Still Falling (2 page)

“Mama, you love Milan,
and you know it.
 
You know I don’t have
much time with all the travel.”

“Always excuses.
 
Sit down at the
table child and you can tell me all the latest news over some soup.”
 

Serena sat down at the worn oak table as her mother placed a steaming
bowl of Tomato and Basil soup in front of her.
 
It smelt delicious.
 
Her mother
sat opposite Serena, hands folded expectantly in front of her.
 
She waited until Serena had swallowed at
least four spoonfuls of soup before pressing her further.

“Well?”

“Well what?

“Well two weeks ago you said you would not be able to visit until
Christmas.”

“Oh!
 
I can go back to Milan if you want?”
smiled Serena coyly, winding her mother up gently.

“Child one day you will try my patience too far!
 
Now get serious and tell me what is going
on.
 
You are shrinking into nothing and
you are too pale!
 
Out
with it!”

At first Serena claimed there was nothing much to tell, claiming to just
need a break and come for a visit.
 
Mrs
Taylor, still beautiful despite her age, was having none of it.
 
Eventually Serena told her about feeling
under the weather for a while, and the battery of tests she had undergone
before the doctors had broken the news that she was in the early stages of
stomach cancer and how she had started treatment which made her feel worse than
the illness ever had.
 

Her mother had taken it surprisingly well.
 
After many questions, her mother had come to
the conclusion that Serena would get better, but only if she moved back home,
where she could be fed properly, and get plenty of fresh air.
 
Serena only half agreed.
  
It was why she had come home.

She had finished her second session of Chemotherapy a couple of days ago
and although the worst of the effects had passed.
 
She was still feeling rough and down.
 
She needed her mother close by.
 

Josephine had demanded she take indefinite leave on full pay, only if
Serena promised to come back healthy and full spirits.
   
The problem was she didn’t have the
strength to deal with Marco, so she had planned on renting a small flat above
the small marina on the other side of the island.
 

“Don’t be silly child!
 
You will
stay right here.
 
Marco is hardly around
these days and sooner or later you will have to make peace with him anyway.”
 
Her mother had declared, horrified at the
thought of her daughter alone in some rented room, feeling ill.

Fatigue was setting in, and rather than argue with her mother, Serena put
the conversation on hold and crept off to bed, leaving her mother to cook up
another storm.
 
Someone would be eating
well tomorrow.

The perfume stuck in the back of his throat as he entered the living
room.
 
Magda lay seductively across a
pair of sheep skin rugs in front of the fire.
 
Her lace undergarments did little to hide the prominent hip bones which
cradled her sunken belly, or her tiny breasts resting on salient ribs.
 
Marco had invited Magda here for the weekend
as a distraction from the loneliness of the huge empty house.
 

The tall Dutch blonde had made it clear from the day he employed her as
an in-house model that she was more than willing if he ever needed her to work
overtime on extra activities.
 
She smiled
coyly, patting the empty space next to her.
  
Right now this was the last thing he needed or wanted.
 
He continued to gaze at the anorexic minx
lying willing and eager in his living room, his own private plaything for the
weekend.
 
Suddenly he didn’t feel so good.
 

“Something’s come up.
 
I’ll have my
driver take you back to the marina and arrange transport to the main land and
then to Milan.”
 
He left the room without waiting for her
sulky protests.

Marco had spent many long hours, alone in the huge, six bedroom mansion,
trying to analyse the moments they had spent together, leading up the minute
security had recorded her leaving the building.
 
He couldn’t understand what had happened.
 
There was nothing he could remember saying or
doing that could have caused her to leave the way she did.
 
He had even gone so far as to interrogate the
majority of his staff thinking perhaps someone else had said or done something
unspeakable.
 

It had only taken two days for him to find out that she had moved from
Napoli to Milan
and was working for Josephine Rapisarda at Revel.

Not finding the answers he needed, he had turned all his energy and focus
into the business.
  
Shamefully, he now
realised how painful he must have been as a boss that first year.
 
As the years passed though, it got a little
easier.

Marco locked himself in his study and sank back into the deep Audi,
bucket seat that his father had salvaged from a Rally crash.
 
It always amazed him how comfortable and snug
the converted seat was as an office chair.
 

His father had loved cars, and many items dotted around the study were
automobile
related.
 
A signed photo, of his father, with Raffaele ‘Lele’ Pinto, who had
won his first Rally, in Portugal
in 1974.
 
The Spare steering
wheel, from the Alfa Romeo, Formula One car, that won Giuseppe Farina the first
Grand Prix in 1950.
 
A small petrol
engine, cleaned and varnished sat in the middle of the large room with a clear
sheet of glass mounted on top to form a coffee table.

To the right a small stone fireplace with a cast iron wood stove at its
heart was lined on either side with deep polished teak wood shelves.
 
The shelves were full to capacity with books,
manuals, and catalogues and framed pictures related to his father’s
experiences, acquaintances and interests in the motor industry.
 
It was a standing joke in the household that
his father had made the wrong career choice by getting into fashion.
 

“The one thing I like more than a good looking car is a good looking
woman, and I plan on making sure there are a lot more good looking women out
there.”
 
Would be his
standard reply.

While Marco appreciated a good car, no matter what its age, he didn’t
share the same passion as his father, but loved this room and refused to change
it.
 
It was his only real link now to his
father.
  

The distraction the study gave him was short lived.
 
It was in this room.
 
This room, when she had bound in to ask for a
lift to the studio.
 
Serena and run
through the door like a day old foal.
 
All legs and spirit.
 
She had tripped and fallen into his arms.
 
It was then that he realised that in his arms
was exactly where she belonged.
 
It was
here that he had finally gathered the courage to kiss her.
 

His heart had filled with relief and his loins with desire when her
tongue met his and invited him to deepen the kiss.
 
He remembered breaking away from her,
breathless, and wanting.
 
Her eyes had
blazed back at him with fear and longing.
 
He had held her gaze, searching for permission,
encouragement.......something.
 
When she
pulled his head back down and kissed him, it had been his undoing.

“Are you sure?” He had murmured against her lips.

“Don’t let me think.”

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“I think I have an idea.” She had smiled shyly.

He broke off their kiss and took her next door to the sun room.

What the hell went wrong?

S
erena woke to the sun warming her face through the window.
 
She felt better now than she had felt in a
long time, but she knew it wouldn’t last.
 
She ate a small portion of the massive breakfast her mother had left her
and decided on a quick walk down to the beach, before embarking on her search
for a room at the marina.
 

The air was very still this morning and the silence that accompanied it
was welcoming.
 
The water was glass
smooth as she settled down onto the sand to rest a moment.
  
She didn’t remember the short five minute
walk being so exhausting before.
 
She was
definitely not as fit as she used to be.
  

Although she could have just taken a more direct route through the well
maintained gardens, crisscrossed with paved pathways, which stretched for
nearly twelve acres between the large Tuscan styled mansion and the drop down
to the private beach, she had no wishes to confront Marco if he was up and
about.
 
She lay back and closed her eyes.
 
The sand was still cool and the tension
drained from her like an ebb tide.

   
The smell of sandalwood stirred her
senses.
 
Unexpected warmth radiated
through her upper body and thighs and she adjusted her head slightly to breath
in more of the heady fragrance.
 
Suddenly
her mind went into overdrive and panic threatened to overwhelm her.
 
She remembered lying back on the beach and
must have drifted off.
 
Her eyes flew
open.
 
Dark, almost black eyes, framed
with thick, long lashes looked down at her and her already racing heart sped up
one more
notch
.
 

“So you’re not in a coma after all?” the owner of the dark molten pools
whispered.

There are dangerous, dark places in
those eyes.

“Put me down!” she said, her voice unsteady.

He lowered her feet gently to the ground. Serena swayed unsteadily and a
gentle hand pulled her body against his for support. Nerve endings flashed
dangerously throughout the length of her form and her legs turned instantly to
mush.
 
And still she couldn’t break her
eyes away from those eyes.
 

Chemo is going to the brain.
 
I wasn’t warned about this.

 
Moments of weakness and fatigue
were one of the effects she had been warned of, and she silently cursed that
she should have one now in front of Marco.

“I’m fine.” She said finally tearing her eyes away.
 
She noticed that he had carried her almost
all the way to her mother’s cottage.

“You are far from fine and you know it!” his voice still low but
threatening.
 
“So let me guess.
 
The lover you are shacking up with, in Milan,
found out that you’re pregnant, couldn’t handle it and kicked you out so you’ve
come running home to Mommy.
 
To make
matters worse, you still having late nights and now I found you passed out on my
beach?”
 
His face was dark with
disapproval and the condescension in his voice, unmistakeable.

“How dare you!” she hissed.
 
She
wasn’t sure if it was shock or anger, or maybe both, but the adrenaline gave
her the boost of energy she needed to pull out of his grasp and storm into the
cottage slamming the door.
 
Surprisingly,
without falling flat on her face.
 

Marco had followed and now stood staring at the slammed door for several
minutes, his face unreadable.
 
Watching
him angrily through thick net curtains, Serena couldn’t help notice how much he
had aged in the last four years and yet strangely, he was more attractive now
than he had ever been.

 
His face could have been used as
the model for many of the classical Greek sculptures, his nose too perfect for
the typical Roman sculptures of the same era.
 
His broad shoulders contrasted with his narrow waist and hips and he
moved with athletic grace.
 
Now as he
stood staring at the cottage door, he stood tall and commanding and dangerous.
 
A man who knows exactly
what he wants.
  

Sweet lord was he always this hot?

He finally turned and stalked off to the main house and Serena realised
she had been holding her breath.

“Stupid woman!” she muttered out loud.
 
“He’s uncouth and repulsive!”

Somewhat shakily, Serena readied herself to go flat hunting on the
island.