14
Heat shimmers off the black highway, an apt reflection of Curtis’s mood.
He steps on the gas, the Citroen lunging forward with a satisfying roar.
Soon, he’ll have to gear down for another roundabout, but for now he enjoys the swell of power, the reckless surge of speed.
His passenger will be impressed with the way he handles the car.
Not a lot of Americans can drive stick anymore.
It takes skill and finesse, makes him feel both suave and masculine.
Like Ayrton Senna… before he died in a tragic crash, obviously.
Curtis and Damian are going to Girona to order lumber and supplies for the shed renovation.
Damian will check in at the garage, and Curtis has a private call to make.
But mostly he needs to get away from his wife and her ridiculous accusations.
He’s been bending over backward to make her happy, to win back her trust, and the suggestion that he’s been perving at their houseguest is beyond insulting.
Especially when Syd’s been acting like an eighth grader with a crush on Damian since he arrived.
If Sydney is still so insecure, why did she invite a beautiful younger woman to stay with them?
Curtis hadn’t even wanted guests, but he’s been a perfect goddamn host: cooking, mixing drinks, keeping the house tidy.
His welts are still itchy and irritating, and he’d slept fitfully last night.
But he’d gotten up, made breakfast, and offered it to the women lounging by the pool like a couple of socialites.
If his eyes drifted to Bianca’s perfect tits for a split second, it was only natural.
He’s a red-blooded human male who’s been deprived of sex for months.
Damian’s voice shakes him from his reverie. “So, how did you and Sydney meet?”
“The old-fashioned way.” Curtis smirks. “Plenty of Fish.”
“Her profile must have blown you away. Sexy. Smart. Great job.”
Curtis glances over at him—his words sound almost besotted—but Damian’s face is turned away, taking in the scenery out the passenger window. The Aussie and his pretty partner seem solid, but Damian wouldn’t be the first guy infatuated by Sydney’s cool, aspirational beauty.
“Yeah, it did,” Curtis replies. “And then I met her, and we just clicked.” The remembrance warms him, and Curtis feels a smile play on his lips.
“We talked for hours, and when we finally said goodbye, I knew I’d found my person.
” He chuckles softly. “It took about three years to convince Sydney, but she got there.”
There’s silence from Damian, so Curtis asks, “How’d you meet Bianca?”
“B. and I have been together since senior year.” Damian glances over at him. “We basically grew up together.”
“Wow. Long time.”
“I first saw her when I was eighteen, and I was done for.”
Curtis has to ask. “So you’ve never been with another woman?”
“I never said that.” Damian cocks an eyebrow. “We’re very understanding of each other’s needs, if you get my drift.”
“Right.” Curtis feels a trickle of sweat run down his back. “Whatever works for you.”
“Communication and respect are key,” Damian continues, like he’s some expert on relationships. “Monogamy isn’t our natural state, but that doesn’t mean commitment can’t work.”
Okay, Salvador Dalí. But Curtis doesn’t say it out loud. “I had plenty of women before I got married,” he says instead, wondering if six women would qualify as “plenty” in Damian’s mind. “And now I’m with the love of my life, so I’m good.”
Damian snorts. “You’ve never had a bit of action on the side?”
The question is rude, intrusive, and a little suspicious.
Did Sydney tell Damian that Curtis cheated?
Have they been having secret heart-to-hearts?
He doesn’t want the Aussies to know what he did, doesn’t want them judging him, casting him as the villain, Sydney as the woman scorned and betrayed.
The woman in need of comfort and understanding.
“Nope,” Curtis replies, because one mistake does not make him a cheater. One fucked-up night that he’ll regret forever does not define him. He gears down and takes the Girona exit.
Curtis is relieved to ditch Damian once they’re in the city.
His passenger’s probing questions in the car added to Curtis’s foul mood, so he’s happy to leave the Aussie at the garage chasing down his fuel pump in novice Spanish.
Curtis has some paperwork he needs to mail to his immigration lawyer in Barcelona, so he heads to the post office.
He’ll meet Damian at the hardware store later.
As Curtis walks, he pulls out his burner phone and dials a New York number.
His stomach is loose as he listens to the distant ring.
It’s early in America, but Simon will be up.
His friend and former business partner is a workaholic.
It’s why their property management company was so successful.
It’s also why Simon’s marriage fell apart, why he only sees his two boys every other weekend and for a month during the summer.
Simon is driven and ambitious, willing to do what it takes to get ahead.
But when Curtis needed out of the company, Simon had done the right thing.
“I fucked up,” Curtis had told his best friend, his eyes brimming with emotion. They were in a swanky hotel bar, about a block from their office. “I—I slept with a client.”
“You fucking idiot,” Simon muttered, taking a drink of his Scotch.
“That’s so unprofessional.” But Simon was in no position to point fingers.
He’d dipped his pen in the company ink more than once.
They’d even paid a significant settlement after a young member of the sales team brought a harassment suit against him.
“Does Syd know?” Simon asks.
“Yeah… I told her.”
“Why the fuck did you do that?” Simon scoffed.
“I had to! She knew I was hiding something. I couldn’t keep lying to her.” Curtis drained his drink, signaled for another. “I just… I just broke down.”
“Did she leave you?”
“We’ve been going to counseling, trying to work it out. But… we need to make a change.”
That was when he’d told Simon his Spain plan.
It had taken some convincing (and some begging), but eventually Simon had agreed to buy Curtis out.
For a fucking song. Curtis’s half of the company was worth more than Simon was willing to pay, but Curtis was in a weak negotiating position.
He needed out. Out of the business and out of New York.
It would be expensive, time-consuming, and stressful but it was the only way to keep his marriage intact.
And it was only a matter of time before Simon found out what else Curtis was hiding.
Curtis had tried to call Simon the first time he’d brought Damian to Girona, but then he’d been interrupted.
Since then, he’d blocked Simon’s calls to his regular phone and deleted his emails.
Saving his marriage was his top priority; he couldn’t afford to be distracted by business matters.
But he couldn’t avoid it forever. It was time to face the music.
His friend answers then. “Hello?” Simon doesn’t recognize the number of this recent burner phone.
“It’s me.”
“Curtis,” Simon says, and there’s no warmth in his old friend’s voice. “What the fuck have you done to me?”