made a pass at her, she knew that it was time to get out of there.
Her mother hadn’t protested and Annie believed she was happy to see her go. In fact, she was sure of it. She’d walked out the door and moved into a friend’s place for a while, then bounced from one couch to another until she finished secondary school, by which time she was already helping out Rose. Fifteen years later she was now her longest-serving (and oldest) staff member.
Annie rolled onto her side. Fifteen years. In one respect it was such a short time; in another, it was forever.
She was still young, but in those years she’d felt like she’d lived a thousand lives. She’d been wilder than most. Lack of parental supervision and the misguided belief that she was living the high life had seen her make mistake after mistake. She gave a hollow laugh at her silliness. Did she really think that being parentless had served her well? At the time she had. Now she knew better.
Sleep crept up on her. Annie didn’t even realise when she’d started to drift off, but the sound of her mobile phone ringing had awakened her.
‘What now …’ se whined as she forced herself off the bed. She shuffled towards her coat pocket and took the phone out, answering grumpily. ‘Hello?’
‘Hello, Annie.’ The voice on the other end was the last she’d expected to hear.
‘Felicity? How did you get my number?’
Her mind was whirring like an out-of-control mechanism as she listened to the older woman speak.
‘Annie, I’ve been keeping an eye on you over the years and you have a wonderful heart. I see a lot of myself in you – the younger me, I mean – and like I said in the salon, it’s all too easy to stray off-path when you’re young and foolish.’ She cleared her throat. ‘But I suspect you’ve already realised that yourself.’
Annie was confused. ‘I’m not sure what you mean …’
‘I can’t say too much at the moment, and it’s hard to explain, but, love, I’d like to do something for you. Something small as a thank you for being so good to me over the years.’
‘For me?’ Annie asked sceptically when the other woman finished her spiel. This was weird. ‘You don’t have to do anything for me, Felicity. Really, I’m doing grand.’ She wasn’t about to let on about her struggles.
‘Please. Don’t argue. Just … keep an eye out for something in the post from me soon. Can you let me know your address?’
Annie’s brow furrowed afresh. ‘Felicity, no, I appreciate you thinking of me, but really, I don’t need anything …’
Felicity was having none of it, insisting she pass on her address or she’d just get it from Rose at the salon anyway. Indeed, she seemed just as stubborn as Annie was.
‘OK,’ she finally conceded, ‘but you really don’t have to do this.’
‘I know that. But promise me this: just accept it, OK? For me.’
Reluctantly agreeing, Annie said goodbye to Felicity, put down the phone and once again curled up in her bed. What was the woman on about?
Just accept it?
Accept what?
Annie rolled onto her back, her eyes staring up at the ceiling, now wide awake, her thoughts whirring.
‘What are you up to, Felicity?’
Now
The drive back from the restaurant in Sorrento had been a silent one. Kim knew Antonio wanted her to confide more in him but she couldn’t.
She and Gabriel weren’t him and Emilia. There were some major differences in their relationship. Kim idolised the older woman, who might soon no longer even remember her.
Right from the start, Emilia had inspired and encouraged her. She had facilitated everything that Kim had achieved with The Sweet Life, had pushed her out of her comfort zone, and encouraged her to break away from the hold her parents had on her.
After all these years, Kim wished she could thank whatever god was smiling on her the day she’d met her and Antonio. His wife was someone Kim admired and adored, but definitely not one she could compare with.
Emilia was the best of women.
‘Are you going to be grumpy for the rest of the day? If so, I might as well fix us both a drink.’ Antonio’s voice again interrupted her musings.
They were back at the villa now, sitting at a patio table outside on the terrace, next to the adjoining lawn that was to be the centre’s yoga area.
‘I don’t think my being grumpy is the reason you want a drink,’ Kim drawled, briefly checking her phone.
‘Perhaps, but it is the reason I’m going to use.’
Still his words brought a smile to her face. The Italian knew the right things to say at just the right time. He had for as long as she’d known him.
Having checked her email, she scrolled idly through her social media, noting with some satisfaction that her latest post – a pretty and artistic shot she’d taken earlier of the villa’s lemon groves and the azure waters of the bay as a backdrop – had already racked up lots of activity.
She read a little way through some of the comments, before one in particular stopped her in her tracks.
The Sweet Life? That’s a joke, considering. Don’t you mean The FAKE Life?
Kim frowned.
Since the villa project had ramped up, lately she seemed to be getting some negative and downright nasty comments from people (although possibly even the same person using different identities, as online trolls often did).
Par for the course with social media, she knew, especially for an account with a following in the hundreds of thousands, and while Kim didn’t usually pay too much attention, she didn’t like the sound of this one.
The Fake Life …
It was unsettling, as it suggested something more sinister – personal, even – and because in truth, it tapped into Kim’s own deeply held insecurities.
‘Are you OK, bella?’ Antonio asked, frowning as he came back out with a decanter of rich amber that he’d stolen from the villa’s freshly stocked kitchen.
‘I’m … fine.’
He studied her face and then his brows furrowed slightly as he noticed her faraway expression. He set the whiskey down on the patio table.
‘OK, maybe this is something that should be spirit-free,’ he decided. He lowered himself onto the seat beside her, his knees pointed towards her. ‘Tell me what’s going on.’
Kim
