Yes.

Was she surprised?

No.

It was her own fault for falling back into the trap that was Billy Melina.

At least she hadn't jumped into bed with him again like some kind of lovesick teenager.

Not that he'd asked. And what was that about? He'd acted all into her and major romantic, so how come he hadn't made a move?

Puzzling. Annoying. What was his deal?

Back at the hotel, she called her mom to check in, and was happy to hear that Bobby was back in L.A. Lucky still had no firm date for Gino's funeral, so she instructed Max to stay where she was until there was further news.

Okay, then, Max thought. I guess I can concentrate on being the new face of Dolcezza. Nothing wrong with that.

Lorenzo had assured her that soon the photos from the press conference would be everywhere and that she would be much in demand for photo spreads in magazines, while journalists would be clamoring for interviews.

Alfredo had informed her through Lorenzo that she was not to do any more press until the actual ads started to run. She'd also been told that coming up there would be full-page ads in all the most glossy and exclusive magazines, and shortly after that she and Carlo would be off to a series of exotic islands, where they would shoot the actual photos for the campaign.

If it hadn't been for the thought of flying back to L.A. for her grandfather's funeral, she would have felt a whole lot better. Billy had taken her mind off things for a while, but now her head was full of thoughts about her family and how in spite of her burgeoning career, she wished she were in L.A. with them. Yes, she'd craved her independence, but that didn't mean she couldn't miss them.

Lorenzo had spoken on her behalf to Alfredo and the Dolcezza sisters. They'd agreed that when the time came, she could return to America for the funeral, but only for a day or two.

A day or two was better than nothing. And what could they do if she decided to stay longer-kill her?

She giggled at the thought. They couldn't do anything to her except cancel her contract.

Hmm ... that wouldn't be cool. Although with the announcements and press conference, surely she was safe? It had to be too late to replace her.

She decided to call Athena, whose tweets and Instagrams were out of control. Athena posted at least ten selfies a day of her on various beaches and luxurious yachts where she was lazing in the sun, showing off her butt in the smallest of thongs, flashing her boobs, cavorting with a series of random men and girls. Athena sure loved her bad-girl reputation.

Max picked up her iPhone and actually got through to her.

"Where the flipping hell have you been?" Athena demanded. "I text you, you don't reply. I summon you, you don't come. What is going on? We're supposed to be having delicious summer fun together."

"I'm the new Dolcezza girl," Max blurted.

"Whaaat?" Athena exclaimed. "Tell me everything."

Max explained how it had happened. Athena was silent.

"Right now I'm in freaking Rome!" Max said excitedly. "I had a press conference today. It's been totally crazy. The attention I'm getting is insane."

"I thought it was shady when you asked me if I'd heard of them. But you never mentioned you were up for the job," Athena said, sounding a tad frosty. "Why didn't you tell me? I thought we were besties."

"We are," Max replied. "Only I didn't want to jinx myself, so I didn't mention it to anyone until it was a done deal, not even my family."

"Aren't you the secretive one," Athena said, still sounding cold. "I hope they're paying you oodles of cash."

"Uh ... I guess so."

"What do you mean, you guess so? You always were an idiot when it came to business."

Max did not appreciate being called an idiot by one of her supposed best friends. Shouldn't Athena be congratulating her, not criticizing?

"I'm working with Carlo," she said. "He's taking the photos."

"Ah, Carlo the stud," Athena drawled. "Have you done the dirty with him yet?"

"No way," Max said, frowning. "And even if I wanted to-which I don't-he's engaged to Natalia Dolcezza."

"Oh my God! That see-you-next-Tuesday," Athena spat. "Natalia's the jealous cow who turned me down. I should have been the face of Dolcezza. You knew that, didn't you?"

"No," Max said, quite surprised. "You never mentioned anything about it."

"Yes, sweetie, it should've been me," Athena said grandly. "Anyway," she added, "I hear they're dreadful people to work for, so a ton of luck with that."

Max had been hoping to talk to Athena about Gino and Billy, and everything that was going on in her life, but Athena was in a foul mood and obviously couldn't wait to get off the phone, telling Max that she had a hot date with a man who owned the biggest yacht in Saint-Tropez, and that he was madly in lust with her, and was anxiously waiting to whisk her away to Sardinia. "See you, dear" were Athena's parting words.

Realizing that their friendship was probably over, Max experienced a pang of regret. She'd never imagined that Athena-queen of the European "It" girls-would be envious of her good luck. It was a shame, because they'd had so many fun times together. Obviously, Athena did not appreciate competition, and now she, Max, was the competition.

Too bad. Too sad.

"First Capri, then on to Positano," Carlo informed Max over an espresso on the terrace of an outdoor restaurant near the foot of the Spanish Steps. "Is bene, s?"

"Totally, Carlo," she replied, wondering if anyone had told him that she might have to fly home.

"We leave early tomorrow," Carlo continued, waving at a passing girl who blew him a kiss.

"Okay," Max said, sneaking a quick look at her iPhone to see if there was a text or any other message from Billy.

There wasn't.

"Ah, Capri," Carlo sighed, a faraway look in his eyes. "Bellissima!"

"Is Natalia coming?" Max asked, sipping her espresso.

"Why she come?" he questioned, wrinkling his forehead. "Why you think that?"

"Because you're engaged," Max said, stating the obvious.

"It no matter," Carlo said, running a hand through his mop of thick black hair. "We stay engaged long time. She not my wife."

"She will be," Max pointed out.

"One day ... maybe," Carlo said vaguely. "We see."

"Sounds like you're in no rush."

"Why I rush? Life is to be taken slowly," he said, leaning across the table. "Who this man come chasing you last night?"

Was it possible that Carlo was the only person in the entire restaurant who hadn't recognized Billy?

"Just a friend," she said, quickly adding, "Nobody important."

"Bene," Carlo said, satisfied with her reply. "'Cause when we shoot our photos, I am the only man who matter to you. Together we make our special magic. We make you very famous, amore mio."

Why was he calling her "my love"? Shouldn't he be reserving those sentiments for Natalia?

Max was relieved that Lorenzo would be by her side for all the trips. She'd grown to depend on him; he was the only one she truly trusted. Carlo was okay when he was sober, but give him a few glasses of wine and he turned into an irascible and annoying drunk. Dante, she sensed, was pure evil. She hardly knew Natalia. And Alfredo seemed oblivious to everything except business. As for the Dolcezza sisters, they didn't seem to care much about anything.

She checked her phone again.

Nothing.

Ah ... Billy. Playing games with her heart. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.

What would Lucky do?

Kick him out of her life once and for all.

Max made a sudden decision, a decision she was determined to stick with.

Good-bye, Billy Melina. I'm not falling for your charismatic movie-star trip anymore.

You had your chance, and you blew it.

This is my final good-bye.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX.

Somehow or other Willow ended up in Ralph Maestro's bed. She hadn't intended to sleep with him so quickly; it just kind of happened. After all, who was she to turn down an afternoon sexual adventure with a major movie star? Three mojitos, a surly Eddie glaring at her, and a shitload of compliments from Ralph coming her way convinced her it would be a fun thing to do. She'd had plenty of actors in her past, although never one as old or as famous as Ralph Maestro. He had to be sixty-something, but since he was a workout freak, he was still in muscular shape. Besides, maybe he could help get her a movie off the ground. He had important connections, and perhaps he'd even agree to make a cameo appearance, which would surprise everyone. Only it would have to be a brief appearance-she wouldn't want anyone stealing her spotlight.

When they'd left Spago, there were a bunch of paparazzi gathered outside. Ralph got off on the attention; he'd put his arm around her and announced, "This pretty little lady could be my new girlfriend."

TMZ, recording every word, jumped on it. Willow Price and Ralph Maestro. The tabs would eat it up.

After posing for the paps with a jovial smile, at the same time crushing Willow with his massive arm, Ralph escorted her to a white Bentley, where an alert driver jumped out and opened the rear door. The driver was a Ralph Maestro clone, only younger and uglier.

"My nephew," Ralph announced as they got in the car. "He does everything for me, don't you, Bart?"

Bart gave a half-assed grin, exhibiting teeth that were even bigger than his uncle's.

Back at Ralph's apartment on Wilshire-he'd moved out of his Beverly Hills mansion after his wife's murder-Willow wandered around inspecting shelves loaded with awards while Ralph fixed her a drink. No Oscar, but plenty of other tributes to his long career. Five Golden Globes, several People's Choice Awards, and many other trophies-quite a few from foreign countries.

Ralph's apartment was huge. Once they reached the bedroom, she couldn't say the same about his cock. For a big man, he was sadly lacking in that department. A short fat dick did not do it for her. However, she was an actress, wasn't she? And once they were in bed, she pretended it was a crown jewel to be tended to and much admired.

Ralph was not an exciting lover by any means. He was into the missionary position, which Willow had never been fond of. She tried her best to wriggle out from under his heavy body and maneuver herself on top of him. He was having none of it as he pumped and groaned and insisted that she call out his name. Then he came, and that was that.

After sex he fell asleep, snoring loudly.

Willow contemplated what she should do. She didn't care to hang around while he snored the afternoon away-she had things to accomplish. On the other hand, she didn't want to break their connection. Eventually she got dressed and wrote him a short note telling him how amazing he was-and including her cell number. She stuck it on his bathroom mirror.

On the way out, she was stopped by Bart, who blocked her by the front door as if she were a thief attempting to escape with valuable goods.

"Excuse me," she said, trying to dodge past him.

"My uncle is a very generous man," Bart said, staring at her boobs with lecherous eyes. "Did he give you money?"

What the hell did this prick think? That she was a hooker? What was wrong with him? Didn't he recognize her?

"Get out of my way," she said through clenched teeth. "And if you ever dare to speak to me like that again, I'm telling your uncle, and he'll fire your stupid ass."

Bart took a step to the side. She marched through the door.

Some people were dumber than shit.

Rafael was trying hard, but nothing seemed to be working. He was sprawled on top of Elizabetta in the tiny bedroom she shared with their son. Rafael Junior was not present; he was in the care of his grandma so that Elizabetta and Rafael might have some private time.

Private time meant sex, and Grandma knew that sex was important to keep the money that Rafael sent each month coming. Grandma was a canny old bird.

Elizabetta lay stiffly beneath him. She had not bothered to disrobe, merely gathered her dress above her waist.

Rafael had removed his trousers and underwear, although he still had on his shirt.

The small room was stiflingly hot. No air-conditioning. The ragged curtains were torn, allowing the morning light to stream into the room.

Rafael couldn't help wondering what they did with the money he sent. It certainly wasn't spent on home improvements.

"Go ahead, do it," Elizabetta said sullenly, parting her legs with a weary sigh.

Was this the woman he'd left behind? The woman he'd dreamed about? The woman he'd saved himself for? In America he'd turned down countless opportunities to be unfaithful and he never had been. Except for Willow.

He couldn't get hard; his cock refused to cooperate. He was put off by the wiry bush growing between Elizabetta's legs-a virtual forest he was forced to navigate.

Flashes of Willow came to mind. Her smooth, creamy body, her long legs with no hair between them, just welcoming warmth and wetness.