Prosecco & Paparazzi (The Passport Series Book 1) by Celia Kennedy

Author:Celia Kennedy [Kennedy, Celia]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Girl Parts Press
Published: 2016-05-31T04:00:00+00:00

***

Over the next few days, life took the pleasant pattern of waking up early enough to have a leisurely morning, dashing off to work with a phone call or two from Liam during the day, and then evenings spent at various restaurants throughout the city. The late evenings were passionate, romantic, and perfect.

Perfect except for the lingering issue of my relationship with Des Bannerman.

The summer heat was driving diners to sit at outdoor cafés. After wandering past many crowded nightspots looking for dinner, Liam and I decided on the Blue Water Grill. I was drinking a lovely combination of prosecco, lemon juice, and crème de cassis—a Prosecco Royale—while Liam sipped his favorite beer when the heat really turned up.

“Charlotte, I’m leaving in two days, and there’s something I would like to know.” He spoke calmly, adjusting the cocktail napkin as he spoke.

Sensing that the moment had arrived, I snatched up my own napkin and began torturing it. “Ask away!” I said with a lightness I was far from feeling.

“Charlotte, what was Des Bannerman talking about the other night? What’s happening in Saint-Tropez? Why would you both be there? And now that we’re talking about it, how do you know Des Bannerman?” He remained calm.

“Liam, can we go back to the hotel now?” I asked, shredding the napkin into a million pieces.

“Charlotte, I was hoping that you would tell me on your own. If you aren’t ready, that’s fine, but you don’t have to distract me by having sex with me. You could just say you aren’t ready to talk about it,” he answered, with a hint of humor in his voice.

“No, Liam. We need a computer for me to explain it to you. My laptop is at the hotel,” I explained.

“Oh, right. Sorry,” he said a little stiffly.

Half an hour later, we were sitting at the desk in the hotel room. I was connected to the Internet and searched for “Des Bannerman Chamonix France December.” Several links to newspapers and tabloids popped up. I clicked on the Daily Mail website and slid the laptop toward him. He scrolled down the pictures on the right side of the screen, slowly looking at them and reading the captions. An eternity passed, and then he turned to look at me with his right hand covering his mouth. “That’s you?”

“Yes,” I answered. The laughter that followed was both a relief and an annoyance.

“I can’t believe it!” Liam said for the umpteenth time. His eyes flickered between me and the computer screen, saying, “Wow,” before returning to scrolling through articles that were full of lurid innuendo. I was torn between wanting to explain everything and wanting to run out of the room, never to be seen again.

After finishing the mini-bar vodka bottles, I finally worked up enough courage to face the music. Reaching over, I pushed the lid of the laptop down. Liam’s gaze remained focused on the air where the screen had once been, his hands limply resting on the chair armrests. We sat

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