How did he do that? She fiddled nervously with the collar on her shirt, scrunching it up; Pete smoothed it out.
‘Where’s your confidence?’ he said, tilting her chin up with his forefinger so that her gaze met his.
‘Gone.’
‘Happens that way sometimes.’ He pressed his lips to her cheek, a man who knew not to mess with lipstick at a time like this. ‘Time to remember who you are. What you are. And what you want.’
Oh, boy. It’d help if she knew. ‘I could use a reminder.’
‘You’re talented, educated, smart, savvy, and determined.’
‘You’re right,’ she said straightening. ‘I am.’
‘You want this job?’
‘I do.’
He put his hands to her shoulders and turned her in the direction of the door. ‘Go get it.’
Pete watched the traffic go by while he waited for Serena’s interview to finish, wondering at her lastminute hesitation. He knew her best when she wore gypsy skirts and sleeveless cotton shirts, but it came as no surprise to him that she could look perfectly at home in a business suit. If she wanted this kind of life all she had to do was reach out and take it. He was that certain of her talent and her ability to succeed.
She didn’t belong on the island; anyone with eyes could see that. Whether she belonged here was up to her.
It was a quarter to five before she reappeared. He figured it for a good sign. ‘How’d it go?’ he asked her when she stood in front of him.
‘It was a panel interview,’ she told him, chewing on her lower lip. ‘There were five of them. It was hard to tell what they thought—either collectively or individually.’ She lifted her chin a fraction. ‘They said I’d hear from them in a few days. I thought it went well.’
‘Hold that thought.’ He slung his arm around her shoulders, she wrapped her arm around his waist and together they started walking. ‘Where to now?’ he asked her. ‘Dinner? A drink? A show?’
‘Yes,’ she said with a vigorous nod for good measure. ‘All of them.’
‘Any particular order?’
‘Surprise me.’
He did surprise her. He took her to the art gallery Medusa where a modern photographic exhibition was showing, and fed her creativity. After that he took her to dinner at a restaurant that boasted candlelit corners, Spanish cuisine, and a Lebanese entertainer with a repertoireranging from ‘Zorba the Greek’ to ‘Dancing Queen’. The meal fed her stomach, the entertainment fed her sense of humour. The place was a mish-mashing clash of cultures with a boisterous crowd, a little bit of whimsy, and plenty of romance thrown in for free and it matched her mood perfectly. He matched her mood perfectly, played to it, and at the end of the evening when the music slowed he took her into his arms and the night turned to magic.
‘What next?’ he murmured when the music drew to a close.
‘You and me,’ she said without hesitation. ‘Alone.’ Always it came back to this.
The colours from the streetlights played over his face, such a beautiful face, as he hailed them a taxi. He didn’t touch her on the way back to the hotel, not until they reached the lift and then it was only to put his palm to the small of her back as they stepped inside. His hand dropped away after that. He looked like a man with a lot on his mind, not all of it welcome.
‘Penny for them,’ she said.
His smile belonged to a rogue but his eyes were somewhat more sombre. ‘I was wondering what you’d do if you landed this job. Where you’d live. Who’d take charge of the Vespas … ‘
‘I’d probably stay with my aunt and uncle—Nico’s parents—for a while until I found a place of my own.’
‘And the Vespas?’
‘Currently have my second cousin Marina’s name on them. It’s her turn to come and contemplate the universe for a while.’
‘You didn’t mind it that much,’ he said dryly.
‘You’re right,’ she admitted. ‘I didn’t. I got to take some beautiful pictures and live in a beautiful part of the world. But I wouldn’t want to do it on a permanent basis. It wouldn’t satisfy me. It’s not enough.’
‘And the job you went for today will be enough?’ he asked her as they reached the hotel room.
‘Maybe,’ she muttered as he ushered her inside. She didn’t know. ‘If I get it I guess I’ll find out. But it’s a step in the right direction, that’s the main thing. I’ve already spent too much time doing things I never really wanted to do, mainly to keep my family happy.’ She shrugged out of her jacket and slipped off her shoes with a sigh of relief. ‘I got my photography and language qualifications by fitting them in around the work I’ve done in the family businesses. Had I wanted to be a restaurateur like my brother, or had a vision for growing and marketing the seafood arm of the business like my sister, everything would have worked out just fine, but unfortunately I don’t want to do either of those things. I want to tell stories. Take photos that tell stories. Use those qualifications it took me so long to get.’ Pete said nothing, just watched and listened. ‘You probably think I’m selfish,’ she said, turning away from him so she wouldn’t see the confirmation in his eyes. She’d heard that particular opinion voiced often enough times over the years that she’d learned to anticipate it, brace for it. ‘That I should appreciate all the opportunities my family have given me and take one of them.’
‘If you’re waiting for me to tell you to sacrifice your own needs for those of your family you’ll be waiting a long time, Serena,’ he said, punctuating his words with a tiny tilt of his lips. ‘I lit out of home as soon as the Navy would have me, chasing the sky and a childhood dream. I left behind a grieving father, an older brother, two younger brothers, and a sister—all of whom needed me—because I had to go my own way. I know what it is to sacrifice family for freedom. I’ve done it.’ His lips twisted. ‘The worst part is when they tell you to go and that they’ll be there when you need them and that they’re proud of you for going after what you want.’
‘I’d have been proud of you too,’ she said quietly. ‘If you’d been mine.’ His words had comforted her, settled her conscience. He knew what it was to chase a dream. He understood.
‘Tell your family what you’ve just told me,’ he said. ‘Hell, just show them your photos. If that doesn’t convince them you’re wasted on the fishing business, nothing will.’
‘They’ve seen them. To them photography is just a hobby, something to do on the side. Photojournalism is marginally more acceptable.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘So which one would you prefer to spend your time doing? Straight photography or photojournalism?’
Now there was a question. One she’d spent a great deal of time trying to answer. ‘For the sheer joy of it? Probably the photography.’
‘In that case why the hell did you just go for a photojournalist job?’
His
