"You'd like me to what?" Estrella's husky voice couldn't hide her shock. This was the Gala Reception for the Marché International du Film, and the Marché, or Market, was the nuts and bolts side of the Cannes film festival. All the important people were here tonight.
"It could be a good time."
Heat scalded her cheeks. Ignoring the financiers gathered around them, Estrella met the arrogant Italian's gaze. "I'm afraid you've got the wrong woman."
One of his eyebrows lifted. He seemed utterly oblivious of the others and the fact that this was a private reception, a very exclusive reception, for those with deep pockets and the right connections. The Market was the place where films were acquired, foreign rights were traded, and money changed hands. And the Market was the sole reason Estrella was in Cannes. "You are Estrella Galván. Model?"
She felt as if he'd put a choke-hold on her. She could barely breathe. "If you don't mind, I'm trying to do business here."
His light eyes — a cool silver gray — narrowed. "So am I."
There was an embarrassed laugh and a low murmur of voices from the group of men. Some were amused, some uncomfortable, and Estrella's face burned from temple to chin.
"I think we could have a good time," the Italian continued with the same appalling smile. "Call me."
She stiffened as he pressed a satin-finished business card into her hand, and immediately tried to return the card. "I don't want it."
"Why not? You look like a fun girl. I'm always interested in a party."
Why was he doing this? What was he trying to achieve? She'd pulled a hundred strings to get an invite to the party tonight and she had just one chance — this chance — to interest these financiers in her film. The two-week festival was halfway over and so far she hadn't found anyone willing to back her project. The movie was everything right now. The children were depending on her.
"I appreciate your vote of confidence," she said tightly, keeping her flawless smile in place, "but Italian men don't really do it for me."
It was as if she'd plucked the string of a violin. The air hummed, a note of tension zinging between them and it was the most intensely physical sensation she'd known in years.
"No?" His voice mocked her.
"No." She could feel him, feel him inhale, feel him breathe, feel him think. She trembled inwardly, shaken by the intense undercurrent.
"Yet your last lover was Italian."
Her cheeks grew hotter. She shouldn't be surprised he knew about her love life. The paparazzi haunted her everywhere, especially when she'd dated Andre Mossimo, an Italian race car driver, earlier in the year.
"Last being the operative word," she answered with a smile, and yet her eyes blazed with anger.
"That's right. You dumped Andre after his tragic accident, didn't you?"
That seemed to do it for the group of international financiers. The executives began to drift away in twos and threes and Estrella felt pure panic. She was losing them! Losing out on her chance to pitch her film, and there was no way people would think she had a serious subject after the way this man had embarrassed her in front of everyone.
"Perfect," the Italian said as they were left alone. "Now it's just you and me."
Estrella's eyes burned and she clenched her hands, crumpling the card he'd forced on her. She had a film without backing, an important documentary in need of distribution, and this man had just turned her into a joke.
"How could you do that?" she choked, overwhelmed by the opportunity lost. She'd pinned so many hopes on tonight. She'd needed tonight so badly.
He thrust his hands in the pockets of his black tuxedo trousers. "Do what?"
But Carlo knew what he'd done and he knew exactly what he was doing. He'd heard Estrella, one of Milan's hottest models, had been angling for an invitation for the posh party, and curious, he'd been the one to get an invitation to her.
Having seen the beautiful Estrella in action before, he knew how devious she could be, and he wanted to know just what the calculating Argentine model was up to now. Why was she in Cannes? What was she wanting — or more correctly — who was her prey?
"Humiliate me like that," she shot at him, tears filling her eyes.
He had to admit she was good. The tears looked genuine. If he hadn't known the anguish she'd put Andre through, he might have fallen for the shimmer of tears in her green-hazel eyes, but she, like his ex-girlfriend, Joy, was a top-notch manipulator. There was always something women like this wanted, and always someone new in the food chain.
"Come on," he said, hailing a uniformed waiter and taking two champagne flutes from the silver tray. "It's not so bad. The night's young. The festival has just begun."
"It ends in a week," she answered, refusing the champagne he held out to her.
"Seven whole days. With your looks, you'll have no problem finding your next cash cow."
"Cash cow?"
Her voice had risen. She'd turned almost white. He shrugged and sipped his champagne. "Sugar daddy, then."
"Is that what you think I'm doing?"
"You are a beautiful woman."
She flinched. "And that makes me a whore?"
She sounded so shocked. Her injured tone reminded him of a Catholic schoolgirl. Carlo had to admire her skill. She was a far better actress than he'd expected. Or perhaps Joy had just made him more perceptive. "Hardly, cara. You're exquisite. You carry yourself like a princess."
"And let me guess. You have a thing for princesses."
"Spoiled princesses," he answered, tilting his glass, letting the bubbles rise. "But you're going to tell me you're neither."
"You think you know me."
"Oh, I know enough."
Estrella felt sick to her stomach. There were times she hated her career, hated that her face and body were familiar to strangers, but she'd chosen her career at eighteen. Modeling in Europe had been her ticket out of Argentina, and once she left Buenos Aires behind, she'd never looked back.
"You don't know me," she said coolly. Her late father had been Count Tino Galván. One of Argentina's wealthiest aristocrats, he had bought and sold small countries in a day. She knew all about arrogant, powerful men.
"Then educate me," he said. "I'm dying to learn."
His bold scrutiny made her want to run and hide. He wasn't just sizing her up. He was projecting, picturing what she looked like beneath the glittering evening gown, and yet she was sure he already knew what she looked like. She'd been splashed over half of Italy last year in a very revealing lingerie ad. "I don't like you."
"And to think I went to all that trouble to get you an invitation to tonight's reception."
Estrella felt as if she'd stepped in wet cement. "You sent the invitation?"
He sipped from his flute and yet his gaze never left her face. "Yes."
"Who are you?"
He smiled. "I gave you my card."
He had. She'd been clutching it, smashing it into a ball in the damp creases of her hand. She smoothed the thick ivory card and glanced down. Just a name. And a phone number. Nothing else.
Then she read the name. Carlo Gabellini.
Estrella felt positively light-headed. It couldn't be. He wouldn't be…
"Something wrong, Miss Galván?"
She looked up at him, her mouth drying. He couldn't be Carlo Gabellini. Carlo Gabellini was head of the investment bank that was Andre's main sponsor. Carlo was the money behind Andre's car, and he'd easily poured a couple million into Andre's account in the past year.
Carlo's head tilted and he smiled almost benevolently. "Were you still Andre's mistress when you wiped out his bank account, or was that after his stroke?"
Estrella lightly rubbed her bare arms, trying to smooth the goose bumps. Everything that could go wrong had. And now she'd been publicly humiliated by Italian venture capitalist Carlo Gabellini at one of the most prestigious parties in Cannes. "I never touched Andre's bank account."
"Then where did the money go?"
She shrugged impatiently. "Drugs, probably. That's why he had a stroke."
"So you left him."
"It was mutual." Why was she even having this conversation?
"That's not what Andre said."
Estrella fought the rise of nausea. She felt positively sick. "If you dislike me so much, Mr. Gabellini, why go to the trouble to get me invited to the party tonight?"
"Curiosity." His broad shoulders shifted. "And prevention. I wanted to make sure you didn't take advantage of anyone here in Cannes. You did run a mean scam."
"I don't scam people." She was unable to tear her gaze from Carlo Gabellini's face. He had such strong bones in his face, clean distinct lines that were almost architectural. "I'm here for the film festival."
"The festival?"
"I'm representing a movie."
He whistled softly. "A movie. First a model. Now an actress. I didn't realize you had so many hidden talents."
Estrella hated how he made her feel. She worked hard, and honestly, and she knew it. "Like half the others here tonight, I'm pitching the project."
His eyes never wavered from hers, even as he took another sip from his champagne. "I knew you were looking for money."
The insulting words he'd flung at her earlier, cash cow and sugar daddy echoed in her ears but she suppressed her revulsion. She couldn't make a scene here. She needed the people here tonight. "I'm looking for a buyer for the film — and if I can't find that, then I'll have to distribute it myself, but like everything in this business, that takes money."
"Well, that's easy then. You need money. I have money. Consider it done."
She shivered as her beaded evening gown slid across her skin. Carlo Gabellini didn't respect her. In his eyes she was no better than sex-for-hire. And now he'd just offered her money. "What do you want, Mr. Gabellini?"
"Oh, that's easy." His lips curved. His eyes narrowed as he smiled. "I want you."
She looked at him for a moment, unable to find the words for the intensity of her emotions. "Me?"
He nodded once, his black hair gleaming in the light from the ornate crystal chandeliers parading down the ballroom ceiling. "I want the same deal you made Andre."
For a moment Estrella heard nothing but a roar of outrage in her head, and then she clamped down on her temper, reminding herself of the hundred orphaned girls she'd met on her trip to India.
One hundred little girls without a future. One hundred little girls without a hope.
But the documentary could change everything. The documentary could give those girls a chance.
His gaze held hers. "How much do you need?"
She lifted her chin. "How much do you have?"
He suddenly laughed. "So tell me about your film then. Do you play the starring role?"
"No." And suddenly she knew that she couldn't — wouldn't — continue this conversation another moment. She didn't have to defend herself, and certainly didn't have to be insulted. She'd get the money, and find the backing for One Heart, without losing her self-respect.
Her gaze met his and she mustered a small, painful smile. "Goodbye, Mr. Gabellini."
It was pouring outside the Majestic Hotel and Estrella did a double take as the slashing rain blurred the bright lights of Cannes.
She walked a couple blocks in the rain before realizing she should have waited for a taxi. She was completely soaked and freezing and she still had a number of blocks to go.
As she prepared to cross the street she saw a quick movement from the corner of her eye. Estrella felt the hair rise on the nape of her neck. Her sixth sense warned her to turn around. She did. And she wasn't alone anymore. Two men were behind her, literally right behind her and Estrella knew that they wanted something.
She glanced right, left, looking for another pedestrian but the rain blurred the lights and the street was dark and Estrella knew she'd made a terrible mistake walking to her hotel alone.
Suddenly a dark Mercedes pulled up next to the curb. The tinted window on the passenger side went down. Carlo Gabellini leaned across the empty passenger seat. "Are you all right?"
Estrella shuddered and pulled her wet wrap closer to her chest. "Good to see you, Carlo."
His gray eyes narrowed. The car door opened. "Get in."
The moment she was seated, he accelerated, pulling away from the curb. "You're at the Carlton, aren't you?"
The Carlton Hotel was the place all the big American directors and producers stayed. "Yes." She was trembling so much it took her a couple tries to get the seat belt buckled. "Thank you."
He shot her a quick side-glance. "We should call the police."
"And tell them what? That two men approached me on a street corner?"
"You could have been hurt."
"I know." She lifted her head and her gaze briefly met his. "Thank you."
Carlo's stomach tightened. Her eyes were beautiful. There was so much emotion there, so much intelligence and intensity. He'd seen the photographs of her, seen her on the catwalk plenty of times during the Milan shows, but her expression had always been hard and blank…empty. And he had assumed that she was as hard and empty on the inside.
But he was just beginning to realize that she might be far more interesting than he imagined. That she might not be quite the cold, vapid model Andre had described.
Carlo had the Carlton Hotel's valet take the car and with his tuxedo jacket wrapped around Estrella's bare shoulders he escorted her through the crowded, elegant lobby.
She was still a bundle of nerves, but even jittery and wet, with her long hair slicked back from her face and his coat around her shoulders, heads turned.
Carlo felt the stares and heard the whispers as they passed through the lobby, and he was sure Estrella did, too, but she said nothing, her shoulders back, head high, walking as if she hadn't a care in the world.
At the elevator she slid his tuxedo jacket off her shoulders and handed it back to him. "I don't know quite what to say." Her expression was wary. "Tonight you destroyed me, and then saved me. Why?"
Good question, he thought, conscious of the small group standing behind them, one of them a popular American movie star. "Fate," he answered with a shrug.
Her jaw tightened. "I don't believe in fate."
The gold elevator doors slid open and he put a hand on the doors to hold them for her. The group behind them was moving past, entering the elevator and Carlo stepped toward Estrella to let them pass.
As he stepped toward her he caught a whiff of her perfume, a very light floral scent that somehow suited her perfectly.
"Well, maybe you should," he whispered into her ear. Then he lowered his head and kissed her.
Carlo kissed Estrella the way she'd always wanted to be kissed. His kiss felt absolutely right and he was absolutely wrong. And yet if she didn't think about him, just the sensation and the emotion — it was all so good, and it felt amazing. Exciting.
His hand slid from the back of her head down her back to settle in the small of her spine and the slow travel of his touch along her spine sent shivers of pleasure through every nerve in her body.
He touched her the way a man should touch a woman. He held her with confidence, the pressure of his lips neither hard nor soft, but drawing from her a helpless, irresistible response.
This, she thought dizzily, was the first real kiss of her life.
A kiss that electrified, a kiss that could change one forever.
He lifted his head and ran his thumb across her warm, flushed cheek. "See you tomorrow, cara."
She tensed at the endearment. "So what are you going to do? Tail me?"
He smiled faintly. "You do have a nice tail."
"I still don't like you, Mr. Gabellini."
"Good. I still don't want you to."
Their eyes met and held and she saw a flicker in his eyes, a flicker of feeling that belied his words.
And then he turned around and walked away.
As Carlo headed back through the hotel lobby toward his waiting car, a voice hailed him from the bar. "Carlo! Join me."
It was Remi, an old friend from his university days who'd become a casting agent and had a hugely successful office in Paris. "Wasn't that Estrella Galván?" Remi asked, signaling the bartender for two brandies.
Carlo sat down on a bar stool in the darkened interior. "Yes," he answered, thinking that there was something about Estrella Galván that had gotten under his skin. He liked her. He shouldn't like her. But he did.
"I thought you'd given up models," Remi said, taking a bar stool opposite.
"I have."
"So you're not together?"
"No." Carlo was trying hard to forget the fire in Estrella's hazel eyes, the softness of her mouth, and the way she'd fit against him. "Why?"
"Because I'd quite like to take that woman to bed."
He felt his temper flare even as his stomach twisted in knots. Ridiculous. Who was to say Estrella would even be interested in Remi?
Remi tapped out a cigarette and offered one to Carlo. "Whatever happened to Joy?"
Carlo declined the cigarette. Remi had always been fascinated by Joy, an American model Carlo had dated years back, and a woman who'd used any- and everyone to get ahead. Including Carlo's younger sister, Gabi. When Joy dropped Carlo, Joy also dropped Gabi, and his sister was crushed. Gabi didn't understand what had happened to her "best" friend.
"No idea."
Remi flicked his lighter and lit his cigarette. "I heard Estrella was trying to get backing for a movie," he said, nodding toward the elevators. "Unfortunately, she doesn't know the first thing about getting an independent film distributed."
"She's not actually the producer, is she?"
"Well, it's not a big film. It's a documentary." Remi blew out a stream of smoke. "About India. And orphans. Originally she was only supposed to narrate but then the director — a young Irish woman — was killed just after filming ended so your model took over."
Carlo's gut felt rock hard. He could see himself at the reception at the Majestic Hotel. He could hear his mocking words. "So there is a real film?"
"Oui. One Heart." Remi blew another stream of smoke. "I'm surprised you didn't know. Everyone's been talking about the problems she's having getting support but no one's seen the damn thing and hell, let's face it. She's a model, not a brain surgeon. How intelligent can it be?"
Carlo left the hotel without having touched his brandy.
Was Estrella's film really legitimate? Was it a documentary about children, about orphans, and had he embarrassed her in front of the very people she needed most?
If so, he was the biggest jerk around.
After her hot shower, Estrella wrapped herself in a white hotel robe and opened the door of her room to her balcony. The rain had turned to a light misting and the night smelled cooler, sweeter, but it was hard for her to forget everything that had happened tonight.
It'd been a very difficult night and Estrella was tempted to throw on some clothes, jump on an airplane, and head back to India where she was truly needed.
She wasn't needed — or even wanted — here. Carlo Gabellini had brought that truth home quite clearly.
In Cannes she was viewed as just another pretty, but useless, face. One of the reasons she'd left Buenos Aires six years ago was to get away from an indulgent, self-absorbed mother and her wealthy family's indulgent, self-absorbed lifestyle.
Ever since she was little, Estrella had always wanted more. Not more things, but more emotion…more passion…more action. She'd thought modeling would be a ticket to living a more interesting life, but after six years of modeling she'd found herself even more limited.
Men loved the idea that she was pretty. They just didn't want her to open her mouth.
So she stopped talking. And before long she felt like a smiling Barbie doll even though on the inside she was cold and alone.
Sighing a little, Estrella leaned against the door. She hadn't dated in nearly a year. Hadn't wanted to be with anyone after Andre, but Carlo's kiss tonight had stirred something inside her.
Carlo was nearly as unkind as Andre, but his kiss had been amazing. There was something in the way he touched her…something in his kiss that made her feel warm from the inside out.
How could a kiss be something that cleared one's head? Make one believe in possibilities and a life unseen?
A kiss couldn't.
It was just a trick of her mind, a play of the imagination. She was tired. She was overwhelmed. Time to go to bed. Tomorrow was the screening of One Heart and her most important day in Cannes yet.
The screening was everything. The screening would convey the huge need, telling in color and pictures what words couldn't say. People would see the village orphanage, the dozens of small girls who'd been abandoned by their families, and the fate of older girls who were sold into prostitution.
Estrella turned out the light knowing that in the morning, everything her friend Allie had worked for could finally come true.
The ringing of the phone woke Estrella.
"Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you better come downstairs."
The husky male voice belonged to only one man. "I'm not interested," she answered, annoyed that she'd recognized Carlo Gabellini's voice in the first place.
"You will be."
Estrella sat up in bed. "I don't have time for this."
"I think you do." His voice gentled. "Estrella, you better come down. It's important."
Something in his tone sent shivers up and down her spine. He sounded worried. Very worried. But Carlo wasn't her friend and he wasn't on her side so why should he be worried for her? "You're scaring me."
"I'm sorry." There was a moment's hesitation before he spoke again. "Your screening's been canceled."
They'd canceled her screening?
Estrella felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over her head. The screening couldn't have been canceled. It was her best chance for interesting a major distributor. "It can't be. I've been placing ads. Handing out flyers."
"Apparently there's been some kind of mix-up. It seems the theater —"
Carlo never had the chance to finish. She hung up on him and dove out of bed and into clothes.
Estrella reached the lobby in less than three minutes. She was still roping her hair into a long dark ponytail when the elevator doors slid open. Carlo was in the lobby waiting.
"What's going on?" she demanded, tucking the hem of her green gauze blouse into her faded jeans.
He handed her an espresso to go. "Come on. I've a car waiting. We'll head over to the festival office together."
But in the back of his limousine Estrella could barely hold her cup of coffee, her hand shook so badly. "I don't understand."
"I wanted more information."
"Why?"
"I was curious about your project."
"Because you didn't think there really was a project, did you?"
"You're a model, Estrella —"
"Go to hell!" She leaned forward to rap on the glass partition between the back seat and the driver. "Please pull over. I want to get out."
Carlo put his hand on her forearm. "Don't be silly. We're almost there."
She shook him off. "I don't care. I don't need you judging me. My life is hard enough without you making it tougher."
The driver parked at the curb. Estrella quickly gathered her purse and binder filled with project information including script, bios, and film objective.
Carlo swore beneath his breath. "I'm trying to help you, Estrella."
"Help me?" she retorted, gripping the car door handle. "Just like you helped me last night at the Majestic?" He was incredible. He really was. "Well, stop helping me because your idea of help is killing my film."
Estrella slid out of the back of Carlo's car and dashed to the Festival International du Film's office. But her breathless request for help was met with near indifference.
"The theater is no longer available," the woman in the festival's front office replied as she rifled through a stack of forms.
Estrella set her heavy binder down on the counter. "But how? Why?"
"The screening room in the Riviera was double-booked. One film had to be bumped. Yours."
"Yes, but we've been booked into that space for weeks." Estrella rummaged in her bag for her own paperwork. "I have a confirmation here —"
"It's just a piece of paper. Everybody has paper. Everybody has a film. This is Cannes."
Estrella's fingers curled around her confirmation slip. She felt as if a shard of ice had lodged itself in her chest. "There must be something you can do."
"It's out of my hands."
Estrella didn't believe it. "When was the decision made to bump my documentary?"
The woman muttered something in French and moved to her computer to open a file. "Late last night." She looked up at Estrella. "There was a meeting after the grand reception at the Majestic."
The reception at the Majestic. That was the event she'd attended last night. Her movie had been bumped after the reception…her movie had been bumped after Carlo had discredited her in front of everyone.
It was hopeless. And she was exhausted. Everything was so damn hard and she'd been fighting for this project so long.
Wordlessly Estrella left the festival office, her shoulders slumped with fatigue. She stepped out into the sunshine, blinked against the brightness of the light, and saw Carlo Gabellini standing at the curb next to his car waiting for her.
She snapped. Her control, her patience, her perspective — all were long gone, and she marched on him wanting blood. "You did this," she cried. "This is your fault. The screening was canceled after you turned me into a stupid joke!"
"Wait!" He held his hands up. "Slow down."
"Slow down? Like hell! I came here to get a film distributed, and you've blown it to bits. You've blown my reputation, too. How do you live with yourself, Gabellini? How can you step on people this way?"
"I haven't —"
"You have." Her heart was pounding. Her hands were shaking. None of this would have happened if he'd just minded his own business. "You know every theater has been booked for months, some since the end of last year's festival. There's no way we're going to get another space at the last second."
His brow creased. "I'm sorry."
Tears burned her eyes and yet she'd rather burn in hell than let them fall. "No, you're not. You did exactly what you set out to do. You've totally discredited me as a legitimate filmmaker." She clenched her binder against her chest. "But you know, Carlo, you didn't hurt me. You hurt dozens of little girls."
She flipped open the binder and pointed to a page of black-and-white photographs. "These babies were all supposed to be put to death at birth. Why? They're girls. In some villages in Tamil Nadu they still kill female children at birth. It's believed that the birth of a female child is a curse to the family."
She lifted her head and looked at him, pain and outrage shimmering in her eyes. "One Heart is the story of an orphanage in Tamil Nadu trying to save these unwanted babies. One Heart is about poor people in southern India trying to make a difference despite their poverty."
She ripped the page of photographs from the binder and thrust it at him. "It's a film that should have been seen, and it would have been, if it weren't for you."
Carlo gazed down at the page of photographs. There were a half-dozen photos and all the girls were very young, mostly toddlers between one and three. They had beautiful brown eyes and somber expressions. "I didn't cancel your screening," he said quietly. "I wouldn't do that to you."
"But you did embarrass me."
He couldn't remember when he last felt so small, mean, and petty. She was right. He had embarrassed her. He'd thought she was using people, thought she was playing them — working a new angle just like Joy had worked him. And just like Andre had said Estrella had worked him.
But Andre lied.
Estrella wasn't like Joy. Estrella had never been callous and self-absorbed.
"Why?" Estrella demanded huskily.
He swallowed hard, weighed down by guilt. "I thought I was protecting the others." God, the words sounded thin, the excuse flimsy. "You were with Andre when he had money, but then after his accident and after he lost everything you disappeared on him."
Estrella shook her head, her lips quivering with hurt and disgust. "Not that you're interested in facts, but I didn't use Andre. He used me. He emptied my checking account. He slept with other women behind my back. And when he had that stroke, he wasn't alone. He was in bed, naked, snorting a funny white powder with one of my best friends."
Carlo felt as if she'd hit him with a hammer. "I don't know what to say."
"Of course not. It's easier to be cruel, isn't it?"
Estrella told Carlo to stay away from her, and he had.
Then she allowed herself a couple hours to feel sorry for herself before she gave herself a major attitude adjustment.
She was not going to let this film go unnoticed. If she couldn't get a screening, then she'd interest distributors another way. She'd paper Cannes with a synopsis of One Heart. She'd run a thousand copies and leave them everywhere.
It sounded like a good plan until she actually had to distribute a thousand flyers. Late the next morning Estrella stood at the edge of the Croisette, the street lined with huge tents with names like the American Pavilion and the British Pavilion, each tent packed with people drinking, schmoozing, and making deals, and tried to forget that her feet ached and her arms were sore.
Aches and pains didn't matter. The girls mattered. Allie's dream mattered. Important stuff mattered. Not blistered heels and tender arms.
Remembering the girls motivated Estrella. She was passing the Italian Pavilion when a voice hailed her from inside. "How is it going?"
She tensed. Not him again. There were thousands of people in Cannes and she had to run into Carlo Gabellini every five minutes.
Estrella clutched the thick stack of flyers and studied him as he wandered to the edge of the Italian Pavilion.
He looked extraordinary this afternoon. White shirt casually unbuttoned at the throat. Light gray trousers in a fine Italian fabric. Beautiful leather belt and shoes. And of course, that amazing face of his.
"It's going fine," she answered, knowing she was on the brink of collapse but unwilling to tell him that.
"Why don't you come in, rest a bit, have a cold drink?"
"I can't. I've still a couple hundred flyers to handout."
"Can I have one?"
Wordlessly she handed him one and he studied the paper. "It's a project overview," she said.
"Good job," he said, skimming the information. "You've got it all here. Outline of the project, bios, script synopsis, contact information. Well done." He looked up at her, nodding with approval. "I haven't seen such a polished, comprehensive project overview here."
She didn't know if it was the expression in his eyes or his words of approval, but she flushed with pleasure. It was so nice to hear something positive, but the moment she realized how much his compliment mattered to her, she blasted herself for being a fool.
Carlo Gabellini's opinion wasn't important. He was the bad guy. He'd made her trip to Cannes an absolute nightmare.
"Here, give me half the stack," he added. "I'll help you pass them out. That way you won't be on your feet all day."
Was this his way of saying sorry? She wasn't sure if she should even accept his apology, if he made one.
"I'm good at this sort of thing," he added seriously. "I used to work in a stock exchange. I ran paper all over the building. I was very fast. Very reliable."
Estrella's lips twitched. Even if she wanted to refuse his offer, she couldn't. She needed his help too badly. The children needed his help too badly. "I've already covered the area from the Carlton to the Grand Hotel. I've the rest of the Croisette to go."
"Fine." His silver gaze met hers and held for a moment, and then another moment longer. Estrella felt a cool shiver of sensation race through her. "I'll take the right side of the promenade. You take the left. We'll meet at the end."
It was nearly two hours before she finished working her side of the Croisette. Fans had begun to recognize her and she'd spent almost as much time signing autographs and posing for pictures as she did handing out flyers.
"How about that cold drink now?" Carlo said, stepping through the crowd and rescuing Estrella from yet another photo session.
She nodded gratefully. She felt parched and her head throbbed from the bright light and noise of the crowd. "Please."
His brow furrowed and he lightly pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. "Are you all right, cara?"
His hand felt wonderful, cool and firm, and she managed a small smile. "Just thirsty."
He nodded but his expression remained watchful. "Let's get you in the shade," he said, placing a protective hand in the middle of her back, steering her away from the packed promenade toward the steps of the distinguished Martinez Hotel.
She suppressed a shiver as his fingers pressed against her back. She loved the way he touched her, loved his confidence and his ease in crowds. He moved them through the hotel lobby to the terrace restaurant, where they were seated at a window table, with the tall windows wide-open to capture the afternoon breeze.
Carlo ordered the afternoon tea for them and as they sat at the small table with the crisp white linen cloth Estrella began to relax. The sun was glorious. From their table they could see the crowded beach with neat rows of striped umbrellas and a sea of bronzed bodies.
"I didn't know Andre had a drug problem." Carlo's voice broke the quiet.
"It was a big problem," she answered quietly. "But he worked hard to hide it from you."
"Is that where all the money went?"
Her shoulders shifted. She didn't like talking about Andre. Didn't like thinking about him. Andre had been an extremely hurtful person. Dating him had been one of the lowest points in her life. "That and gambling. He got in deep with some of the wrong people, but I don't know the details. He didn't discuss things like that with me."
Carlo sighed and ran a hand through his dark crisp hair, ruffling it thoroughly. "Wow. I read it all wrong. I put two and two together and got seven. I'm sorry."
She looked up at him and her heart did a little jump. It was so silly. There was no way she could allow herself to get involved with Carlo, and yet there was something about him that she responded to.
"You weren't the only one that trusted Andre," she said after a moment, trying to ignore the lurch inside of her, that little part of her that hoped. Maybe one day she would be taken seriously. Maybe one day she'd find the right man, and real love. "Lots of people did. He could be charming when he wanted. He knew how to play it." She took a deep breath. "He certainly played me."
"I'm sorry he hurt you."
She shrugged. "If he hadn't, I wouldn't have wanted to escape Europe for a while, and I wouldn't have agreed to narrate the film. I guess you can say that Andre's betrayal led me to finding my mission."
Carlo's intense gaze met hers. "Fate."
"No —"
"Fate," he repeated.
And the silence stretched between them, a long taut silence that somehow wrapped them together.
Fate.
Estrella drew a shallow breath, her pulse quickened, and she suddenly wondered if perhaps he was right. Perhaps fate had also brought her and Carlo together. Perhaps there was something greater ahead for both of them…a destiny together —
No.
Absolutely not. Estrella lifted a hand as if to break the spell. It was the heat. The lingering effects of the sun. It was her fatigue.
It wasn't Carlo and it wasn't fate and she couldn't let herself enjoy his company this much. He was impossible. He'd made her life utterly miserable and there was no way she'd let him connect with her head, or her heart, or any other part of her body.
Estrella pushed back from the table and stood. "I should go. It's late. I've still so much to do."
He rose, too. "What else can I do? I know there must be more."
He probably could do more. He could probably buy her a screening. He could buy her an audience, too. But she couldn't ask him. It was dangerous. Wrong. "If you want to help, support Relief Now. It's the nonprofit group Allie worked with and I'm sure they'd welcome a donation."
Carlo walked her outside and put her into the back of a cab, but he didn't let the driver leave. Leaning into the car, Carlo's silver gaze held hers. "I had a younger sister with special needs. She died a couple years ago but she would have liked you, Estrella. She would have liked what you're doing." His hesitated a moment. "I like what you're doing."
She shook her head. She didn't know what to say. He was stirring up all her emotions again, making her feel so many contradictory things.
"Gabi was adopted," he added quietly. "From Romania. My mother always wanted a little girl. Gabi was her girl."
As Carlo looked down into Estrella's face, he realized he'd fallen for her. And fallen hard. He reached out and touched her cheek. "If you ever need someone in your corner, Estrella, you've got me."
Her eyes filmed with tears. "I do need — I still want a screening for One Heart. If you can possibly make a few calls…pull some strings…"
He straightened. "I'll see what I can do."
The screening room was dark. There was utter silence as the film ended. Estrella balled her hands against the chair's arms and tried to stifle the stab of disappointment. The audience didn't like it. They didn't feel the emotion. They didn't see the children as she did.
The lights came up and the red auditorium remained silent and then suddenly someone was clapping.
Many people were clapping.
Estrella felt goose bumps prickle her skin. The clapping grew louder, faster, and it was like a dull roar in her head and she didn't know what to think, or feel. They liked it?
A hand touched her elbow. "Stand up," someone said in her ear. "They want to see you. They want to acknowledge you."
She slowly rose to her feet and the lights lifted brighter. She felt as if she were standing in a spotlight even though there was none.
The applause still rang in Estrella's ears as the theater emptied. She only had two wishes tonight. That Carlo would have joined her for the screening — she'd called and left him a message at his hotel but she never heard back — and that Allie would have been here tonight to see this.
Allie would have loved this. Allie deserved this.
"You've done an excellent job."
Estrella spun to find Carlo standing in the row of seats behind her. He was in black tie and he was alone. She felt a bubble of surprise and pleasure and she drew her red silk wrap closer to her bare shoulders. "You came."
"Had to see it."
Again that spike of pleasure, her chest feeling tight and the emotion was so bittersweet. Carlo Gabellini was supposed to be the enemy but he didn't feel like the enemy at all anymore. "I called your hotel but when you didn't phone back…" her voice drifted off and she blushed. She sounded like a schoolgirl.
"I had some business in Milan. Flew home for the day and only just returned this evening."
"But you saw the film?"
"I saw it all."
"And what do you really think?"
"It's a very powerful, very honest film."
She knew she was beaming. She couldn't help it. She'd waited so long for this night. "It's all Allie. She had the vision. She did the hard part. I just wanted to make sure it got seen, and it did. Thank you."
He glanced around at the rapidly emptying theater. "I wish the space had been bigger. More people should have seen it."
"Maybe someday."
His eyes searched her face. "You really do care for the children, don't you?"
"How can I not? They're such beautiful children and they'll have no future if they remain there. These girls deserve better. They deserve homes and education, good nutrition, and most of all — love."
"What about adoption?"
"That's part of the goal, but it's not easy adopting children from India. There's lots of red tape, and even if one can wade through that, not all children will be adopted. So that's the second half of the equation — finding funds to help the children that can't be adopted. Trying to bring a teacher to the orphanage. Trying to get books and supplies. Trying to get medicine, food, and clothes. There's so much to be done."
Carlo's expression gentled. "And you want to do it."
"Yes." He reached out and smoothed a dark tendril back from her face. "You can't save the world."
She liked the feel of his hand against her face and yet his words made her heart ache. "Why not?"
Thank God he didn't laugh. He simply shook his head once, a slow compassionate shake. "Don't make me answer that. You've had a long day. Let me take you to dinner."
She opened her mouth to refuse and then couldn't. She liked his company. She loved having him here tonight. Somehow his support mattered far more than it should and there was no way she was ready to say goodbye to him.
Lifting her head she looked into his face. He looked so handsome, and yet so self-contained, that her heart did a strange little lurch. She'd needed someone on her side, someone to open doors, someone to make things happen and he'd done it all.
He'd been there for her. He'd been magnificent.
For the first time she wasn't afraid of him. For the first time she wanted to just relax and be herself with him. No more worrying. No more doubting. No more struggling. Maybe dinner was just what she needed. "Yes. Sounds great. Thank you."
They ate at a quiet restaurant hidden behind the big hotels a couple blocks from the crowd-jammed Croisette. After dinner they managed to avoid most of the crowds by walking back to the Carlton along the beach.
The moon shone on the water and the waves crashed foamy and white against the darker sand. Following Carlo's lead, Estrella stripped off her strappy red heels to walk barefoot next to him in the cool sand.
They walked in silence for nearly a quarter mile and Estrella realized she loved being with Carlo. Loved the way he made her feel tonight — not just about life, but about herself. He seemed so strong, so grounded, so…real.
Lifting her red dress higher she felt the water circle her feet. The water was cool and her skin felt tingly. The sky here looked so big. Endless. Turning she glanced at the glittery scene of downtown Cannes with the sea of white pavilions.
"This could be a movie," she said, gesturing to the wide empty beach with the backdrop of the city. "You could show a movie here on the beach, followed by a big gala. No theater can rival this for beauty." She laughed a little and looked at Carlo. "Sorry. I'm talking too much."
"Don't apologize. I like it. I like your ideas, your thoughts. I want to know everything about you."
"But I might say too much. Or say the wrong things."
He came to a stop next to her. "What good is a mind if you can't have an opinion? What good is an opinion if you can't speak it?"
She smiled faintly, emotion bottled inside her. "Be careful. I have lots of opinions."
"Good." He walked higher up the beach and sat down. "Join me. And tell me about Argentina. I've never been."
She dropped down next to him and he peeled off his coat, settled it around her bare shoulders. She snuggled into the warm silk-lined fabric. "This reminds me of Mar y Sierras, which translates roughly to 'hills roll down to the sea.'"
"Sounds romantic."
"It can be. It's where Argentines like to play. Like here on the French Riviera, Mar y Sierras has beautiful beaches and resorts, great nightlife, casinos. Same kind of wealthy, fashionable crowd —"
He leaned forward, cupped the back of her head and cut off her words by covering her mouth with his.
She drank in a breath at the shimmer of heat as his lips brushed hers, his skin warm and fragrant, his body hard, and she knew instinctively that this was exactly what she needed.
Her hands slid up to hold his face and she savored the feel of him and the crisp texture of his hair.
His lips parted hers and her tummy tightened at the flick of his tongue and the pressure of his mouth against hers. The magic of the kiss wasn't technique as much as energy. The energy between them was tangible.
Carlo stretched her back against the sand and she sank into the soft grains as Carlo's black coat protected her.
His head lifted and he gazed down at her, his expression intense. "You don't know how much I've been wanting to do that."
"Then maybe you should do that again," she whispered.
The emotion of the moment almost overwhelmed Estrella. "I feel like I've been waiting forever for you," she confessed.
Carlo settled over her, his weight balanced on his elbows, his chest just grazing hers. "I know I have," he answered, kissing her exposed collarbone and then the side of her neck.
She shivered at the light kiss on her neck. His lips felt so lovely against her skin. When his mouth trailed across hers, she sighed and reached up to clasp the back of his head, her fingers sinking into his crisp black hair.
"You better not start something you can't finish," she whispered against his mouth.
"Perhaps we should head back?"
"To my hotel, yes."
But en route to the Carlton they passed the Palais with its red carpet and twenty-two stairs. All the big name directors and actors climbed those stairs. All photographers focused their lenses on the stairs.
"There they are," Carlo said, slowing a little, his arm circling Estrella's waist. He couldn't remember when he'd last enjoyed an evening so much. He felt good when he was with her. He felt more focused and relaxed. "The most famous steps in Cannes."
Estrella's high heels hung from two fingers. "It looks different without the crowds."
"Makes you want to be part of it."
Estrella shook her head. "I really don't care for the celebrity part. In fact, I'm ready to move on, ready to do something for others."
She'd surprised him. "You'd give up modeling?"
"I've been offered a position with Relief Now." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I've been thinking of taking it."
He watched her hand rake her hair back, watched the way the moonlight reflected her eyes. He'd never get tired of looking at her. "It's a salary position?"
"No. But I've a little savings left and I can live off that for a year or two."
"No more bright lights?" he asked, picturing them living quietly in his big house in Milan with weekends spent at the villa on Lake Como.
"At least, not on me."
They reached the Carlton and climbed the front steps. Carlo walked her to the elevator and she pulled him inside. "Is there anywhere you have to be?" she asked, as the elevator doors closed.
His eyes locked with hers. "Not tonight."
She could get lost in his eyes, lost in him. "Then stay."
He did.
It'd been months and months since she'd been with anyone and Estrella held her breath as Carlo slowly undressed her, unfastening the small hooks in the boned bodice of her red silk gown and pushing the full crimson fabric down over her black lace bra, down over her hips to let it pool at her feet.
His mouth followed his hands, his lips caressing her smooth shoulder, the swell of her breast, the curve of her hip. She felt so much — wanted so much — and it was thrilling to give herself over to him, to give up control and just enjoy the moment.
He knew how to make the most of the moment, too. He kissed her beneath her earlobe, and then worked his way to her breast, his tongue drawing small circles of fire over her skin. She smothered a gasp as he caught the peaked nipple between his lips, the pressure and heat of his mouth both a torture and a delight.
Being with him was erotic. Exciting. It was everything she wanted. Her body was growing hot. Her imagination was inflamed. She wanted more.
Carlo lifted his head and his light gaze met hers in the dark. He was breathing hard and his silver gaze was nearly pewter. He wanted her. He wanted everything she did.
Estrella leaned closer, brushed her breasts across his chest, and then unfastened his shirt one slow button at a time.
He was watching her and felt his keen interest as she slid the shirt from his shoulders, revealing a toned chest and a flat muscular belly. She placed her hands on his hard stomach, then delicately traced the muscles with her tongue. He was so warm and his skin smelled fragrant and he felt like satin. He was so incredibly sexy and tonight he was all hers.
She looked up at him and with his gaze holding hers, she stripped his belt from his slacks and then unzipped his black pants without saying a word.
There was no talking at all. It was as if they'd used all their words earlier and the silence heightened the tension, as well as the passion. She was so aware of him she felt as if she could hear his heart beat, and feel him breathe.
With his gaze still locked with hers, she gently cupped him through his briefs. He was already hard and straining and she slipped her hand beneath the white fabric to stroke him fully.
Carlo groaned deep in his throat and she stroked him again. This time she felt his taut belly contract, his lean hips rock, and for the first time in her life Estrella wanted to love a man with her hands and her mouth, she wanted to feel him and taste him. She wanted to make him hers completely.
But he wouldn't let her kneel before him. His hands lifted her to her feet and he carried her to the bed.
There was something intensely alive between them, something that couldn't be defined by the mind or with words. And when Carlo lowered his head to kiss her — really kiss her with his lips and his tongue — she knew she'd never really made love before. She'd had sex and she'd felt pleasure but it'd never been love, never been close to the joy of this.
And it was joy to be close to someone and to feel so good. It was wonderful to feel as if something mattered and life made sense. To feel empowered by love…
Carlo shifted his weight, moving between her thighs and with a smooth thrust he entered her body and helplessly she tightened around him, her breath catching in her throat, her skin feverishly hot, sensitive to the slightest nuance.
Their lovemaking was slow and intense. There was no pressure, no race, nothing to be won or gained. It was just touch, it was just sensation, it was just the two of them together, alone.
When Estrella felt the pleasure building and the tension return, sensation turning sharp and strong, she curled her arms around Carlo's shoulders and buried her face against his warm damp skin and gave herself totally to him, not just her body, but her heart.
She'd never thought she'd feel this way about anyone, and yet this was love, she was certain of it. After a lifetime of fragments and broken pieces, Carlo made her feel complete.
Estrella woke early in the morning to Carlo's caress and they made love again, and later when they were both spent, Estrella propped her chin on her hand and looked down at him.
"You never talk about your life," she said, suddenly feeling very serious. "You never talk about your family, or your past loves."
"My family's huge. I have three brothers — all working in Italy — dozens of cousins." He shrugged. "And until you, there hasn't ever been a love. There have been women. And lovers. But never a love."
Her heart did a funny double beat. "I feel the same way about you."
Carlo reached out to cup her cheek, loving the shape of her face, the intelligence in her hazel-green eyes. She was everything he ever wanted in a woman — and more. "What do you want more than anything right now?"
"Save all the beautiful babies I can in Tamil Nadu."
She was going to break his heart, he thought, leaning forward to kiss her lips. "After that?" he murmured.
"Get One Heart distributed around the world. I want everyone to know about the orphanage."
He kissed her again. "And so it shall be done."
Later that morning they went for a drive, leaving noisy crowded Cannes behind and taking a road high into the mountains giving them a spectacular view of the Riviera.
Carlo stopped in Mougins, an old hilltop town with ramparts dating from the fifteenth century. Once parked, they left the car and walked across a meadow filled with wildflowers to a crumbling stone wall.
They sat down on the wall and Estrella leaned against Carlo. "This is lovely. It's so peaceful here."
Carlo gazed down at Estrella, her long dark hair draped across one shoulder, and his chest felt hot and tight. He'd never felt this way before. He knew he'd never feel this way about anyone again.
He turned her around so she faced him. His eyes searched hers. God, he loved her. He couldn't imagine life without her. Cupping her face in his hands he kissed her. "Marry me."
"Marry me," Carlo repeated urgently.
They were, Estrella thought, the sweetest words she'd ever heard. For him to know her goals, her dream, her passion and still want her — it was remarkable. Her eyes burned and a massive lump filled her throat. "I can't."
He held her before him, his hands on her upper arms. "Why not?"
"I'd be a terrible wife —"
"No!"
She stood up on tiptoe and gently kissed him, her lips brushing his. "Yes. Especially to a Gabellini. Gabellinis are wealthy and powerful and extremely prominent — you're like the Galváns in Argentina — but it's everything I don't want. Everything I can't be anymore."
"Cara, darling —"
"No." Her eyes burned like fire and it was all she could do to hold the tears in check. "Please don't argue. It'll only make it worse. We have different goals, Carlo. We're heading in different directions."
Carlo drove them back to Cannes and the tension during the return drive was unbearable. Pulling up at the Carlton, Carlo parked and turned to her, his features grim. "I don't understand why you don't think we'll work."
"What we have won't last. It can't." Her eyes felt gritty as sand. "In less than a week Cannes will be transformed again. The posters will come down, the red carpet rolled up, the crowds dispersed. We're the same. We're part of the magic here, but this isn't the real world. At least, it's not my real world. My world is in Tamil Nadu."
She saw him blanch, saw the fear in his eyes. "You don't have to go to India to help the children," he said tersely. "You can raise funds here. You can increase public awareness without putting yourself in the line of fire."
She knew he was referring to Allie. "If I don't go I won't know the money is reaching the children. I have to be certain the girls are getting proper care. I can't just hope everything will turn out right. I must make sure it does."
His jaw hardened. His silver gaze grew flinty. "You won't even give us a chance."
The first tear fell and Estrella dashed it away. "I can't, Carlo, but I do love you. I'll always love you."
"You're saying goodbye then?"
Oh, she hated those words and she hated it said like that. He made it sound as if this was easy. It wasn't easy. It felt like hell but she couldn't give up on the girls. She'd made a promise. "Not goodbye." Her voice cracking with emotion. "What about au revoir? Until the next time?"
"No. I hate it. I won't say it."
"Then don't." She pressed her mouth to his, closed her eyes, and told herself to remember what it felt like being loved like this. She told herself to remember his strength, his warmth, and his tremendous generosity.
Fighting tears, she turned her head and whispered in his ear. "I will never forget you. I will never forget what you've done for me and the children of Tamil Nadu."
Before he could answer she slipped from the car and disappeared into her hotel, blinking back tears as she ran.
Late that night two envelopes appeared beneath Estrella's door. She carried the envelopes to her bed.
The first envelope was of a heavy cream paper and she drew out a stiff cream invitation. You are cordially invited to join Integro Investment Bank for the Premiere of One Heart, 7 o'clock, The Riviera.
The gala event Carlo had promised.
Hands shaking, she opened the second envelope and discovered a first-class ticket to New Delhi. It was, she noted with fresh tears welling in her eyes, just one way.
The next evening Estrella dressed for the screening with infinite care, doing her hair and applying her makeup as if she were girding for battle. And in a way, she was. She was preparing to face Carlo one last time before leaving him later tonight.
Looking at her pale reflection in the bathroom she knew it would be hell tonight. Being with him and yet not being with him was as cruel a punishment as she could imagine.
She reached up and adjusted the strap of her gown. The fabric was a nude satin with an overlay of small violet flowers, the violet flowers speckled with clear sequins. It was an extravagant gown, a high-voltage Hollywood type of gown but tonight Estrella had to play the part of the glamorous model one last time. Tonight she had to shine for the photographers and the press and make sure One Heart got all the attention it possibly could.
Carlo had sent his limousine for her and en route to the Riviera she saw bright white spotlights streak the sky. It wasn't until the limousine stopped at the beach that she discovered the spotlights were for the premiere and they were drawing a crowd.
She was awed. Carlo had thought of everything. A dozen flashbulbs popped in her eyes as she stepped onto the red carpet, the press converging just as they did for the big studio premieres.
How had he organized all this in three days? He'd put together the screening, the party, the press, even the red carpet — for her.
She nearly lost her composure then. She was so grateful for all that he'd done, and so overwhelmed by his support. She'd never met a man like Carlo before and doubted she ever would again.
Carlo met her inside the white pavilion tent on the sand. The screening was black-tie and again he wore his tuxedo.
Estrella felt her heart turn over as she looked at him. He was so big, so imposing, so fiercely protective of her dream.
"You look gorgeous," she said, resting her hand on his sleeve and rising to kiss his cheek.
He turned his head and caught the kiss on his mouth. "I love you."
Her eyes burned and she felt the ache in her chest like the tide of the sea. It was pulling on her, sucking her in, and yet she couldn't give in. As soon as she thought of the girls, she knew she had to go, knew she had a job to do.
"I love you, too," she whispered before being surrounded by a circle of international buyers and pulled in an opposite direction from Carlo.
Later, the big white tent became a massive movie screen and the guests in glittering evening dress sat down in chairs and on blankets spread across the sand. Then the lights strung across the inside of the tent dimmed and a projector turned on, showing the first of two reels of film.
By the time the screening ended, the documentary had been picked up by a legion of networks, independent distributors, and of the largest cable companies in the United States. Everyone who was anyone had attended the premiere and there was talk of the film being nominated for an Oscar and possibly shown at next year's Sundance Film Festival.
The evening had been a huge success, but like everything, the party eventually ended. The guests departed. The tent came down and Estrella returned to her hotel where she changed into traveling clothes, packed her bags and paid her bill at the hotel.
At the Nice airport, Estrella checked in and cleared security. It was while waiting at the gate that she spotted a familiar dark head bent over a newspaper.
Estrella's jaw dropped. Carlo? At the airport?
"What are you doing here?" she demanded, confronting him just as the announcement was made that the airline would begin preboarding in just a moment.
He looked up from the paper, feigning shock. "My God, Estrella, what are you doing here?"
"Don't even start with me. What are you doing here, and where are you going?"
He rose. "Well, I'm getting on a plane, and I'm going to India."
"You can't! That's where I'm going."
He whistled. "Fate."
"No, it's not fate. It's wrong."
"It's not wrong." Carlo held out his airline ticket. He had a seat assignment. It was the seat next to hers. "I have a ticket, I have a seat, and I'm going."
"But…why?"
"Because you're going. And I want to be there. Someone's got to keep an eye on you."
It wasn't because he didn't trust her. It was because he cared. He loved her. Even though he'd said the words before, she felt it for the first time, felt it in her middle, in her bones, in her heart. He'd be with her, stand by her, and after a lifetime of standing alone it was heaven.
Yet still, the knowledge bowled her over. She knew what he was giving up. Knew the sacrifices he'd make. "But your company. And your family —"
"Doesn't matter. I'm doing this for you, Estrella, but I'm also doing it for myself. If I can help the children, I want to."
Estrella's eyes filled with tears. "Where we're going there are no luxury hotels."
He reached out and drew her into his arms, his hands curving in the small of her back. "I understand, cara. I can handle a sleeping bag, a mosquito net, and bottled water."
"So you know there'll be bugs."
"Yes. There'll be lots of bugs." Then he smiled a small crooked smile. "But I think I could handle a swarm of locusts if it means I get to spend the next year of my life with you."
Her smile faltered. "Just a year?"
"That depends on whether or not you'll marry me —"
"Yes!" She slid her arms around his neck and lifted her mouth to his. "Carlo Gabellini, I want to marry you. I want to love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you."
He smiled before brushing his lips across hers. "Can I get that in writing?"
Estrella laughed, her heart lighter than it had been in years. "It's not necessary. We don't stand a chance. We're meant to be together. It's fate."
The End