50
The aroma of fried onions, of meat and seasonings, wafts through the air as Bianca walks toward the kitchen.
Curtis stands by the stove, wearing an apron and stirring a large pot.
He’s surrounded by dirty pans, chopped herbs, an open bottle of white wine.
He must have been cooking for hours, preparing their final meal.
Damian is on her heels. “Smells great,” he says, Aussie accent in place though there’s no sign of Sydney.
“Hope you like beef stroganoff.” Curtis seasons the massive pot. “You had the car, so I had to make do with what I had in the fridge and freezer.”
“Love it,” Damian replies, and Bianca mumbles her agreement.
Sydney emerges from the basement stairwell and joins them in the kitchen. Her hair and clothes are dusty. She’s clearly been working downstairs while the rest of them took the day off. She smiles at Bianca. “Did you get caught in the rain?”
“Yeah,” Bianca says. “But we’d already had lunch and a swim, so it was okay.”
Syd turns to Damian. “Were you able to swim with your sore shoulder?” Her delivery is benign, but Bianca sees the sharp glint in Sydney’s eye.
Does she think Damian faked his injury to get out of working on their winery?
Is she resentful that they enjoyed themselves while she sanded the basement walls?
Fuck her. Bianca and Damian don’t owe her any more unpaid labor.
But Damian’s reply is chipper. “I just paddled around a bit. It was fine.” Either he has missed the edge to Syd’s remark or Bianca has imagined it. She’s not sure which.
Sydney moves toward her husband at the stove. “What’s for dinner?”
“Beef stroganoff.” He gives her a wink. “Don’t worry, I made a separate batch with no mushrooms for you.”
Syd kisses his cheek in thanks. “I’m going to have a quick shower before dinner.”
Curtis says, “We can eat in an hour. I’ll make negronis.”
Bianca and Damian lean against the counter and watch as Curtis mixes the cocktails.
He pours the three liquors into cut-glass tumblers, slices the fresh oranges, their citrus scent permeating the strong cooking smells.
Bianca’s never had a negroni; she’s not sure she’ll like it, but she stays mute, not wanting to dampen the celebratory mood.
She’s never seen Curtis so upbeat, almost manic in his happiness.
And Damian is cheerful for obvious reasons.
Bianca should be, too. Soon, she’ll have everything she wanted: millions of dollars and Curtis Lowe’s decimation.
But for some reason she can’t get there.
Something feels off about Curtis’s obvious jubilance.
Of course, he’s happy that they’re leaving.
He wants them gone so they can’t fuck with him anymore, can’t tell his wife that he’s a monster.
But how can he be so happy about being five million dollars in debt with no obvious means of paying it back?
And why is he so sure he can trust them not to talk to Syd once they’ve received their cryptocurrency?
Curtis hands her a drink, and she takes a small sip.
It’s cloyingly sweet and bitter at the same time, but she nods and smiles her thanks.
Bianca doesn’t plan to drink it. She’s already had too much wine today, and she feels the need to keep her head on straight.
She needs to be ready for any and all eventualities.
Glass in hand, she leaves the men chatting about Formula 1 racing like old friends and heads toward the French doors.
She stares out at the pool, the underwater lights illuminating the raindrops pummeling the surface.
The trees are blowing in the distance, and the moon casts an eerie glow from behind the cloud cover.
The whole scene feels creepy, even ominous.
But maybe it’s all in her head. And then Bianca sees a tiny red dot glowing in the darkness.
Sydney is huddled under the overhang of the house, smoking a cigarette.
Bianca wants to stay inside, warm and dry, but she’s uncomfortable around Curtis and Damian.
Their sudden camaraderie feels like a betrayal.
Now that Curtis has found the money, Damian seems to have forgotten that he’s an abusive predator.
That what he did to Lyric was so disgusting, so heinous, that she descended into addiction and lost her life.
Setting her drink on an end table, Bianca opens the door and creeps outside.
The roof offers about a foot of overhang. Bianca slinks down the side of the house to join Sydney and stay out of the rain. “Can I bum one?”
Syd’s hair is wet from the shower, combed back from her face. She holds out the pack to Bianca. “I thought you had asthma?”
“I don’t.” Bianca takes one, lights it with Syd’s lighter. “I just said that so you didn’t smoke around me. I’m trying to quit.”
“I’ve been trying to quit, too,” Syd says, staring out at the rain. “It’s going really well.”
Bianca chuckles, takes a drag. They smoke in silence for a few moments, and it’s surprisingly comfortable. But Bianca can feel the malaise emanating off her host, the aura of discontent.
“Sounds like we’ll have our fuel pump soon,” she says to lighten the mood. “Maybe even tomorrow.”
“That’s good news.” Sydney blows smoke into the darkness. “Are you excited to continue your adventures?”
“Yeah. It’ll be good.”
Syd’s gaze is intense. “I feel like I never really got to know you, and now you’re leaving.”
Bianca arches an eyebrow. “We made out.”
Syd laughs, rolls her eyes. “There’s still a lot I don’t know about you.” She takes a drag on her cigarette, speaks on the exhale. “Tell me about your sister.”
Bianca’s flinch is imperceptible… at least she hopes it is. How the hell does Sydney know about Lyric? “I don’t have a sister.”
Syd cocks her head. “Damian said you did.”
Drawing smoke deep into her lungs, Bianca composes herself. Damian must have slipped up, mentioned Lyric in an offhand comment. He wouldn’t have told Sydney anything that would impact their plan. “I have a half sister,” she covers. “We’re not really in touch.”
“Where does she live?”
“Back in Freo. Last I heard.”
“Why aren’t you close?”
Bianca shrugs a shoulder. “Different dads. Big age difference.”
“How old is she?”
“She’s just a kid.” A kid who would never get older. She tosses her half-smoked cigarette onto the wet bricks. “Why are you so interested?”
“I always wanted a sister,” Syd says. “Someone who’d look up to me. Someone I could take care of.”
Bianca’s throat tightens and tears prick at her eyes, but she shuts down the emotions. Once the money hits their accounts, she will tell Sydney all about Lyric, every vile, disgusting thing that Curtis did to her. Then she can cry and scream and fall apart, if she needs to. But not now. Not yet.
“We were close when she was young, but she grew up. And it got complicated.”
“What happened?”
She’s prying. She’s onto them. Bianca needs to shut this conversation down now. “I don’t want to talk about it. It’s painful.”
“Sorry.”
“Curtis made negronis,” she says, forcing a cheerful tone. “Let’s go in.”
Pressing themselves against the house, the women scurry to the French doors.