Getting Lost Page 11

  “Can she be trusted?” Stella asked.

  “I think so. I hope so.”

  The commotion of a fray gathering momentum inside distracted them both. It became so loud and frantic the spell between them broke. Stella shrugged at the shit timing before she rushed back through the swinging doors, Phoebe close behind.

  “You fucking Yankee faggot!” Matt was being restrained by at least three men, arms thrashing, sweat pouring from his brow, and his face crimson in anger. “Don’t you fucking lay a finger on her again, do you fucking well hear me, you arse jabber?” Matt was out of control.

  Idiot. How many pills did you take?

  Ryan stood in the centre of it all, hands on hips, grinning. Matt was no match for him, in size or strength. Matt’s cheerful drug-induced demeanour had now been replaced with a ranting lunatic.

  “Wipe that cocksucking smile off your face. I swear to God, if I ever find out you’ve touched her again, you’re a dead man.”

  Stella was surprised to see Russo and weaved her way through the crowd to him. She thought he may have been otherwise engaged. “What’s going on? Did Ryan pull some moves on Belinda?”

  “Belinda?”

  “Isn’t that who Matt’s ranting about?”

  Russo frowned and Stella recognised his fatherly look of disapproval. “I’m afraid not, Stells. He’s talking about you. Was a bit offended by your dirty dancing it seems.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  Stella approached the DJ bench, switched off the music, plugged the mic in, and gained everyone’s attention with her firm tone. “Can someone get him out of here?” She was referring to Matt, and more men joined in to drag him outside. “Unless you have a very good reason to stay, can my group please follow Russo to the front gate? Cabs are on the way, and please, whatever you do, don’t speak to Matt and wind him up further.” She disappeared into the crowd, urging everyone to leave.

  Ryan scooped her into a tight, caring hug.

  “Thanks for having us, honey. Sorry about my idiot crew member.”

  “Don’t worry. Clients are like family. You can’t choose them, but you have to put up with them.” He touched her cheek. “It’s good to see you. Keep in touch. And don’t worry. That dickhead will settle down when he’s not so high.”

  Stella wished he could get higher, but only if it were through her foot connecting with his stupid arse.

  Chapter Twelve

  Stella slept in. Not that it mattered. Almost everyone else did too. Unfortunately, this resulted in a mad dash at nine thirty. Under heavy and vocal protests, Stella practically had the group jogging to meet Antonio, a young, energetic guide who would amaze them with his charming tour of Florence.

  In a small café just metres from the famous Uffizi gallery, Stella savoured her first real coffee of the morning and rested the side of her weary head in her hand. Fearful of falling asleep, she thought it best to stay awake by people watching. Behind the darkness of her sunglasses, she watched the hordes of tourists negotiate cafés, galleries, and boutiques. Of all the countries in Europe she visited, it would be Italy she’d miss seeing on such a regular basis.

  As if trained to do so, her eyes fixated on Phoebe weaving her way through the crowd from the far end of the street. Phoebe was undeniably stunning. Her poise, her aloofness, and her sheer beauty turned Stella to mush. She had given up fighting the attraction. Seeking Phoebe’s company at breakfast, lunch, and dinner was fast becoming normal. Wanting, with unbelievable desire, to speak to her, touch her, and be inside her were sensations she was beginning to enjoy. Since last night, she was no longer alarmed by the intensity of her feelings, nor how her fantasies developed a life of their own, often leaving her feeling like she was merely along for the sexually explicit ride.

  A warm smile of recognition spread across Phoebe’s face as she caught sight of Stella. Now moving with purpose, Phoebe smartly weaved through the people, and within moments was gently placing a kiss on each of Stella’s cheeks.

  “Imagine, just the lady I’ve been looking for, sitting staring into the crowd as if looking for me.”

  Stella could have sworn her heart completely deflated before inflating again to double its original size. Phoebe, in that solitary moment, had taken her breath away. Stella was lost for words by such a brazen public display of affection. A simple hello eluded her.

  Phoebe smiled, clearly pleased with Stella’s response. “More coffee?”

  “You read my mind,” said Stella.

  “So, I’ve been thinking,” said Phoebe, when the waiter departed with their coffee order.

  “Go on.”

  “Your name typed into a Google search doesn’t reveal anything, unlike mine.” She shrugged, as if even Google had beaten her. “I don’t really know the first thing about you, other than the fact you’re a tour manager, of course. I think it’s only fair we even up the scores a little.” The cheeky wink that accompanied this last statement sent Stella’s heart racing.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Let’s begin with your age.”

  “I’m twenty-seven.”

  Phoebe sighed. “And? Come on. Spill.”

  “I was born in Hong Kong. My mother was in finance. We moved back to England when I was two. She had a nervous breakdown because my father, whom I’ve not laid eyes on for twenty-two years, shagged both the maids in Hong Kong, resulting in two pregnancies. He visited for a day when I was five. I’ve not seen nor heard from him since. I can play the bass guitar, badly. I smoked too much pot when I was fifteen, and I realised I was gay early in my teens. My last long-term girlfriend hit me once because I like to flirt. You’re an easy target when you’re so small.”

  “This woman who hit you, can we talk about her?”

  It had been a lesson well learned, but a short, uneasy laugh escaped Stella. “Sure, I guess.”

  “Why did you go out with someone violent?”

  “Well, I certainly didn’t know she was violent to begin with. She cared for me, loved me, protected me, but in the end, all it amounted to was control. She was a police officer, working shifts. Dedicated, like they all are. Coordinating schedules can be difficult under those circumstances. I, on the other hand, was dedicated to clubs, pubs, music, and drinking. I’d regularly go out with friends while she was working, or at home sleeping. We constantly fought over my behaviour. I’d toe the line, but eventually, it would happen all over again. The first time she hit me was the only time. It resulted in a black eye, nothing serious, but enough to make me know it wasn’t worth it. She wasn’t worth it. Usual story though. I flirted, I danced, I didn’t know she was there watching me, and then she dragged my drunk ass home. We fought, she hit me. End of story.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m okay. As I said, it only happened the once.” Stella took the opportunity to change the subject. “Can we talk more about you? Is it true Oscar Dean was appalled to discover his only daughter was a lesbian?”

  “Sounds like a line from a trashy magazine, but I’d say he was more disappointed than appalled. Opposition media outlets liked to talk it up a lot.”

  “He must have hated you.”

  “Not so much hated, tolerated is a better word I think. Until Rebecca told him she was a lesbian, they had an excellent relationship. Up until that time, he had been a model dad.”

  “And it all went tits up at that point?”

  Phoebe laughed. “You could put it that way. He became very difficult. Oscar Dean is a powerful man, a powerful criminal. The reason criminals become powerful isn’t purely money. They make threats and they carry them out. You soon command attention when people go missing or end up in hospital black and blue. He had his fair share of legitimate business dealings, but he also liked to be the hard man sometimes. By the time I came on the scene, he’d cleaned up his act, but a reputation like his stays with you forever. That’s the way he liked it.”

  “I assumed he might have been manipulative, but an outright criminal,
I had no idea.”

  “I suggest you don’t go singing it from the mountaintop. Oscar doesn’t take nicely to people tarnishing his name.”

  The waiter delivered more coffee, and Stella, still feeling unwell from the night before, ordered pizza.

  “You met when Rebecca was nineteen?”

  Phoebe nodded. “Oscar found it increasingly difficult to keep tabs on her. He threw eligible bachelors, including Simon, at her all the time. I can’t even begin to describe his frustration when she rejected them all, but on a day-to-day basis he just let us go about our business. He certainly wasn’t out and proud about his baby girl.”

  “Did you really believe he was going to kill you?”

  Phoebe’s face saddened. “In the moment, I did. His threats certainly seemed real. I guess I’ll never know.”

  Just as Stella was about to broach the subject of the circumstances surrounding Rebecca’s death, the loud scraping of chairs and tables diverted her attention. They both turned to see Matt charging toward them.

  “How are my two favourite lesbians today, then?” He cuddled Stella.

  “You’re awful chirpy today for someone who over-indulged last night,” said Stella.

  “Well, you know what I always say; the best way to avoid a downer is to stay up.”

  Stella should have guessed. “Do you at least remember how much of an ass you made of yourself last night?”

  He threw his arms in the air. “Hey, I’m only human. We all make mistakes.”

  She wasn’t convinced he had any recollection of his appalling behaviour. “Where’s Belinda?”

  “Funny you should ask that.” A mischievous grin spread from ear to ear. “She found a little shop that sells some toys we might like.”

  “Excellent,” Stella replied sarcastically. “Perhaps you should go find her.”

  Matt wasn’t listening. “When I say ‘we,’ I mean we, Stells. All three of us.” He turned to Phoebe. “You’re welcome to join us. The more the merrier.”

  “Piss off, Matt,” barked Stella and Phoebe in unison.

  Not in the least bit offended, Matt shrugged. “Jesus, do you two practice that or something?”

  Phoebe and Stella couldn’t help but laugh after he’d trotted off.

  Yet again, Phoebe insisted on paying the bill. “He’s nothing if not persistent,” she said.

  “He’s an idiot, that’s for sure.”

  “Uffizi?” Phoebe cocked her head in the direction of the famous gallery. “I’ve been before, and I presume you have too, but it might be a nice way to spend the morning.”

  Stella nodded, encouraged Phoebe wanted to spend time with her, but the moment had passed for further in-depth discussion. They strolled tantalisingly close, hands lightly making contact every so often, to join the substantial queue awaiting entry. Even though Stella had perused the famous gallery many times, she was certain experiencing it with Phoebe would add a new dimension. After all, Phoebe Lancaster’s presence was adding a new dimension to nearly every aspect of Stella’s existence. She craved her like no other. In fact, she couldn’t remember ever feeling this consumed by another human being. Absolutely everything reminded her of Phoebe. Every daydream revolved around her, every dirty thought—and there were many—involved her. Stella was unnerved to feel so impulsive when it came to Phoebe. And considering Phoebe was dominating her thoughts, Stella was beginning to tire of the continual need to draw her focus back to her job.

  “A penny for your thoughts?” Phoebe gently nudged Stella with her hip.

  Even such a small, probably meaningless contact stimulated the butterflies in Stella’s stomach. She grinned awkwardly.

  “It’s the Uffizi isn’t it?” Phoebe closed her eyes. “I love Florence, and I love this place.”

  “How did you know I was thinking about that?” Stella lied.

  “Just a hunch. You were a million miles away,” said Phoebe, smiling.

  “You have a beautiful smile.” Stella blushed and so did Phoebe. “I’m sorry. I swear that was a silent statement in my head.”

  “There’s no need for apologies. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.” Phoebe cleared her throat. “The other night in Nice, I enjoyed your company. And last night, talking as openly as we did, well, that was certainly intense. And special, don’t get me wrong. I’m glad we talked and did…you know…other stuff. I think it’s been good for me to…um…spend time like that with someone.”

  What exactly was Phoebe suggesting?

  “Well, not just someone, but you,” Phoebe continued.

  A faint sheen of sweat appeared on Phoebe’s brow.

  Is she nervous?

  “And, well, anyway,” Phoebe clumsily continued. “It’s difficult to spend time alone with fifty other people around, and let’s face it, you are at work,” Phoebe was talking so quickly Stella could barely keep up. “So I was wondering how possible it would be for us—if you agree of course—to perhaps share a room. No, I mean like a two-bedroom room, not the same bed or anything. Well, not yet. Or ever if you didn’t want to—”

  “Phoebe?” Stella interrupted. “Slow down and breathe. You’ll haemorrhage something soon.”

  Phoebe inhaled slowly and deeply. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be putting you on the spot, but I really enjoy your company. It would be nice to chat, have a few drinks, and not have to go back to my own room.”

  Stella’s thorough thought process, one she prided herself on in times of stress and crisis, had abandoned her. This request really was out of the blue. Although she was deliriously happy, words abandoned her.

  Faced with only silence, Phoebe struggled on. “I think I like you. I know I like you. I’d like the chance to explore what has begun.” Phoebe shrugged, embarrassed. “Please? Can we get to know one another without prying eyes?”

  Stella remained speechless and, like a mute cartoon character, could only nod her approval.

  Phoebe kissed her cheek. “Excellent. Thank you.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Day ten, Florence to Rome, was always an exciting day. Stella loved Rome, its history, ancient buildings, gelato, and of course St. Peter’s.

  She was in the mood to torment the hungover members of the group after many of them danced the night away until the early hours of the morning. Almost dead on their feet, she and Phoebe had reluctantly gone their separate ways at three a.m. that morning, knowing it would be the last time they would have to occupy separate rooms. Stella was amused to be surrounded by so many tired and cranky clients. Although it wasn’t in her nature to be cruel, she selected a thumping dance track to keep them on their toes while Russo skilfully negotiated the streets of Florence. In bright sunshine, heading along the open road toward Rome, Stella felt a sense of renewed energy.

  Her elation was short-lived, however. Whispering, so details remained private, she leaned in close to Russo and informed him of her new sleeping arrangements.

  “What? Are you insane?”

  “There’s no need to yell.”

  “I’m not yelling out loud. I’m whisper-yelling. And honestly, Stells, I think there’s every need.”

  “Can’t you just trust me on this?”

  “No, frankly, Stella. I can’t. Her girlfriend was stabbed to death.”

  “Not so damn loud!”

  “I’m not being loud. You’re being ridiculous.”

  Stella opted for the truth. “Russo, I really like her and she didn’t kill anyone. She deserves a break, and frankly, I think I deserve her.”

  He shook his head. “In a few weeks, she’ll be gone, your crush will pass, and some other leggy blonde will wander into your sights. Why risk this? Why with her?”

  “She didn’t do it.”

  Russo momentarily threw his arms in the air, and the bus swerved a little. “Yeah well, what if she did?”

  Upon arrival in the ancient city, Russo delivered them safely to the Colosseum where a local guided the group th
rough the ruins. The spectacular Roman Forum would remain unexplored until the following morning, but this afternoon, Stella would guide her group from one magical sight to the next. She loved showing the Pantheon, Trevi Fountain, Spanish Steps, and no matter how far she walked, most people never tired of the amazing ancient city. At dinner time, she left them to source some traditional food near Piazza Novona. Stella had kept an eye out for Phoebe, but she failed to show up at the designated meeting place. She wasn’t the only one of course. Many people took the chance to explore and get lost.

  Stella was ridiculously nervous. Her anxious teenage years, spent in eager anticipation of that first kiss, first date, or first time sex, bore no resemblance to the apprehension or rush of excitement she was experiencing at the prospect of sharing a hotel room with Phoebe for the first time that evening. After the frank and open discussion in Florence, not to mention the passionate kiss, Stella should have felt more confident with the situation. The reality was she felt quite the opposite. Insecurities plagued her, and she couldn’t help but wonder would Phoebe have been as willing to explore as far as she did had neither of them been so drunk? It was true that the kiss had drawn them closer together physically, but Phoebe’s openness and honesty drew them closer on a much deeper level.

  Even the simple task of booking the room had triggered the now familiar butterflies that so often bombarded her stomach. They acted as a subliminal reminder of how special Phoebe had become and how no other woman on the planet had stimulated such a strong reaction in her. Ever.

  Stella dined alone. It was only natural that she would wonder and worry about Phoebe’s absence, but Rome was an amazing place to get lost in. Still, she couldn’t help feel a little anxious given Phoebe’s reason for being on the tour. The more she thought about the frightening night in the Nice markets, the less she was inclined to dismiss the notion that it was something innocent.

  Stella returned to the hotel. Rome was expansive, and there were too many people to wander aimlessly in the hope of bumping into Phoebe. She was left facing an evening alone to complete paperwork, and the thought was hardly appealing.