37
Sometime in the small hours of the morning, Damian feels Bianca slide into bed next to him.
She smells vaguely of cigarette smoke, but he’s too sleepy to care if she’s been caught.
He rolls away from her and tries to drift back to sleep, but there’s a leaden pressure between his eyebrows, and his mouth feels dry and mossy.
Clearly, he’d had one too many drinks this evening.
But he’d felt so upbeat, even celebratory.
With Bianca resting in the van and Sydney sufficiently warned to look out for herself, Damian had felt a real sense of accomplishment.
There was nothing left for him to do but relax, enjoy the house, the food, the pool…
and fuck with Curtis some more. Damian’s excited to leave, of course, to get the money and get on with their life, but he’ll miss tormenting that asshole. That lying, manipulative piece of shit.
Curtis had made himself scarce most of the day.
Damian imagined he’d gone somewhere private to freak out, to cry and wail about all he stood to lose.
Then he would have pulled himself together and begun to strategize ways to get the money.
He’d have called his Spanish bank and his New York wealth manager.
And he would have reached out to whomever he contacts with that secret burner phone.
Alone in the house with Sydney, Damian had felt surprisingly nervous.
He hadn’t been so unsettled around a female since he was a kid, shy and awkward.
Even in her hungover state, with her bloodshot eyes and her hair scraped back from her face, Sydney was still gorgeous, almost ethereal.
Without the buffer of their partners, he didn’t know how to act around her. So he grabbed another beer.
“Hair of the dog?” he offered, holding the bottle up to her.
Sydney was prone on the sofa with her laptop. She looked up and made a face. “God, no. I won’t be drinking for a while.”
“I could make you a fresh-squeezed orange juice?” he offered. “Or an iced tea? We could sit by the pool.” He hated the pleading sound in his voice, like a lovestruck twelve-year-old.
“I’ve got some stuff to do,” she said, eyes on her screen. “Go enjoy yourself. Curtis will be back soon to keep you company.”
Damian had taken his beer outside, sunk into a deck chair, and tried not to feel dismissed.
He knew Sydney was attracted to him. He’d felt her desire more than once.
She was likely annoyed with him for not telling her all the dirt on Curtis.
And part of him wanted to. He could be her hero, earn her gratitude, even devotion.
But giving her that information would jeopardize their blackmail plan, and five million bucks was five million bucks, no matter how hot he was for Sydney.
He’d sipped his beer and scrolled through his phone until the sun began to dip behind the mountain and the air cooled.
Heading into the warmth of the house he went to the living room to look for Syd, but she’d absconded to her bedroom again.
Damian was hungry by then. The Spanish liked to eat late, but he’d never really gotten used to it.
He was rifling through the fridge when he heard the front door open, then close. Curtis had finally returned.
Damian greeted him in his American accent. “Good timing. I’m starving.”
“Help yourself.” Curtis tossed his key fob on the counter.
“I thought you could whip up one of those frittatas.”
“Seriously?” Curtis snorted. “You expect me to cook for you still?”
“Nah, it’s okay.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I think I’ll go watch a video with Sydney.”
Curtis’s eyes narrowed, and he lowered his voice. “It’s a lot of money. It’s going to take some time.”
“You have seven days.”
“I don’t know if I can get it all by then.”
Damian shrugged. “Then you know what will happen.”
Curtis moved to the fridge and wrenched open the door. He grabbed a beer and flipped off the cap. “You’ve got it all wrong, you know.” He took a drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I tried to tell Bianca, but she wouldn’t listen. I’m innocent. I’ve never hurt anyone.”
His manipulations wouldn’t work on Damian. Bianca may have been shaken by Curtis’s denials, but Damian was not so gullible. “We’re not interested in your excuses. We know what you did.”
“I did nothing! You’re going to destroy an innocent man when there are still evil people out there doing evil things.”
“You’re not innocent, Curtis. Bianca saw you.”
“If you’d just let me explain—”
“Sydney!” Damian called, cutting him off.
Curtis blanched, and his eyes widened. “What the fuck?” he whispered.
“I bet your wife would like to hear your explanation, too.”
She strolled into the kitchen then, still pale and wan from last night’s excesses. “Yeah?”
Curtis spoke before Damian could. “Damian suggested a frittata for dinner. Does that work for you?”
“Sure. Whatever.” Her eyes flitted between the men, then she turned back toward her room. “Call me when it’s ready.”
Damian rolls over and fumbles for the glass of water on the nightstand.
He drinks heartily, washing away the coating in his mouth.
It had been a good night after that, worth the mild hangover he’s now suffering.
The three of them had eaten dinner together, had opened a bottle of red.
Sydney hadn’t partaken in the alcohol and ate quietly.
But Curtis had been nervous, drinking his wine in gulps, almost ignoring his food.
“So, Sydney…” Damian began, as he topped up his glass. “As a public defender, you must’ve had to represent some real scumbags.”
“Sometimes.”
“Who’s the worst person you defended?”
“She doesn’t want to talk about that,” Curtis interjected.
“Why not?” Damian asked him. “Sydney’s comfortable around monsters. It was her job, after all.”
“It’s okay,” Syd said. She fixed Damian with a steely glare. “I represented a father who killed his two children to punish their mother for leaving him,” she said. “He’s the worst person I was forced to defend.”
“That’s fucked-up,” Damian said, his voice quieter. “I don’t know how some men can do the things they do.”
“Anyone for dessert?” Curtis offered. “Tea or coffee?”
“I could go for a vermouth,” Damian suggested, and he’d smiled as Curtis jumped up to get it.
He’d felt Sydney’s eyes on him and turned to meet her gaze.
Had she noticed her husband’s obsequious behavior?
His deferential manner? But Sydney’s face was closed, and he couldn’t read her.
Soon after, she excused herself and went back to bed.
Damian’s thoughts become fragmented as he drifts closer to sleep.
In the morning, he’ll tell Sydney he hurt his shoulder, so she doesn’t wonder why he’s not working on the winery.
He and Bianca can have a day of relaxation.
Maybe they’ll borrow the Citroen and head to a beach.
Or they can hang out by the pool and have Curtis bring them drinks.
With that satisfying image in his mind, he drifts toward sleep.
It’s only moments later that the slight vibration of the bed stirs him awake again.
He already knows what’s causing the subtle movement.
Bianca is crying in silence, her body shaking with her grief.
His partner has never shed a tear in front of him, not since the memorial service.
Then, she’d let them slide down her cheeks untouched, but she hadn’t made a sound.
Bianca is always so stoic, so strong. But he knows the pain is there, silently eating her alive.
He closes his eyes again, but the pleasant thoughts and images are gone, expunged by Bianca’s suffering. As much as he’s been enjoying the process, he can’t forget why they’ve come.
He can’t forget that Curtis Lowe caused this.