12
Curtis pours chilled Spanish vermouth into glass tumblers with orange peel and olives, the Catalonian way.
They’d had two bottles of red with dinner, and they’re all a little tipsy, talking too loudly, laughing too easily.
All except Sydney. She’s quiet, her eyes glassy, a little unfocused.
Bianca and Damian are discussing Australian politics, so it’s not like they as Americans have much to add, but Syd is so obviously checked out.
Curtis clears his throat, attempts to draw her into the conversation.
“I guess we’ll have to educate ourselves on the Spanish government,” Curtis says, looking directly at Sydney. “With our visa, we can become citizens in ten years. Right, hon?”
Syd snaps to, reorienting herself in the moment. “Yeah,” she mumbles. She looks to Bianca, abruptly changes the subject. “You two should sleep inside. In the guest room.”
“We’re fine in the van,” the younger woman says, sipping her drink and making a face at its strong flavor.
“It may look cramped, but you’d be surprised how comfortable it is,” Damian adds.
“We have a perfectly good guest room,” Sydney insists. “And you’re our first guests. It’d be a shame not to use it.”
Curtis keeps his tone light. “They said they’re fine in the van, babe.
” He’s enjoying their guests’ company for the most part, and he appreciates Damian’s hard work, but he doesn’t need them sleeping down the hall.
He doesn’t want to hear them snoring, using the bathroom, or, God forbid, having sex a few feet away.
Syd ignores him. “It’s safer if you’re inside. We like to lock the doors at night, and you might need the bathroom.”
“I can go in the bushes,” Damian says.
“Speak for yourself,” Bianca says. “There are snakes!”
“We can leave a door unlocked,” Curtis placates. “It’s perfectly safe. And we have the cameras.”
“Those old cameras don’t even work,” Syd counters. “And they’re not much of a deterrent if someone really wants to get in here.”
“Who would want to get in here?” Curtis chuckles awkwardly. “We don’t have many valuables.”
“You never know when some psycho could be passing by.” Damian swirls the liquor in his glass. “But you’re Americans. You probably have a gun.”
“We’re from New York,” Sydney retorts, and Curtis feels a flicker of satisfaction.
He hasn’t been blind to the dynamic between his wife and their macho guest. Damian’s been attentive, even solicitous toward Syd.
In his cloud of testosterone, she has been acting demure and girlish.
But she’s annoyed by his assumption, and Curtis finds it satisfying.
“No offense,” Bianca says, attempting to smooth things over. “It’s the media. They make it seem like every person in America is packing.”
“If I lived all alone out here, I’d have a weapon,” Damian says, eyes meeting Curtis’s. “That’s all I’m saying.”
“We don’t have a gun,” Curtis says, and Damian nods with a slight knowing smirk. The Australian likely knows about the secret phone. Does he assume Curtis has a secret firearm, too?
Bianca smiles at Sydney. “I think it would be nice to sleep inside for a few nights. Thank you.”
“It’s settled, then.” Syd’s chair scrapes across the tile. “I’ll make up the bed.”
By the time Curtis and Sydney head to their room, his eyes feel gritty, and there’s a mild pounding between his eyebrows from the drinks.
He unbuttons his linen shirt, glancing over his shoulder at his wife.
Her back is to him as she hurriedly undresses.
God forbid he get a glimpse of her naked body.
He’s always thought Syd was beautiful and sexy.
But since his affair, she acts shy around him, almost ashamed, which makes no sense.
She pulls a tank top over her bare torso and turns toward him.
“Do you remember Jameson Drew?”
“Should I?” Curtis climbs into bed wearing his boxers.
“I was representing him when you cheated on me,” she says, that familiar edge to her voice.
“Right. Sorry. The murderer.”
“Self-defense, according to him.” Sydney pulls back the sheet, crawls in next to him “He’s dead.”
Curtis doesn’t know how to respond. Is this sad? A man who got caught up in a bad situation gone too soon? Or is it good news? One less killer out there living off the public dime.
“He died by suicide,” Syd says. “He sliced his wrists open with a sharpened toothbrush.”
“Damn.”
Syd turns over on her hip, faces him. “He left a suicide note. He said he couldn’t take prison anymore. He said he was innocent, and he blamed me for not allowing him to go to trial.”
“Criminals always blame their lawyers.” Curtis places a comforting hand on her bare shoulder. “You know that.”
Syd’s eyes are shiny in the pale lamplight. “I was so distracted, Curtis. My heart was broken. My life was falling apart. I couldn’t think straight. Maybe I fucked up?”
“You were an excellent lawyer, Syd.”
“Maybe I could have—should have—done more. Maybe I should have gone to trial and fought for him, but I was too devastated.”
“This isn’t about you. This is about a man who killed someone and couldn’t live with the consequences.”
“Drew’s father called the office looking for me. He threatened me.”
“Legally? They can’t prove you did anything wrong.”
“He threatened to make me pay.” Syd’s voice trembles. “He thinks I killed his only son.”
Back in New York, Curtis had sometimes worried about his wife’s safety. She represented dangerous people, angry people. It would have been so easy for one of them to find Sydney and harm her. But not now.
“Does this guy know where you live?”
“I don’t think so. But I’m sure he could find out.”
“Even if he did, I doubt he has the resources to get to Spain. I mean, they used a public defender. Clearly they don’t have a ton of cash.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Is that why you want the Aussies to sleep inside?”
“I don’t know. I just feel unnerved. Anxious.”
“Are you taking your medication?”
“Of course,” she snaps. “I think it’s perfectly normal to sleep better with the doors locked when you’ve had a threat against your life.”
“I agree. It’s a good idea.” He strokes her arm gently. “You’re safe, babe. I’m here. I won’t let anything hurt you.”
“Thanks.” Her body softens under his touch, head easing into the pillow.
She looks up at him under heavy lids, and her eyes are warm, receptive.
His hand moves up, strokes her cheek, moves through her hair.
Desire wells up in him, and he inches his body closer to her.
Slowly, he moves in for a kiss that he hopes will segue into something more.
Their lips meet for a brief, tentative moment.
And then Sydney rolls over and goes to sleep.