the questions in my head. “Did Allegra know about the baby?”

“As far as the press was concerned, there were countless women lined up and ready to dish about their affair with Carlton Whitmore. A story about a woman giving him the finger would have been more of a novelty than my father having a love child.” Jacob pushed away from the counter, moving to a sculpture on the other side of the room. His voice carried back to me. “I can’t speak to what happened between Isabella and Allegra. Neither of them acknowledges the other’s existence.”

That was the answer in and of itself, but I did not want to push it, so I asked a different question. “How did you find out about your sister? Through Isabella?”

Jacob studied a different sculpture, his face as frozen and shut-off as the marble one he gazed at. “It was in my father’s records. Isabella’s pleading letters stuffed beside invoices.” He crossed his arms, jaw clenching. “One of the many surprises I discovered when I took over.”

I inched toward him. The physical distance Jacob put between us, pretending that losing a sibling didn’t affect him, were all signs this still haunted him. He was Jacob Whitmore. His name  was whispered in hushed reverence by his fans and hissed out of earshot by his enemies.

The solemn quiet contradicted the taut lines of his body. He had so much bottled up inside that my first inclination was to stay back. When he inevitably exploded, I might not want to be in the immediate vicinity.

His hand shot toward one of the paintings, and I winced. I expected him to rip it from the wall and hurl it across the room, like he was hurling away the hurt that ate at him. He was clearly struggling to ignore the impact of a father who perfected the art of ignoring his responsibilities. But Jacob did not unleash hell on the portrait. He righted it and stood back, arms slashed across his chest.

“I ran into Isabella in a cafe. When she saw my face, she crumbled to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.”

I stepped beside Jacob, catching the pain that streaked across his face before he hid it away.

“She told me I looked just like him. That she saw my sis—” He stopped, clearing his throat. Catching the moment of vulnerability before it ran away from him.

I took a risk and pushed through the invisible wall he put up, placing my hand on his back. “Jacob, I am truly sorry.”

He tilted his chin in my direction, opening his mouth like he was about to share more, but thought better of it and snapped it shut, looking away.

“You don’t have to spare me the hard stuff,” I said softly. I willed him to look back at me, hope sparking when the muscles in his back relaxed slightly. “You can trust me.”

He took a step away from me, the hope evaporating. “That’s interesting, coming from you.”

My defenses went up. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s ironic that you’re talking about trust and opening up when you still haven’t opened up about how you feel about our relationship, now that the press are on Leila Watch.”

“Leila Watch?” I repeated with a face.

“Watching and waiting. Figuring out what buttons to push to make you go boom.”

The knot in my throat was impossible to swallow. My eyes darted around the room, expecting to see a camera flash

Keep it together!
I straightened my spine. “There’s nothing to open up about as far as the press is concerned. Sure, they’re an inconvenience, but that comes with the territory.” It was my voice that was cold now. Indifferent.

He bridged the distance between us in three strides. Vulnerability peeked out from the mask as he freed my hair from behind my ear, fondling the wild tresses.

“Tell me the truth, Leila.”

I looked down at the floor, but he forced my chin back up.

How could I tell him the things I wasn’t even ready to admit to myself?

“Jacob...” I was flustered, the intensity in his eyes nailing me in place. Unyielding.

I pushed his hand away. “I thought we were talking about Isabella.”

“We were,” he fired back. “And now, we’re talking about me and you.”

I built my own wall, turning from him. I changed the subject, using our location to my advantage. “I feel like I should be getting a tour since you closed the place down for a ‘private tour’.”

“Don’t do that,” he said tersely.

I played dumb, closing my eyes. “Don’t do what?”

“Change the subject,” he replied with an edge on every word.

A whirled back to him, letting the frustration morph into anger. “You’re telling me not to change the subject when you get to cherry pick just what to tell me and how far you let me in?”

He reared back, his eyes registering genuine shock. He caught himself and his eyes darkened with an anger of his own. “Good. You’re finally talking. Get mad. Just tell me something real. I told you something that my own mother doesn’t even know about. You can dig deep and tell me how you really feel about us.”

“How I feel about us?” I seethed. I lost my grip on the truth. Letting it go, without a filter. “There is no us. It’s
me
who’s on the line.
My
family that will be embarrassed if shit goes sideways with us.
My
past that is being dissected.
My
faults that are being counted and commented on by any schmo with a WiFi connection.” I saw the hurt burning in his gaze, the shut off switch being flipped, but I could not shut up. I had been keeping my own eruption bottled up, and damn if I could put the cork back in. “I laugh it off when I’m on edge. I say I’m dealing with it, but I’m not. I’m not okay, Jacob. You’re here with me, but I feel this suffocating loneliness that grows every day. And I’m terrified that this is all a mist—” Before I could get the whole word out, I got a grip and clamped a hand over my mouth.

It was not soon enough.

Jacob gave me a look so cold that I shivered.

“So you think that we are a mistake?”

I shook my head fiercely, but my voice came out as a whisper. “No.”

He stormed to the exit as tears streamed down my face.

Chapter Twelve

I took one step outside and stopped, not even bothering to hush my sigh of frustration.

Isabella, the slave driver, and hater of all things Leila Montgomery-related, was sprawled on one of the sun chairs.

The universe has been working against you lately—not sure why you thought it would give you a break now.

Yesterday, Jacob’s private tour turned into a nightmare. I found out that he had a sister that died as a baby. His estate manager, who could not stand me? She was the baby’s mother.

After Jacob told me the secret that he guarded closely, one that explained why he gave the woman control over his estate, we got into an argument. He had pushed me to talk about how I really felt about the world knowing we we were a couple.

It should have been cathartic to finally get it out; be honest with him and myself. But it came out wrong and instead of making him understand just how afraid I was, I pretty much said our relationship was a mistake. I hurt him—and we had not spoken since.

It had only been twenty-four hours, but it felt like days. Jacob had slept in one of the guest bedrooms and hustled out of the house before I woke up.

Now, I was stuck at his villa with the last person I wanted to be alone with.

Isabella shifted on the lounger. She wore a fringe coverup, even though her body was lean and impeccably toned. It took me by surprise because she struck me as someone that loved to show off her body. I pictured her a decade younger, strutting around like she was gracing everyone with her presence. Drawing every male gaze—regardless of whether or not they were taken.

I knew I was not being exactly fair. Carlton Whitmore made the decision to sleep with her even though he was married. And how could I condemn her and let Allegra off the hook?

Easy
, I thought, my skin prickling as Isabella glared at me over the top of her shades.
Allegra didn’t hate you from the moment she met you
.

I turned on my heels, deciding I would get my vitamin D some other time.

“No need to slink away,” Isabella called after me. “There are no paparazzi.”

I stopped halfway inside the house, slowly turning back to her. She was telling me to stay, and had even scoped out the place for lingering photographers to ease my mind? I studied her quizzically. Maybe she had gotten too much sun.

She let out a moan of complete relaxation as she settled back in her chair. “We can share the patio—especially considering you’re the reason I have the day off in the first place.”

I stopped a few feet from her. “What are you talking about?”

“Jacob was in and out this morning with a look that I’m quite familiar with,” she explained, her voice a purr. “It’s the same look he gets when his guest gets too clingy.” She picked up her bottle of water and took a sip. “That or he’s just plain bored.”

And there was the catch. She wasn’t being nice—she just wanted me to come closer so she could see the hurt on my face when she reminded me that I was just a visitor. Not the first to come to this villa, and probably not the last.

Sleeping alone after getting used to him beside me made it a bitch trying to get to sleep and even then, it was far from a restful affair. I was too exhausted for the back and forth, so I just surrendered.

“Are you happy now? I screwed things up.” Tears rushed my eyes as she flipped through a magazine, not even acknowledging me. “I have no idea why you hate me so much, but I doubt you’ll have to put up with me much longer.”

She paused, glancing up at me before she returned her attention to the magazine, thumbing to the next page. “I don’t hate you.”

I frowned. “You don’t? Could have fooled me. I’m pretty sure you think my first name is Guest.”

“I know your first name,” she said with the slightest of chuckles. “I just felt no need to say it since it’s only a matter of time until some other girl will be standing where you stand.”

I should have been used to her digs, but her words cut through my armor. I had no comeback. No fight left. I walked to the edge of the pool, crossing my arms as I looked down at the girl reflected back at me.

My tan had soured, my skin pale and withdrawn. My curls hung like limp noodles around my face. Bags were dark and swollen beneath muddy brown eyes. I was exhausted; tired of ducking the paparazzi, tired of the pep talks I had to give myself after I went online and read a new comment detailing just how strange it was that Jacob and I were dating. Tired of the blank email message where the cursor taunted me, static and waiting for the words that never came. I was not ready to admit that maybe Megan was right when she said this was all happening too fast. I was tired of fighting the voice that still could not believe that out of everyone that wanted to screw his brains, which was every woman alive, Jacob wanted
me
. I was just tired, right down to my bones.