Page 3 of Scripted for Love and Poison
Even if the two-person detective agency Luke ran with his friend and professional partner, Divya Bakshi, meant that he sometimes wasn’t available on evenings or weekendsbecause he was on surveillance duty, he still spent most nights at Sol’s quaint Georgian cottage on Roupell Street. And on those occasions when he couldn’t make it to London’s South Bank for whatever reason, Sol usually trekked to his cozy (read reallyreallytiny) studio flat by Finsbury Park.
Sol had to admit that she hadn’t been expecting things would be so comfortable—and easy—with Luke when they’d started seeing each other in a committed capacity the previous spring after they’d met in a less-than-ideal situation.
Theirs hadn’t been a meet-cute. She’d been the prime suspect in a theft investigation. He’d been in charge of investigating her. She wasn’t his type. He was ten years younger than she was. She didn’t want a relationship. He shouldn’t have seduced a person of interest. And yet somehow, they had ended in bed together and been unable to sleep apart even for one night since then.
Only they should have slept apart. During the whole of the Christmas season. Instead of that, and against her better judgment, Sol had brought Luke to spend the first part of the season in Barcelona. The Novo clan hadn’t exactly taken to him. Not only did they consider Luke too young and unsuitable for their daughter, Sol’s two past divorces prevented her parents from warming up easily to anyone anymore. Not that they had ever been too warm to begin with. Plus, her mother was adamant in her belief that Sol should never have left her first husband and was still sore about it.
To make things worse and even more uncomfortable, Sol’s apartment in Barcelona had been unavailable, as there had been problems with the heating system that weren’t repaired on time. Sol and Luke were forced to stay with Sol’sparents as a result. There’s nothing like spending a couple of days in your old room with your partner to make you want to go back home for a little bit of peace—and intimacy.
After the mainly glacial silences and charged stares of the Novos, Sol and Luke hadn’t gone back to London as initially planned but to Reggio Calabria. New Year’s Eve was spent with the Contadinos, and the family had decided to all fly to their grandmother’s home in Southern Italy. That had been even more disastrous. Not because Luke’s parents or his two older sisters, or his aunts and uncles and many manymanycousins, hadn’t liked Sol, but because they’d been so nice andwarmwith her. And yet, she hadn’t enjoyed the experience.
It wasn’t them, though, it washer. They were all perfectly nice people. She would have liked any of them if she’d met them under different circumstances. But the reality was that her two divorces had left her scarred, and—as a result—she had a pathological mistrust of in-laws. She couldn’t avoid thinking that, if things came to an end between her and Luke, they would all turn on her—the same way it had happened in the past.
It also didn’t help that the old Contadino house was picturesque and lovely but not necessarily equipped to host so many people at the same time. Luke and Sol had slept on a bumpy sofa bed, sharing the room with at least two of Luke’s cousins.
She would have preferred to be home, just her and Luke. Or Luke could have been celebrating with his family, but she’d have still preferred to be home, by herself—not having to share a bathroom with at least twenty other people. The only silver lining to the whole holidays-with-the-in-laws affair was that there had, indeed, been panettone. Plus, she’d discovered zippuli con alici, fried anchovy-stuffed dough in the shape of balls, and pitta ‘mpigliata, a typical Calabrian Christmas pastry filled with nuts, honey, and spices.
But nothing had been the same between Luke and her since the dreaded Christmas together. Their conversations felt short and rushed. It was as if they were eternally tired and almost hadn’t enjoyed any quality time together. And sheknewLuke was thinking and feeling the same.
And now there they were, in Los Angeles. He hated being away from London. She had no clothes. And she was supposed to help Julie find a cranky journalist.
3
Luke wasn’t happy.But his discomfort came from reasons completely unrelated to what Sol had been musing about. And he certainly didn’t mind having to take care of her missing luggage for her. If anything, he loved the occasions in which she let him take charge of the situation. They were rare.
But he couldn’t deny the fact that they were now in a foreign country, and he hated traveling. He’d tried—he’dreallytried doing it right. For her. Luke Contadino had gone as far as rewatchingUp in the Air, taking notes about everything George Clooney’s character had to say on the subject of packing. Especially considering that Sol had been obtusely vague in her directions: “Oh, bring whatever you feel you’ll need there. And don’t forget the suit!”
As if that had made anything any clearer. He hadn’t forgotten the suit, though.
They’d met for their LA-bound flight directly at Heathrow Airport. It had been deemed easier that way, with each of them coming from their respective homes and packing on opposite sides of the Thames. Luke had been soproud about his compact carry-on bag—until he’d seen her lugging the most ginormous of rolling suitcases and carrying an equally big carry-on weekender.
“We are still coming back in four days, right?” Luke had asked her, suddenly afraid. Accepting to go to Los Angeles with her had been anxiety-inducing enough—there was no way of overstating how much he hated to be far from London. He’d just hoped Sol hadn’t had a change of heart and wanted to spend a whole month there or something. By the looks of her baggage, she was carrying stuff for at least that many weeks.
“Of course. Just so that we can attend the thing, see some friends, and fly back. Why?” she’d asked him, confused.
He’d simply looked at his luggage and then appreciated the size of hers with his eyes.
“Am I judging you because of that ridiculously small roller you’re bringing?” she’d said, but her tone did sound judgy, and Luke had started doubting his packing method. Perhaps it should have been less minimalism, more anything goes. “I never travel light. My toiletry bag alone doesn’t fit into a carry-on. Are you sure you have everything you’ll need?” she’d inquired, just short of accusing.
The irony of it all wasn’t lost on Luke: Sol’s stuff was now missing, and his own carry-on was safely tucked next to him. Not that he had any intention of telling her that.
Especially considering that things hadn’t necessarily improved for them during the flight after the luggage discordance. He liked to think that he’d come to know his romantic partner quite well. He suspected that Sol would have bought first-class tickets if he hadn’t insisted on paying for his own. She’d tried persuading him against it. But he’d told her that the only way he was going to join her on that trip and accompany her as her plus-one for a work commitmentshe had in Los Angeles, was if he paid for his own plane ticket.
In the end, she’d acquiesced, but Luke suspected she would have preferred to be traveling solo and in first class instead of with him and in theplebeian narrowness(her words) of a premium economy seat. Compared to Luke’s limited past flying experience, the seats they had occupied in an exit two-seat row—Sol had been by the window, him by the aisle—were ample, comfortable, and almost luxurious. But she’d complained and grumbled when they first boarded the plane.
She didn’t look uncomfortable for long, though, as she soon fell asleep, decked with all the complements of a frequent flier. Luke had been a bit taken aback by Sol’s frequent-flier persona, in fact. He felt almost tempted to say that Sol was the worst travel companion ever. He’d assumed the trip would be an opportunity to spend more time together. The two of them had been quite busy. Long gone were the ten days by the beach they’d both spent on a Mediterranean island that summer with nothing to do but to eat, sleep, read, sunbathe, and shag—not necessarily in that order. He’d thought the quick escape to Los Angeles would mean another opportunity to enjoy each other’s company.
But from the moment they boarded the plane, Sol had acted with the absolute independence and detachment of someone used to traveling often and exclusively alone. She’d put on her noise-canceling headphones and isolated herself from the rest of the plane, even from him. He had been going to propose to watch a rom-com together on the infotainment system, but she hadn’t given him that option. She didn’t even bother taking her headphones off during mealtime. They’d barely made it in the air, and she’dalready been placidly sleeping. How could that have been even possible? They were such different travelers.
She was so used to flying that not even a rapid succession of turbulence had spooked her or even awakened her. She’d just barely turned on her seat and muttered something under her breath. She ended up invading Luke’s space. He didn’t mind that. He liked having her close.
But Luke feared she was finally going to realize he was too young and unsophisticated for her. Could she be wondering about the adequacy of their match?
Then he saw Sol coming in his direction after hanging up the phone call that had taken her away from the suitcase crisis. Even after the longest, most tiresome of flights, she looked refreshed and bloody gorgeous. Her chestnut hair, cut just above the shoulders, was tousled in the sexiest way. She wore leggings and a boxy crop T-shirt that showed off her slender figure in all the right ways. And she was smiling at him. He filed away his worries and started walking toward her, a smile also tugging at his lips.
···
“I think I got us a job.”
