"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."
To be continued...
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