Meg managed a peek from the corner of her eye. Val still had yet to bite into his food. “Do you cook?”
“I don’t have time to cook.”
Which didn’t answer her question.
“I suppose you never have a need to cook with all this at your disposal.”
“I’ve taught both my children to cook. Not that they practice their skills often.” Mrs. Masini nibbled the chicken on her plate.
“Do all of you live on the island?” Michael asked.
Mrs. Masini shrugged. “If I want to see my children, this is where I must be.”
“Paradise is at your feet,” Michael told her. “Never-ending sunshine.”
“I like the rain.”
“We’re tropical, Mama, it rains every day,” Gabi said with a smile.
“Not the same.”
Maybe it was the wine, or the amazing food, but Meg found herself relaxing even with the reserved man beside her.
They’d been on the island just shy of twenty-four hours. Michael ran in from the warm ocean, water splattering in his wake. He pushed into the lounge chair beside Meg, and grabbed the ice water at her side.
She looked up from the book in her hand. “I think you were a fish in a former life.”
“I can’t get over how quiet it is out there.”
“You make it sound like I’m talking your ear off.”
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “I’ve come to the conclusion I have a loud life.”
“You’re a movie star. Comes with the territory.”
He sighed. “I know . . . but this doesn’t suck.”
No, it didn’t. Considering Michael’s fame, there were few people who approached them. Even the night before at their “required dinner” with Valentino and his family, not one other guest snapped a picture, gawked, or asked for an autograph.
Meg had known Michael for nearly three years now, and that never happened in the real world.
Maybe Sapore di Amore was all it claimed to be.
“There is only one thing this island is missing,” Michael said.
Something was missing? “What’s that?”
“Sex.”
He could say that again. “From the looks of some of the poolside guests, you’re not the only one who thinks that.”
Michael rubbed a towel over his face. “I haven’t really noticed.”
She had, if only to keep an eye on the tabloids once they left the island. How much leaked from Sapore di Amore? Was it possible the papers didn’t see a senator’s wife hooking up with a kid half her age? Did said wife recognize Meg? They’d met a year before in Sacramento.
Even now, Meg and Michael were outside their villa and precious few guests were milling about on the beach. This wasn’t a place people brought young children. Maybe because children had a way of telling everyone the things they saw.
Meg reminded herself to ask the question to Valentino about kids. Did they flat-out refuse young people to come? Or was there a place on the island exclusively for families?
Instead of talking about children and families, Meg asked, “Is there someone you would want to bring here?”
Michael’s gaze left hers and met the sea. “I-I don’t . . . yeah.”
Meg liked to think there wasn’t an insecure bone in the movie star’s body. But when it came to intimacy—real intimacy—he wasn’t the confident movie icon at all.
“And would this person want to be here with you?”
“Lotta good that would do. Our lives are too different.”
“He’s not married is he?”
Michael shook his head. “God no. We’re just . . . it’s complicated.”
“He’s not in the movie business?”
“He’s a teacher.”
She wasn’t expecting that. Instead of asking more questions, she watched the gentle waves hitting the shore. “Have you ever just wanted to say fuck it? Screw Hollywood and live your life the way you want to?”
“Millions of dollars a film, Meg.”
“I know . . .” Lord knew she had grown up without money. Her parents still had next to nothing. In reality Meg had managed to put some away after paying off her student loans, but it would be a long time before she’d be able to afford a vacation at Sapore di Amore on her dime.
“But when will you have enough?”
“Is it too much to want money and a life?”
No, she mused. It wasn’t.
Michael rolled over onto his stomach, stretched his arms over his head. “What do you think of our hosts?”
Meg gave up on her book and pushed her lounge chair back into the shade. No use burning up this early in the week. “Mrs. Masini is a kick. She adored you.”
“Nothing says I haven’t lost it like charming the old ladies.”
“Gabi is sweet, but that guy she’s going to marry seems out of place.”
Michael turned his head her way, looked at her between squinted eyelids. “Something about him didn’t seem right to me.”
“Too much listening, not enough talking.”
Michael leaned up on his forearms. “Did you notice when I asked him about his vineyard he tried to change the subject?”
“Yeah, why was that? I’d think if I owned my own label, I’d shout it to the world. He seemed excited enough to share his wine when we first sat down.”
Michael shook his head. “I don’t get it. Decent wine, too. I can see him avoiding the conversation if his wine sucked.”