49
Damian sits in Curtis’s car, listens to the rain pummeling the metal roof.
Bianca is still wandering the streets, getting drenched, so focused on her rage and hate that she’s impervious to the weather.
He’s texted her a bunch of times, tried to call, but her phone is off or set to Do Not Disturb.
That means she’s still not ready to play nice.
But how long is he supposed to sit here and wait for her to calm down? As long as it takes. He has no choice.
He can’t leave Bianca in town in the middle of a rainstorm.
The steep trail that leads back to the house would be treacherous in this weather, and Spain’s tragic history with floods runs through his memory.
Besides, returning without his girlfriend would elicit too many questions.
Sydney would be concerned, of course, would insist on searching for Bianca.
If she found her, who knows what Bianca would say to Syd one-on-one.
If Bianca chose to reveal all of Curtis’s dirty secrets, their mark would have no reason to pay them the money. Damian can’t let that happen.
In the distance he can just make out a couple headed his way.
The man holds a canvas jacket over their heads, providing a little shelter from the deluge.
The woman is laughing, clutching his arm.
She’s wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and she’s a little unsteady on her feet.
Tipsy, probably. The couple has come from a boozy lunch or an afternoon at a bar.
As they move closer, he realizes the woman is Bianca. The couple’s heads are obscured by the jacket, but he doesn’t need to see her face to know it’s her. He recognizes her walk, her body, her clothes. And the way she holds on to this man like she gives a shit about him when she really doesn’t.
The pair stop several yards from the car, and Bianca puts her lips close to the man’s ear.
The guy (Christ, how old is he? He looks fifteen.) peers over at Damian, waiting in the car like a cuckold.
The man’s surprise and confusion are visible even from here.
Bianca kisses his cheek and runs through the rain to the Citroen.
“Who was that?” Damian asks as she climbs into the passenger seat.
“I made a new friend. His name’s Carlos.”
“Cool,” he grumbles.
Damian starts the car and blasts air on the windshield to combat the condensation obscuring his vision.
Backing out of the parking lot, he grinds it into first gear and pulls back onto the main road.
Bianca sits next to him, lips curled into a placid smile.
There’s something smug in her expression, like hooking up with Carlos was a big fuck you to Damian.
They’ve never been monogamous, have worked to separate the physical from the emotional, but he can’t help but think she did this to punish him.
For having feelings for Sydney. For looking out for himself.
They climb the hill in tense silence, the wipers slapping rhythmically at the torrential rain.
Damian keeps his eyes on the road, focuses on gearing down to grip the steep incline, but his mind is trapped on their predicament.
Bianca will not budge from their initial demand of five million dollars.
If Curtis can’t come up with it, she’ll wreak havoc.
And then what? They’ll go home to their shitty little town, to their shitty little jobs, content that they’ve avenged Lyric’s death.
No way. He’s never going back. He’ll do what it takes to ensure his future.
Reaching the turnoff to the house, Damian slows the car, stalling it briefly.
But he starts it up again, lurches forward into the driveway.
As they creep down the gravel path, Bianca seems to shed the afterglow of her fling.
She sits forward in her seat, suddenly tense and on edge.
Like him, she must be wondering what the next few days will bring. How this is all going to play out.
Before Damian has even turned off the ignition, Curtis appears on the doorstep, holding two black umbrellas.
He pops one open and approaches the driver’s side.
As Damian climbs out, Curtis hands him the second umbrella and says, “We need to talk.” He hurries around to the passenger door and holds the umbrella over Bianca as she emerges.
The three of them huddle together for a moment.
“I’ve found someone who can float me the full five million,” Curtis says, fiddling with the umbrella in case Sydney is observing them. “I should have it by end-of-day tomorrow.”
Relief surges through Damian’s veins like an infusion. “Great.”
“Wiring that much money to your bank will raise red flags,” Curtis continues. “Bitcoin is best.”
“Yeah, I know,” Damian snaps. He’d already asked for the money in crypto. Curtis is such a condescending douche bag. “I’ll send you my wallet details.”
“I’ll send mine, too,” Bianca pipes in. “Half the money to me, half to Damian.”
He looks at his partner in surprise. Since when does she not trust him to share the money with her? This was never discussed. It’s an unnecessary added complication. But Curtis shrugs it off.
“No problem.” He glances toward the house. “We’d better get inside before Sydney wonders why we’re standing out here in the rain.”
The men take a step, but Bianca doesn’t budge. They turn back to face her. Her eyes are locked on Curtis.
“Does this mean you accept responsibility for what you did to Lyric?”
Damian watches Curtis’s face, the flicker of recognition, the struggle to remember. Then he says, “Lyric. The young woman from the party.”
“She wasn’t a young woman,” Bianca spits. “She was a child. And she was my sister.”
Curtis flushes, his voice wobbly as he speaks. “I’m sorry that she got wrapped up in that whole scene. And I apologize for my role in it.”
“For what you did to her,” Bianca growls. “Say it.”
“I—I’m sorry for what I did to her.”
But he’s not. He just wants to make them go away. For some reason, Bianca seems to accept his lame apology. She nods briefly. “Okay.”
They hurry through the rain toward the house.
Damian and Bianca head to their room to dry off and change. He strips off his damp T-shirt, grabbing a dry button-down. “Crisis averted,” he whispers, but he can’t keep the jubilation out of his voice. They no longer need to worry about negotiations with Curtis, about their conflicting goals.
His partner doesn’t speak as she peels off her soaked top. He hands her a towel, watches as she dries off her wet skin. Her expression is dark and troubled despite the good news.
“So someone’s going to lend Curtis five million dollars, with no questions asked,” she states, dropping her wet shorts to the floor, stepping out of them.
Damian buttons his shirt. “These rich assholes have piles of money lying around. It’s not a lot to them.”
“But how will Curtis pay it back?” She pulls a sweatshirt over her head. “He has no income. He can’t build his winery without startup money.”
“That’s his problem.”
Bianca tosses the damp towel on a pile of clothes, steps into a pair of cozy sweatpants. “If Curtis used the house as collateral, they could seize it. And Sydney would find out everything.”
Damian keeps his voice calm, but it’s tinged with irritation. “We asked him to get the money, and he did. Why do you care how he pays it back?”
She looks at him with those cold, hard eyes. “I don’t.”
He may as well ask. “When did you set up your own crypto wallet?”
“Back home,” she says, grabbing her phone. “Did you think I wouldn’t look out for myself, Damian? That I wouldn’t make sure I got my share of the money?”
“No, but I thought we…”
But she’s already moving toward the door. Without another word, she leaves the room.