Chapter 8

8

A few minutes before 6:00 p.m., Billy joined Stacy and Lizzie in the hotel lobby.

“Ladies, you look lovely.”

Lizzie, dressed in a Black Halo sleeveless jumpsuit, gave him an exaggerated bow, while Stacy, decked out in an emerald green Elliatt cocktail dress, smiled sheepishly and said, “Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself.”

“My thanks in return.” Billy was wearing a gray Emporio Armani suit, a black shirt, and a gray tie that had a hint of red running through it.

“Good, I’m not the first,” Adriene said, joining them.

“Is that a Ramy Brook?” Lizzie asked as she checked out Adriene’s dress.

Adriene spun around. “You like it?”

“Not like. Love.”

“How did it go with your adoring fans earlier?” Billy asked.

“Exhilarating and surreal,” Adriene said.

“You should have seen her,” Lizzie said. “She took to it like a real pro.”

“She is a real pro,” he said. “No problems with anyone?”

While most fans were well-behaved if a little excited when meeting a star, a few crossed the line into dangerous. There had been one in particular during the filming of Storm’s Eye who had taken it all the way to murder.

“Not a one,” Adriene said. “They were all so nice. I was just sorry I couldn’t sign something for everyone.”

“I take it the little general had you moving right along.”

“?‘Little general’?”

Lizzie raised a hand. “That’s me. I have a bit of a reputation.”

“Well deserved,” Billy said.

“I’d like to think so,” Lizzie said. “But don’t worry, I save my true bite for unruly members of the press.”

The elevator opened and Peter, Hattie, and Tessa stepped out. Like the others, they were dressed to the nines: Peter in a black Prada suit, and Hattie and Tessa in dresses by Versace and Dolce & Gabbana respectively.

Lizzie waved over the Strategic Services detail—a group of three men and three women, all dressed in black suits.

“Ready to depart?” one of the women asked.

“We are.”

“Any more fans out there?” Adriene asked.

“It was down to three when we checked a few minutes ago,” the woman said. “If you will all follow me.”

The woman took the lead, while her colleagues made a loose circle around the Centurion Pictures group.

It turned out only a single fan remained in front of the hotel. Tessa, Adriene, Peter, and Hattie signed autographs for her and took selfies, then the group departed in three SUVs.

The party they were bound for was being throw by Cineteca Paoletti—the company that handled the distribution of Centurion’s releases in Italy. The fete was a yearly event, attended by a who’s who of Italian entertainment. Tonight, Billy, Tessa, Peter, and the others were to be the guests of honor.

Thirty minutes after climbing into their rides, they pulled up in front of the Di Loreto Museo di Antichità, the museum where the party was being held.

Like most entertainment industry events, a step and repeat backdrop was set up outside the entrance so that paparazzi could photograph attendees. Lizzie and Stacy hung to the side while the others smiled and posed for the cameras.

Once that was done and the group had moved inside, an attendant directed them to a hallway that took them to an impressive set of wooden doors. In front of the doors was a podium behind which a trio of women stood.

“Benvenuto,” the woman in the middle said.

“We’re with Centurion Pictures,” Lizzie said.

In English, the woman said, “Angelica will show you in.”

The woman on her right dipped her head and smiled. “If you would follow me.”

The third woman pulled the doors open, and Angelica led Billy and the others into a large, high-ceilinged room where a couple hundred people were already in attendance.

From somewhere deeper in the space, a string quartet began playing music from Hattie’s Academy Award–winning soundtrack to Desperation at Dawn , which had also won the best picture Oscar for Billy, Peter, and Ben.

“Sweetheart,” Hattie said to Peter, “if you’re wondering what you can get me for my birthday, live musicians playing my music every time I walk into a room would be nice.”

“I bet it would,” Peter said.

“I was looking more for ‘Of course, dear. What a lovely idea.’?”

“Of course, dear. What a lovely idea.”

She wrapped her arm in his. “I knew there was a reason I married you.”

“Ah! There you are!” a voice boomed from several feet away.

The crowd parted, and Marcus Paoletti strode out, arms open wide. He was a tall, barrel-chested, bald man, blessed with an abundance of charm and charisma, which served him well as founder and president of Cineteca Paoletti.

“I was afraid your plane wouldn’t arrive in time,” he said, then wrapped Billy, who happened to be closest, in a bear hug.

“We wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Billy said as they parted. He motioned to Adriene. “This is Adriene Adele, costar of Storm’s Eye and a rising talent.”

Marcus wrapped her in a hug and air-kissed her cheeks. “Miss Adele, it is an honor to meet you.”

“I should be the one saying that to you,” she said, beaming.

“And you know Tessa, Peter, and Hattie, of course,” Billy said.

“Everyone knows the glamorous Tessa Tweed.” Marcus gave her a hug. “And the talented Barringtons.” He hugged Hattie first, then Peter, then stage-whispered to Hattie, “Did you enjoy the little musical surprise I arranged for you?”

“I was just telling Peter what a wonderful treat it was!”

“Thanks, Marcus,” Peter said. “I have a feeling I’m going to be paying for that for a long time.”

Marcus laughed. “My apologies, my friend. But how could I not have done something to honor someone who creates such lovely music?”

“You got me there,” Peter admitted.

Marcus’s gaze landed on Stacy and Lizzie. “And who are these lovely ladies?”

“Elizabeth Franks, Centurion Pictures PR, and Stacy Lange, my assistant,” Billy said.

“Welcome,” Marcus said and gave Lizzie a hug.

When he turned to Stacy, she stuck out her hand before he could put his arms around her, and said, “Nice to meet you.”

He looked at her hand and chuckled. “Of course.” They shook, then he said to everyone, “Your trip was good, yes?”

“Very good,” Tessa said.

“I’m happy to hear that. We are so excited to have you in Italy.” Marcus sucked in a breath. “How rude of me. Your hands are empty. We must remedy this.”

He led them through the room until they found a waiter carrying a tray of champagne flutes.

Marcus handed a glass to each of them, then took one for himself and raised it in the air. “To Centurion Pictures. I hope your time in Italy exceeds your expectations.”

Glasses were touched and drinks were had.

“Come, come,” Marcus said. “There are many people here you should meet.”

Thirty minutes later, Billy was in conversation with a small group of Italian filmmakers, discussing the day-to-day struggles of getting a movie made, when a hand pressed against his back.

“Pardon me,” a female voice said. “You are Billy Barnett, sì ?”

Billy turned to find a stunning woman with dark hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin standing beside him. “I am.”

“Mr. Barnett, I am—”

“ You are Bianca Barone.”

“You recognize me?”

“How could I not recognize the queen of Italian cinema.”

“You are being too kind, Mr. Barnett.”

“Please, call me Billy.”

“And you must call me Bianca.”

“I’m honored to meet you, Bianca. I’m a big fan of your work.”

“Stop. My head is already too big. Your compliments will make me insufferable.”

“And yet I only speak the truth.”

She slipped an arm through his. “Then the least you can do is get me a drink while you fill my head with these truths.”

“Happily.”

He excused himself from the others, and he and Bianca made their way to the nearest bar.

The bartender smiled as they walked up. “Buonasera,” he said, then continued in Italian.

Billy’s Italian had been passable once, but it was rusty now. “ Buonasera . You wouldn’t happen to speak English, would you?”

“Ah, sì .” The man held his index finger and thumb about two inches apart. “Little bit. How can I help?”

Billy turned to Bianca. “What is your pleasure?”

“Prosecco would be nice.”

“For prosecco, we have La Marca, Ruffino, or Cinzano,” the bartender said.

“Cinzano, per favore ,” Bianca said.

“And for you, signore ?”

“Make it two,” Billy said.

Billy and Bianca found a quiet spot to enjoy their drinks and each other’s company.

“Your first time in Italy?” she asked.

“Not first. But it’s been a while, so I’m sure a lot has changed.”

“Do you like what you’ve seen so far?”

“Very much.”

Her eyes lingered on his. “I like what I see, too.”

“I get the sense you’re not talking about the city sights.”

“I am not. Were you?”

“I was not.”

She stepped closer and ran a finger down his chest. “It’s good that we think the same, sì ?”

“Sì.”

Into his ear, she whispered, “When you’ve had enough of this party, perhaps we could go someplace not so crowded, where we could get to know each other better.”

“How about now? I happen to know the perfect place.”

“You do?”

“My suite.”

She grinned. “See? Thinking the same again.”

Billy put an arm around her waist, and they turned toward the exit.

Before they could even take a step, a red-faced man who looked to have had a bit too much to drink blocked their way, then puffed out his chest and bellowed, “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”