31
Damian is soaked with sweat after helping the driver unload the lumber, and there’s a tight knot under his left shoulder blade.
(Curtis hadn’t returned to help, probably worried he’d get a sliver.) Damian had considered rejecting the delivery—the winery dream is dead now—but that might alarm Sydney.
So he’d stacked the boards next to the driveway.
The driver had asked Damian for a credit card, but obviously he wasn’t about to give him his.
They’d debated in broken English and even more broken Spanish.
Finally, Damian convinced him that Curtis had already paid at the store.
He doesn’t know if that’s true, and he doesn’t care. The boards will sit there and rot.
Hot and irritable, Damian heads to the pool.
He’s done too much physical labor around the property already, while soft pasty Curtis stood by or made up an excuse.
Damian’s done being the hired help. His quads ache from yesterday’s sprint up the mountain path, but he’d had no choice.
Sydney had suggested a relaxing beach day, but Curtis had opted out at the last minute.
Curtis said he was sick, but he wasn’t. He was suspicious. But Damian was too quick for him.
While he doubted Curtis had the street smarts or engineering know-how to break into their van, there was too much evidence in there.
If Curtis found proof that Bianca and Damian were liars, he’d present it to Sydney, and she’d dismiss them before they could blackmail her husband.
So Damian had suggested Sydney stop in Cadaqués for road snacks.
Inside the store, he told Bianca his plan.
“I’ll hike up the mountain path. I can do it in about forty-five minutes if I push it.”
“What do I tell Sydney?”
“Make something up.”
He’d pushed it, done it in forty. As soon as he’d reached the property, he’d gone to the van.
There were scratches near the passenger window, evidence that Curtis had at least tried to break in.
But inside, everything seemed to be undisturbed: Their US passports and IDs were still hidden deep under the mattress.
The machete was still under the stackable bins.
Their secrets were safe. But it was time to tell Curtis why they had come.
Damian had needed a few beers for courage first. And when Curtis offered to barbecue some steaks, he couldn’t say no.
He was starving after the hill climb. While Curtis grilled, Damian drank and made small talk.
He knew a lot about Curtis Lowe’s life already, but he played dumb, fished for more information.
“So, what did you do for fun back home?”
“Syd and I worked a lot,” Curtis said, turning the meat. “We kept late hours and got up early. That didn’t leave a lot of time for extracurriculars.”
He was lying, the sick bastard. Curtis had made time for his debaucherous hobbies. “Come on,” Damian cajoled, “you must have gotten up to no good once in a while?”
Curtis had given him a look then, and Damian knew to pull back. There was a fine line between interested and probing.
They’d eaten their meal outside beside the pool.
Curtis had cooked the steaks to perfection, and Damian allowed himself to savor the food, the cold beer, and the moment of camaraderie.
It almost felt normal, like Damian belonged in this hillside oasis, like he and Curtis were buddies.
If Bianca had been there, he’d have had to resume his antagonist role.
She would’ve been incensed to see the two men hanging out in relative harmony.
Damian washed the dishes and brought out two more beers. They drank them by the pool, shooting the shit as the stars twinkled in the night sky. “Tell me about New York,” Damian said. “It’s like a foreign country to me.”
“It is a foreign country to you.”
Shit. Damian had momentarily forgotten he was Australian. Taking in Curtis’s bemused expression, he realized it was time. He had to do it now before Curtis grew suspicious. Damian narrowed his eyes, opened his mouth to speak, then his phone buzzed in his pocket. Bianca.
Syd’s totally fucked up.
Meet us at the club in Cadaques.
Bring Curtis.
A feeling of dread had clutched his insides.
Bianca hated Sydney so much. If he and Curtis didn’t get there soon, she’d leave Syd passed out in the gutter.
Let some drunk Eurotrash take her back to their Airbnb.
So he convinced Curtis to take the steep path into town, and they’d gone to the nightclub.
While Curtis ordered a drink, Damian had sifted through the crowd and found the two women.
Syd was wasted; it was obvious in the way she was moving, hair in her face, arms in the air.
Bianca was whispering in Syd’s ear, touching her, seducing her.
He’d felt a stab of something sharp, ugly, and unfamiliar.
It was jealousy. It wasn’t an emotion present in his relationship with Bianca.
They were open and secure. This was about Sydney.
He’d crept up behind Syd and touched her shoulder.
She’d turned her face to his and smiled, her eyes bleary but happy.
He pressed his body against hers, felt her receptiveness as she tipped her head back onto his shoulder, opened herself up to him.
Bianca’s eyes were on them both, shining with perverse pleasure.
What he’d seen on his partner’s face wasn’t desire or arousal: It was malicious delight.
A cruel child tearing the wings off a fly.
Damian has reached the pool now, and he pulls off his shirt, tosses it on a lawn chair.
He spies Bianca walking up the hill toward him, her expression distant and dark.
He observes her unnoticed for a moment. She’d been so excited when he said their plan was finally in motion, but now she looks troubled.
His sweatshirt is wrapped around her shoulders despite the heat.
Is she unwell? She looks up and meets his eyes, but he can’t read her. He’s never been able to.
“Where were you?” he asks, moving in her direction.
“Looking for Curtis,” she says. “I thought I might hear him screaming and crying on the trail to town.”
Damian indicates the pool with a sweep of his hand. “Sydney’s in a hangover coma. Curtis is off sobbing or maybe begging for cash. Let’s enjoy ourselves.”
“I like the way you think.” She smiles. “I’ll go put my swimsuit on.”
“Why?” His eyes twinkle at her as he drops his shorts. “This is our place now. We don’t need bathing suits.”
She laughs, a welcome sound. She’s his girl again: damaged, calloused, but not evil. Not obsessed with revenge, forsaking all else. He still loves her. He just needs to focus on that.
“Want a drink?” she asks.
“Read my mind.”
“Two beers coming up.” Bianca moves inside. Damian dives into the refreshing water.