Maybe if she’d tell me she loved me, it wouldn’t bother me so much.
I was trying to be patient, but fuck, it stung every time I said it and she didn’t say it back.
Sighing, my fingers flew over my phone screen.
No probs. Enjoy yourself. We’ll talk later.
Tomorrow we flew to Japan for the last of our location shoots. It was too far for Aria to come visit, so I wouldn’t see her in person for a month. I didn’t know how I’d handle all that time apart, especially with things feeling not quite settled between us.
Aria sent me a blowing-kiss emoji. In return, I snapped a selfie with my back to the lake and a view toward Tremezzo and sent it to her.
Barely a few seconds later, she replied,
Well, now I’m turned on and you’re not here to do anything about it. Thanks. Asshole.
I barked a laugh and typed back,
You’re welcome, gorgeous.
Still smiling, I turned to lean on the wall, staring out at the sun glistening like diamonds across the water. Fuck, I missed her. I stood there for a wee while, enjoying the epic beauty of my location for a bit. They didn’t need me for the rest of today, which meant I wasn’t on camera again until Tokyo, so when my belly grumbled, I decided to take myself off.
I walked up the quaint narrow paths that wound through the mountains between red-tiled-roofed buildings of terra-cottas, pinks, and yellows. Flowers and lush green vegetation bloomed on wrought iron decorative balconies with old-fashioned lamps hanging off shopfront doors. No one even looked at me, even though the residents knew we were filming, and there were plenty of tourists around. It was great. I felt almost normal for once.
Among the stores were a few trattorias to choose from, and I stepped into the cool shade of the nearest one to order a zucchini pasta dish.
Eating it in peace, enjoying the normalcy, the solitude, I would have been annoyed by the buzz of my phone in my pocket if I hadn’t thought it was Aria.
It wasn’t.
The text was from my publicist.
These photos went online an hour ago and are already all over the internet. My advice is to ignore and not make any statements on your socials. I’d advise Aria to do the same.
What now? I tapped on the link and let out a stream of muttered expletives. Heart pounding, I scrolled through the images and the article on a gossip-rag site. The headline read LOVE RAT? IS KING’S VALLEY ACTOR CHEATING WITH COSTAR?
Fuck.
Someone had taken photos of me and Eden at the restaurant here in Como last night. We’d dined with three of our costars, Blake, and the producer Garry. But at one point, I’d left our table to answer a call from Aria, and Eden had approached once I got off the phone. After I’d told her to back the fuck off, Eden had been easygoing about it. Now that she wasn’t flirting with me every chance she got, she was funny and good company. She’d made me laugh about something, and I hadn’t even noticed she’d touched my arm as she smiled up at me. In another photo, I was leaning in to hear what she was saying over the loudness of the music at the restaurant, and it looked like she was whispering intimately in my ear. I hadn’t touched her, but from the angle the camera took the shot, it looked like my hand might be on her hip.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Any fool could see this was no evidence of my cheating, but the insinuation was enough for panic to take hold. Even though this was bullshit, it was still intended to humiliate us. To humiliate Aria.
Hands shaking, I called Aria to give her a heads-up. To talk it through.
It went straight to her voicemail.
Could she have seen the article already?
Frantic at the thought of her seeing those pictures—and her experiences with her exes coming back to bite us in the arse—I hurried to set.
Pulling Blake aside, I told him I had an emergency at home and that I’d meet them in Tokyo.
Blake cursed. “For fuck’s sake, another emergency?”
I stared stonily at him, not in the mood to expand on the situation, even though he was my boss. “I will make it to Tokyo in time,” I vowed.
“Fine.” He waved me away. “I’m holding you to that.”
I left without another word.
First, I had to endure the helter-skelter drive from Lake Como to the airport. I’d told my driver I needed to get there as soon as possible, and he took me very seriously. It was like being in a real-life Mario Kart game. To put it into perspective, the drive to Malpensa Airport is typically an hour and forty minutes from Bellagio, and he got us there in an hour.
I tipped him big for his haste and the thrill. The fear of dying certainly kept me distracted from my fear of losing Aria over stupid, misleading photographs and false rumors.
That panic resettled at the airport. Fortunately, I got there in time for a flight that was taking off in an hour. Unfortunately, there were no direct flights to Inverness. I had to fly into Edinburgh and then hop on a private flight to Inverness from there.
Throughout the day, I tried calling Aria, but she wouldn’t pick up and I was growing pissed off as well as fearful. You didn’t just shut a person out when something like this happened. Every time I got angry at her, though, I reminded myself of her past. Of how she’d been treated and how easy it was for her to believe that she was temporary, easily thrown away.
Not essential.
If only she knew. I was trying to make her see how essential she was to me, but I guess I was failing.
By the time I reached the estate, it was late in the evening, and I was exhausted, hungry, and trying not to believe that this frantic trip wasn’t a giant waste of time.
The guards checked my ID, called up to the estate, and then let my cab through. An underbutler welcomed me at the main entrance. I planned to walk to Aria’s beach house from there, but when I strode into the castle, my pulse jumped at the sight of her marching through the grand hall toward me.
She was still here, working late.
Her expression was wary, surprised.
“You haven’t been answering your phone.” My angry voice carried across the hall.
Her step faltered, but she recovered, straightening her shoulders with determination. She had her estate manager’s face and voice on as she said to the butler, “Thank you, McGill. I’ll see Mr. Hunter in my office.”
The butler nodded and strode off, but my eyes were on Aria. “Well?”
“My office,” she said pointedly, and I curbed my impatience as I followed her through the grand hall.
Her hips swayed from side to side, and I wanted to grab them and pull her back into me. Wanted to whisper in her ear how desperately I needed her and feel her capitulate in my arms.
Fists clenching, I didn’t do any of that.
She was acting like I’d done something wrong, and I braced for the confrontation.
Among the Heather (The Highlands, #2)
Samantha Young's books
- Blood Past
- On Dublin Street
- On Dublin Street
- Hero
- Hero
- Before Jamaica Lane (On Dublin Street, #3)
- Bis Until Fountain Bridge (On Dublin Street 01)
- Echoes of Scotland Street
- Moonlight on Nightingale Way
- Down London Road (On Dublin Street 02)
- On Dublin Street 04 Fall From India Place
- On Dublin Street
- As Dust Dances (Play On #2)
- Fight or Flight