Bella Frances - The Consequence She Cannot Deny

She walked away from the magazine staff and tried to call Lynda. The confidentiality clause was real, but her mother was a worrier. And when she worried she got anxious, and when she got anxious...

That was something to be avoided at all costs.

There was no answer. Out of the corner of her eye Coral saw them all skipping off towards some cars.

She sent a text.

Touched down on a secret island in Greece! On my way to meet the client! Wish I could tell you more but I’m sworn to secrecy! Hugs xx

That should do it, she thought, tucking the phone back into her bag and running to catch up to where the others were all standing like a chorus line, bubbling with excitement. She came up right up behind them—and then saw what had their attention.

There, in between shoulders, she glimpsed a fleet of cars. They were parked one behind the other. The drivers’ doors were open and standing at each one was a man in black trousers and shirt. Everyone seemed to be staring, waiting.

And then, from one of the cars, a man emerged.

‘Oh, my God,’ she heard being whispered along the row. ‘Everybody take cover. Here comes the walking sex bomb.’

Coral strained to see clearly. Was Raffaele Rossini really such a big deal? With her photographer’s eye she scanned and judged.

Tall and toned—just like they all were. Proportions? Perfect. Head to shoulder, chest, waist, hips, legs. Handsome? Yes. Off the charts. Brown hair as opposed to black. Shorter than execs normally wore it. And a close-cropped beard that sculpted his cheeks, lips and jaw. Stubble wasn’t her thing. Normally.

He moved around the cars and then she felt it. Wow. There was no way to deny that this man was utterly magnetic.

But he was going to be her boss. Off-limits was the only rule that applied.

He moved forward slowly. There was nothing to see under the mirrored shades of his Aviators. The slant of his mouth was neutral. But the slow nod of his head as he checked them all out was like a caress. His voice, when he spoke, an embrace. They sighed as they budged a little closer.

‘Welcome to the Island of Hydros. I hope you had a good flight. My men will escort you to your villas and make sure you’re comfortable.’

Mariella breathed her appreciation as everyone else fluttered thank you with their eyelashes.

‘You have all signed non-disclosure agreements, so you’re fully aware that there will be no unauthorised photography, recording or social media.’

The gang gushed an obedient yes. He turned to Mariella.

‘And your protégée, Mariella—where is she?’

As if she was infected with some plague, everyone shuffled away from Coral. The dust from the ground swirled and the wind blew her hair. Coral lifted her hand to sweep it from her face as his gaze zoomed to her.

‘This is Coral Dahl, Raffa. She’s the one I told you about.’

Coral smiled and waited for him to speak, but he didn’t. His eyes flashed over her quickly, and then he seemed to nod slightly.

‘You won the commission to photograph Kyla.’

It didn’t sound like a question, but she found herself nodding.

‘Yes, that’s right. I’m really thrilled to meet you and get a chance to work on the magazine.’

He stared.

Silence settled over the whole group as he began to walk towards her.

‘Let’s talk about that as we drive. Pass me your bag.’

She looked down stupidly to the huge leather tote that doubled as handbag, briefcase and holdall.

‘No, no. It’s fine. I’ll manage,’ she said cheerfully.

He waited, as if she hadn’t understood him, and then she got it. Obviously whatever Raffaele said, happened. No questions, no rebuttals, no argument. She handed it to him. Fine.

‘There.’ He indicated the second car in the line—low and sleek, compared to the four-wheel drives. He opened the passenger door and she slid inside.

She scented leather and musk, and then the man who got in beside her. The brilliant day was left behind as he closed the door and sealed them in.

She didn’t so much as glance to the side as they passed the others but she could sense them all staring. Raffaele turned off down a narrow road and immediately put his foot down. She lurched back, grabbed at the seatbelt.

‘So, Coral, tell me a little bit about yourself.’

‘Well, I’m twenty-four. I live in London, in a little flat in Islington. I work in a café round the corner. But all my life I’ve wanted to be a fashion photographer. So that’s why this commission is my dream come true.’

‘I see. And you studied art?’

She braced herself as he took the corners on the road which twisted like a corkscrew along the cliff.

‘Yes, I started out doing Fine Art. My mother is an artist and I practically lived in art galleries growing up. She took me all over the country when she could. When she wasn’t...’

‘Wasn’t?’

‘What I mean is, I chose photography for my Master’s because my mother had struggled so hard to make ends meet. I want to have a creative career but with an income, and—’

‘It’s a crowded market. What makes you think you will succeed?’

‘Because I’m good,’ she said. She didn’t mean it as a boast. She knew she was good.

She waited to see what he was going to say, but he drove on in silence. From the corner of her eye she could see the length of his thigh and the hard muscle that flexed as he pressed on the pedals. There was no doubt about his physical perfection, but it was almost impossible to read what he was thinking.

‘You took a Master’s in photography. And my senior creative director thought your work was outstanding.’

‘Thanks,’ she said, suddenly brightening. Finally a compliment.

‘But, for me, this is too important a project to take risks with a novice.’

So that was what the problem was. Oh, dear. It wasn’t all going to land in her lap after all.

‘Let’s start with the creative angle. What have you got in mind? A story? A concept?’

So much for outdoors on the loggia. She wasn’t going to be the one to tell him that Mariella had it all decided. Her heart raced. Her mind ran. She looked at the vista, the distant scattering of volcanic islands wrapped in ribbons of blue sun and sea.

‘Of course! I—I’ve been thinking since we took off—knowing that the light would be so good and the colours so strong—that I’d like to take a fresh look at the Greek goddess trope.’

Words poured from her mouth before she even knew what they were, but it was obvious that she had to sell him something pretty amazing or she was going to be sent home.

‘When I think of Athena and all those mythical goddesses I’m seeing seventies women—liberated, but still incredibly feminine. I want to use the clarity of the landscape and the light and juxtapose it with soft silhouettes.’

‘I see.’ He frowned as he turned down a road.

A modern building came into view, its huge windows curving off to the right as it hugged the cliff.

He parked and got out beside a wide stone entrance where two huge black dogs lay sleeping in the sun. She glanced up at him as she got out of the car. His eyes were still hidden behind sunglasses, his mouth impassive. But at least he wasn’t telling her to go home.

‘Avanti,’ he said.

He touched her arm lightly, swung her bag over his shoulder and guided her to the wide steps. The dogs watched carefully as she passed, but didn’t make a move.

Inside, light beamed down—radiant and golden. Every single surface reflected understated wealth, from the crystal glints of an elegant chandelier to the aquamarine depths of a sunken rock pool that stopped her dead in her tracks.

‘Wow!’ she said, unable to hide her awe.

‘Aphrodite’s Pool,’ he said. ‘It is said that she bathed the baby Adonis in it.’

Coral wandered closer. The water babbled like giggling children. But beneath the surface rocks gave way to slippery darkness. She stepped back as if she might fall.

‘Aphrodite was so completely spellbound by Adonis’s beauty that she couldn’t bear to be parted from him. She had to share him with Persephone, the goddess of death, for six months each year.’

‘Children aren’t parcels to be passed around,’ said Coral indignantly.

‘Indeed,’ he said, his voice low and calm. ‘But no one argued with Zeus.’

‘I’d give it a try!’ she smiled.

‘Yes. I imagine you would,’ he said quietly.

He’d removed his sunglasses and was standing close by, watching her. She smiled into the heavy silence and then found herself staring, mesmerised by the navy rings around ice-blue irises and the high cheekbones that seemed slightly flushed underneath the honey skin. The close-cropped beard that framed his mouth...

That mouth. She so badly wanted to photograph the absolute perfection of it—wanted to touch and mould it with her fingers.

Wow. He was the real deal and no mistake.

‘You were saying something about being inspired by Greek mythology?’

She snapped out of her reverie. He was beginning to sound impatient, but before she could answer she heard music. The silly ringtone she’d set for her mother’s calls. The only ones she answered, regardless of where she was or who she was with.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, reaching for her bag. ‘My phone’s ringing.’

‘You can call them back. This won’t take long.’

Her fingers closed around her phone. Maybe now wasn’t the best time to argue. Surely her mum would know she was busy and would call back...

‘Sure,’ she said.

She smiled sweetly and turned to see him pointing at a perfect lounge with an ornate love seat. Her shoes squeaked on the marble floor as she walked and she was intensely aware of how casual she looked in her favourite fifties sundress. She’d hoped vintage would cut it among the fashionistas, but around all this money she simply felt shabby.

Not everyone is born with a silver spoon in their mouth, she thought defensively.

Gathering her skirt, she sat, intensely aware of him watching. His eyes flicked over her, but still his face remained impassive.

‘I’ll be honest. Your concept does not sound innovative or new.’

Oh, great...

He pinned her with his intense blue gaze. She forced herself to look right at him.

‘The Greek goddess thing has been done to death. Kyla is an Australian marrying into Italian nobility. I thought with your youth you might bring a fresh approach.’

‘I’m sure I can do fresh. I’ve got loads more ideas—’

‘Your portfolio contained high fashion—art. Very beautiful. Intelligent. But this feature needs to be something much more glamorous. Heavenly readers deserve a twenty-first-century fairytale.’

‘Absolutely. A prince marrying his Cinderella.’

He sighed impatiently.

She swallowed. Come on, Coral! This was going badly wrong. She’d put in so much work. There was no way she was going to let it fall apart now. She had to pull it back.

‘If you could tell me more about what you have in mind I’m sure I can deliver.’

Her phone started to ring again. She glanced at her bag. Her mother would be getting in a panic. They hadn’t seen or spoken to each other for two days now. And she was hundreds of miles away on an island, on the cusp of what might be the most important move in her career.

Or the worst.

‘Sorry, I thought I’d put it on silent. Would you mind if I took the call?’

‘Don’t you think you’re a little busy right now?’

She squirmed on the seat and tried to put it out of her mind.

‘Signor Rossini, I will deliver exactly what you want. When I set my mind to something I don’t give up until I succeed—’