An Ocean of Stars

By Courtney Rigel

To find each other, they'll have to find themselves first. A gorgeous modern fairytale of longing and hopes fulfilled.

 

When the beautiful Lana Davis and her investment banker fiancé Tom arrive in Capri, they hope it will be the chance they need to reset their relationship before walking down the aisle. But when yet another fierce argument erupts between them, Lana speeds off into the night alone.

 

Unbeknownst to Lana, the handsome and creative heir to a major Italian automotive empire, Alessandro "Alex" Marino, is waiting in the wings. And when fate has Lana literally fall into his life, neither one knows quite what to do. Yet it soon becomes clear that both of them need one another, in ways they never dreamed possible.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Courtney Rigel
• Release date: Jul 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201444945

Courtney Rigel

Courtney Rigel is a freelance writer and editor. She lives in a small mountain town with her husband, daughter and three rescue cats.

Book preview

Chapter 1

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It was a beautiful evening, the height of summer. The night air was sweet, sultry and warm. A rich, exotic perfume wafted down from the mountains, mingling deliciously with the crisp, salty spray of the ocean.

Out at sea, Lana could see the lights of anchored ships winking silently. Closer to shore, fleets of yachts, small and large, bobbed in twinkling semi-darkness. 

She took a deep breath, taking the sweet air into her lungs, steadying her hands on the handlebars, settling her mind.

Below her, the little sky-blue scooter’s engine purred.

There’s a first time for everything, she thought. Even this.

Speaking of first times, the truth was, she and Tom had come to Capri to start afresh. But was that something two people who had known each other so long could even do? Start anew? Start over? The beautiful island was, if they were honest, the place they’d chosen to repair things. To prepare for their new life together – their married life.

And yet, starting over was definitely not working. Tom had paced the living room of the gorgeous villa earlier that evening, raking his hands through his hair in frustration. You’ve had this dream of being a writer for years, Lana. Maybe it’s time to let it go? At some point, you’ve got to realize, maybe you don’t have what it takes ...

She’d had her manuscript open on her laptop and he’d glanced at it from over her shoulder. They were about to head out for dinner. God, Lana, isn’t it time to let that old thing go? he’d asked. Time to leave things like that to the real writers, you know?

It was the same old story between them, right then, right there, even in paradise. Him telling her how she didn’t quite make the grade.

Soon after they’d met, he’d taken aim at the car she drove. Later, at her clothes. At some point, the way she wore her hair. Then, as the years wore on, her family, her friends ... all had come under fire. There were the usual apologies. The usual flowers. Then, just weeks later, the next shot would be fired.

You don’t think I have what it takes, she’d said, a sudden calm settling over her, as she closed the laptop’s lid.

It’s not that, Lana ... Tom was suddenly trying to placate her, she could tell. But you have to be reasonable. The world isn’t just a fairytale. Brilliant authors aren’t just created overnight. To even be discovered, you have to be both brilliant and to push, push, push. Sometimes, all your life.

I don’t think the world is a fairytale, Tom. I work hard. I write constantly. I try to get better. Everyday.

Oh yeah? And where has it gotten you?

With that, she’d risen, calmly walked from the room and packed a little overnight bag. Next, she strode out of the villa, Tom following all the way.

Nothing I do is ever good enough for you, she said, her voice calmer than she could have ever imagined it could be. Nothing. I’m tired. So tired ... of all of it. I won’t be back tonight, Tom.

Gently, she slid the engagement ring off her finger and handed it to him. He merely stood watching, his hand out, speechless.

A moment later, she was wobbling then whizzing out of the little side street and onto the beautiful, winding roads of Capri.

She’d never driven a scooter before.

What a great night it would be to learn.

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Lana was the daughter of David Davis and June Davis (nee Kingsley). David was a roofer. June was a schoolteacher at a nearby public elementary school. Lana had grown up happy, more or less. Both when it was the three of them together, her mom, her dad and her, and later too, when it was just her and her mom.

She’d met Tom when she was just twenty-three. A friend of hers, Jane, who she knew from college, had made the introduction.

Tom worked as an investment banker. He was six years older than her, a high-powered executive, with a high-powered sense of himself to match. Meanwhile, she was just starting out in a career she was already figuring wasn’t likely to make her very happy at all.

The first time they met, Tom had no problem telling her she was the most beautiful girl in the room. Then, just three months into their relationship, he had invited her to come and live with him. I’m hardly ever home, he said. But I’d like to find you there, when I am.

Her mother had been unsure about it, but Tom had charmed her soon enough, as he charmed everyone.

Then, three-and-a-half years into their relationship, he proposed.

By then, she had serious doubts about the relationship. Maybe she’d always had them. Doubts about how she and he fit together ... or didn’t.

And yet, like a fool, being watched by all those people there at the Polo Bar, she’d accepted his proposal. She’d even cried a little as he slid the engagement ring onto her finger ...

Now she shook her head a little and tightened her grip on the scooter’s handlebars. The beautiful island was still gliding past.

Don’t think about him now, she said to herself firmly. Rather, focus on all the beauty that’s around you.

And beauty there was, in abundance. Tall, stone cliffs. Gorgeous villas. Blue-green water. White sands and storybook trees ...

The wind in her long brown hair, Lana drove on into the night, trying hard to forget all the mistakes she felt she’d made, made for so long.

Later, finding herself down near the marina, Lana parked the little blue scooter beside a small bayside restaurant.

All the way here and no mishaps, she thought, turning off the engine and looking around at the gorgeous scene before her. And all on a first-time ride.

The truth was, she was incredibly proud of how well she’d handled the scooter. After taking off her helmet and storing it in the little space below the seat, she pulled out the kickstand expertly with her heel, letting the scooter lean gently to one side.

With a deep breath, she looked around. Lights in the shop fronts twinkled. Delicious smells wafted from the open doors of restaurants. Tourists laughed and milled, drank and ate.

Of course, she could have just kept on walking, exploring. There was no need for her to go inside the little restaurant she had happened to stop beside. And yet ... something about the place held her. 

La Perla del Mare, it read, above the entrance. The Pearl of the Sea.

For one, it looked family owned. It was probably a place that had been going for generations, she thought. Handed down from father to son, mother to daughter, or simply welcoming all new arrivals to the family with open arms. Small and intimate, beautiful warm light flowed from its windows. Its colors were white and gold and blue. The striped awning over the front door flapped in the sea breeze. 

She neared. From inside, she could hear laughter and music. From between the grand wooden doors wafted the smell of delicious local food. This was it, she knew. This was the place. This was how she began her adventure of independence. She hadn’t eaten since noon and she was famished.

Signorina? A waiter appeared at the door. He wore a black apron and carried a white cloth over his arm. He had warm brown eyes and a friendly face. Are you eating with us this evening?

Yes, she said, without hesitation. Then suddenly she realized .... Only ... I don’t have a reservation.

The waiter nodded. Ah. Well, it seems you are lucky, he smiled. One of our best tables has just opened. If you please, follow me. And with that, he turned. Soon, she was walking after him, bathed in the bistro’s warm glow.

I hope this is good for you?

Oh ... it’s wonderful. The table stood right beside the restaurant’s main window, and faced onto a beautiful view of the ocean, lit by a crescent of moon.

Deftly, the waiter pulled out her chair so she could sit. My name is Giuseppe, he introduced himself. Is the signorina waiting for anyone to join her this evening? 

She shook her head. No. Then she realized just how happy she was to be able to say it. I will be eating alone tonight.

Very good, replied the waiter without batting an eyelid. Expertly, he cleared away the wine glass, cutlery and plate opposite her own. I will fetch you a menu, signorina. Then I will tell you about our chef’s specials of the evening. We have some very delicious things. Some of them, the island is famous for. Some we make only here. He gave her a small bow and turned.

***

All her life, Lana Davis had been a good girl.

It started at school. Lana: the shy, straight-A student. The well-mannered girl in glasses, whose hair was always tidy. The girl who carried books to her chest at recess because she felt they protected her, because she liked the weight of them. The girl who knew all the answers in class, but only gave them with the teacher asked.

At college, where she’d studied finance, she’d been just the same. Polite, neat, keeping to herself.

It was the same pattern with her first and second jobs.

Then, aged 24, and soon after meeting Tom, she wanted a change. She’d had enough of the way her life was going. The safe, 8-to-5 life had begun to oppress her. Begun to make her feel drained, tired, restless. She felt like she was missing out, doing the same things, over and over, every day. She wanted more freedom. She needed room to create. 

So she decided to try her hand as a copywriter, freelance.

For months, she struggled. Then, one by one, the clients came. The money wasn’t spectacular but at least she felt like her time was hers. Well, most of it, anyway. She’d started writing short stories soon after. They gave her the deepest sense of purpose she’d ever felt.

Tom was a completely different kind of person. Focused, driven, money-obsessed. A man who routinely worked fifteen-hour days. Who loved to give orders. Loved to feel in control. Tom didn’t need creativity in his life. He just needed things to go his way.

Tom lived in a magnificent brownstone on the Upper East Side. Lana had been living there too, for the past three years. Gorgeous as it was, the place never felt quite like home.

––––––––

Tonight, perhaps one of the delicious local delicacies for the signorina? asked Giuseppe. Scialatielli, spaghetti alla Nerano, ravioli Caprese, chiummenzana? He was busy pouring Lana a glass of the pinot grigio she’d ordered. Or perhaps something a bit more ... exotic? Totani e patate, Lobster diavolo?

Lana smiled and blushed a little. She had no idea what any of the dishes were. She explained that her Italian wasn’t quite good enough to understand any of what he’d just said.

Ah, but the signorina does not have some family roots in Italy? The waiter seemed genuinely surprised.

She shook her head. No.

Ah my mistake, my mistake, he said, apologetically. You see, I thought you might have an Italian mama or papa? I see you in a big family in Napoli, Sorrento ... 

Again she merely shook her head and smiled. No, she said. I’m afraid not.

The waiter placed the bottle of wine down on the table. I understand, he said. And yet, you see, signorina, my mistake comes because ... there is something a little Italian about you. Your dark hair and eyes. The way you carry yourself. The way you look out at the ocean. Your accent of course is not Italian ... You are from the United States?

Yes. New York.

I see. Well, it is still possible that one day still, you will make Italy or even Capri your true home? Your, ah, soul home, I mean? Then, these dishes will be like family to you. With a twinkle in his eye, he began explaining the menu.

The food at the restaurant was excellent. Fresh, hearty, flavorsome. Prepared with obvious love. It was everything Lana had imagined it would be, and more.

For starters, Lana ate impepata di cozze, a delicious dish of steamed mussels with pepper and parsley. She’d never tasted seafood so fresh, so well cooked. After every bite, she savored the delicious liquid pooled in each and every dark mussel shell, dabbing her mouth in between with a serviette. Pezzogna was her main course: red sea bream served with steamed vegetables, a dish every bit as delicious as the first. She finished off the meal with a roasted almond and espresso cannoli, pairing it with a small shot of the island’s famous mouth-puckering lemon liqueur, limoncello. A wonderful meal. One of the best she’d ever had.

While she ate, Giuseppe had been kind and attentive, refilling her glass, removing her plates quickly after each course, ensuring she was satisfied with every aspect of the experience. From him, Lana had also learned some interesting facts about both the restaurant and the island. Three generations of Rossis had apparently owned and managed La Perla del Mare, growing it from a humble bayside cafe with a limited menu to one of Capri’s most sought-after dinner spots. Giuseppe had also told her about some of the best sightseeing spots on the island, as well as some of its lesser-known beaches. The most beautiful places, he said, were the most hidden, but if you knew where to look ... he gave her a few pointers on places she might visit, adding that the information he gave her was a local secret, not to be too widely shared. 

Thank you, she said, making a little note in her mind. She took a sip of wine and looked out at the ocean, calm, dark and quietly glittering. Her meal was finished. It had been a lovely experience. Remarkable. But over.

She paid the bill, with a generous tip for Giuseppe.

Ah, where are your bathrooms please? she asked, gathering her things.

Over there. First door on the left.

Thank you.

Like everything else in the restaurant, the bathroom was beautifully decorated, made glorious in the island’s traditional whites, golds and ocean blues. And yet it was more special, still. On one wall, the image of a beautiful, dark-haired woman looking bravely out at the waves had been created from mosaic tile.

Standing before the basin, Lana looked at the mosaic, trying to imagine what the woman in it was thinking. Next, she looked at her own face in the mirror. 

She rubbed at a little spot of slightly smudged mascara, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, took a deep breath in and let it out. 

She’d had a lovely dinner, a lovely time. And now, it was at an end. Where would she go? What would she do?

She couldn’t go back to the vacation villa, of course. She couldn’t do that to herself, go back to Tom. Maybe never again.

So then ... what?

Briefly, the idea of finding a new place to stay flicked into her thoughts. But the idea of just turning up at a hotel at that late hour made her heart go cold. For one, she thought, it might not even work. It was peak tourist season and most places would be fully booked. Secondly, she didn’t want anyone’s pity. And pity was what you got, she thought, if you turned up as a single woman at a hotel in the late hours, driving a scooter, asking for a room, with little more than a few clothes with you.

And yet ... Lana took a deep breath. And yet ... there was a much bigger question here, she realized.

A question of opportunity. Adventure.

For once in your life, she told herself, let go. Be a little reckless. Be a little brave. Why not? The time is right. Just do it. Do it.

So, holding her gaze in the mirror, she decided on a plan. Or rather, on no plan at all.

She looked for a last time at the woman in the mosaic, trying to borrow a little of her bravery in the face of the unknown. Then she strode from the bathroom, through the restaurant and out onto the cobbled street. 

Above her, the night sky was a gorgeous wash of stars. The sea pulsed a heart-calming rhythm. The air carried a heady mix of scents: exotic flowers, the lingering heat of the day and a mysterious something more. It was a mysterious something that then and there she resolved to find, catch sight of, or, at the very least ... chase.

Lana lifted the scooter’s kickstand and brought the little motor easily to life. She pulled carefully out of the parking spot and soon was whizzing along Capri’s beautiful winding streets once more. 

She had no idea where she was going. But she was ready, so ready, to find out.

Chapter 2

Alessandro Alex Marino couldn’t sleep. For hours, he’d lain on his back in bed, cool white sheets folded at his hips, a muscular arm crooked behind his head, thinking. He was Marino Automotive’s lead designer. The visionary son of the famous sportscar company’s founder, Ricardo Marino. He had dark, almost black hair and sea-green eyes. A body honed to perfection through dedication and