23
Sydney and Bianca are in Cadaqués, sitting out front of the bar and casino.
Syd drove them back here, parked the Citroen in an overnight lot so she doesn’t need to worry about driving.
She can enjoy the goblet of gin and tonic before her, and they can walk up the hill to the house later.
The path is steep and could be difficult to navigate in the dark, but she’s not thinking about that now.
She’s fully cemented in the present moment.
This is where the locals go for cheap drinks, their tables plunked on the sandy beach, the surf tickling their bare feet.
She takes a sip of her boozy beverage, soaks in the collegial atmosphere.
Around them, people drink, laugh, even argue, but Syd feels envious of their camaraderie, their joie de vivre.
It’s so distinctly European, and it can’t be faked, no matter how hard she tries.
“You drink too slow,” Bianca cajoles, hoisting her heavy glass.
Obediently, Syd drinks, enjoying the effects of the gin.
She’s beginning to feel bleary and relaxed, the awkwardness of that intimate moment on the beach becoming smudgy and indistinct.
She looks at Bianca, smiling and carefree.
Sydney doesn’t need to feel uncomfortable about what happened.
Or didn’t happen. Bianca makes everything feel okay.
“Let’s go to a club tonight,” Bianca suggests. “We deserve to get fucked-up.”
“There’s a club here?” Syd asks.
“Of course there is,” Bianca teases. “This is a holiday town in Spain. Do you think everyone goes to bed at ten just because you do?”
Syd takes a giddy sip. “I haven’t been to a club in years.”
“Why not? Because your husband won’t let you?”
“No,” Syd answers honestly. “I was never really into that scene. And I guess I feel like I’ve outgrown it.”
“You’re still young,” Bianca gushes. “And you’re so elegant and beautiful. You’ll have guys all over you.” Her eyebrow arches slyly. “Maybe you could even the score with Curtis?”
Syd shakes her head and laughs, because it’s a joke. It must be. “That wouldn’t solve anything.”
“It might be fun, though.”
She forces a game smile, though hooking up with a random stranger in a bar does not sound fun to Syd. It sounds tawdry, and gross, and possibly dangerous. But the sexual thoughts she’s entertained about both Damian and Bianca are not without risks either.
Bianca stands. “I’ll get us another round.
” She moves toward the bar before Syd can object.
This will be their third drink. They’re too sweet and too strong, and Sydney didn’t eat much at dinner.
She’s starting to feel slightly ill and more than a little unsteady.
But the thought of getting drunk, of losing herself in a sea of hedonistic strangers in a steamy nightclub, is oddly appealing.
And she can’t go home to Curtis. Not right now.
Her eyes drift over the crowd of revelers.
There are a range of ages, races, and she hears snippets of various languages: Spanish, of course; some French; and there’s a loud older woman speaking English with a British accent.
Syd feels a part of this scene and entirely outside of it.
But she’s comfortable, almost carefree in this moment. Or maybe she’s just drunk.
And then she feels a prickle at the nape of her neck, the distinct sense that someone is watching her.
She twists in her seat, and her eyes connect with a man’s.
He’s leaning against a low rock wall, wearing shorts and a button-up linen shirt.
He’s about her age, lean and tanned. His eyes are dark and piercing as they bore into hers.
He’s a stranger, but there’s something familiar about him.
He raises a cigarette to his lips and takes a drag. It has a white filter.
A chill shudders through her, and the glass trembles in her hand. She sets it down, averts her gaze. Does she know this guy from somewhere? Or does he know her? Her mind scrambles to place his face. Does he resemble Jameson Drew, the man she sent to jail?
Bianca sets two more drinks on the table with a thunk, takes her seat. “Someone’s got their eye on you.”
“He’s giving me the creeps,” Syd whispers. “He’s looking at me like he knows me.”
“Those are come-fuck-me eyes,” Bianca says with a laugh. “You need to relax.”
Syd turns back toward the man, but he’s lost interest in her now. She watches him sidle up to a small table where two attractive women share a bottle of wine. Relief washes over her, and embarrassment. “I need to get out more.”
“You do, babe.” Bianca hoists her heavy glass. “One more drink and then we hit the dance floor.”
The nightclub smells dank and musty, the air thick with sweat and pheromones.
Normally, Sydney would struggle to breathe in this close environment, but her anxiety has been obliterated by the effects of the gin.
She knows it’s a temporary fix, that tomorrow she’ll likely feel more amped up than usual, but she’s not thinking about that now.
She’s just absorbing the thud of the bass, the flashing of the lights, the electronic notes building to a crescendo.
She’s high on the energy of the young people gyrating around her.
And she’s comforted by the warmth of Bianca’s hand in hers, pulling her toward the dance floor.
When they’re immersed in the crush of bodies, Bianca turns to face her.
She lifts her arms in the air, drops her head forward, and moves her body to the music.
Syd watches her, rapt and envious. Bianca’s movements are so free, so self-assured.
At times, Syd still feels like the tallest girl in her grade, the one none of the boys would dance with.
But tonight, nothing matters, no one cares. She lets herself go.
Her hair falls over her face, obscuring her surroundings. She’s alone with the music and the energy and the heat. Sydney is sexy and free, unburdened by the doubt and pain that have been dragging her down. She needed this outlet, this night of alcohol and hedonism.
Bianca’s mouth is close to her ear. “You’re so hot.
” Her hands rest on Sydney’s hips, and she feels that same tug of desire.
Syd had been shy before, on the beach, but she’s brave now, confident.
She reaches out for Bianca, pulls her closer.
And then she feels a hand run down her back, two fingers stroking the bare skin of her shoulder. She turns her head.
It’s Damian.
“I found you,” he says, not to Bianca but to her.
His strong chest is pressed against her back; his big hands hold her waist. Electricity pulses from his fingertips, and Syd closes her eyes.
It’s wrong to feel this way. Syd is married.
Damian is with Bianca. But their chemistry is so simple, so undeniable.
She’s powerless to stop what’s about to happen.
Bianca watches them, eyes shining, a smile on her lips.
She moves closer, hands reaching for Sydney, fingers tracing her cheek, cupping her chin.
Bianca leans in and kisses her. Finally.
Syd savors the softness of her lips, the sweetness of her breath.
Damian’s mouth is on her neck now, the stubble of his cheek against her delicate skin.
The juxtaposition of masculine and feminine is confusing and exhilarating and incredible.
She turns her body toward Damian, opens her eyes. And then she sees him.
At the edge of the dance floor, Curtis stands alone, watching their entanglement.
His face is expressionless, but his eyes are so full of pain.
Syd may have thought she wanted to hurt him just like he hurt her, but she can’t do it.
No matter what he did in the past. Even if he has been coming on to Bianca…
She still cares about his feelings. She still loves him.
She tears herself away from the couple, stumbles toward her partner.