51
When Bianca and Sydney enter the kitchen, Damian can tell they’ve been smoking.
The scent of cigarettes emanates from their hair and their clothes, causing him a knee-jerk stab of irritation.
But as he takes the last sip of his negroni, he lets his annoyance go.
There’s really no need for Bianca to hide her smoking habit anymore.
The lies, the secrets, and this fucked-up game are almost over.
“Sit,” Curtis says, ushering the women toward the table. “Damian, can you open a bottle of red?”
“Sure.” Damian moves to the wine rack and pretends he has a clue which wine to select. He grabs one, brings it to Curtis at the stove. “Is this okay?”
Curtis drops egg noodles into a pasta bowl, tops them with a scoop of aromatic stroganoff. He glances at the label on the bottle. “Excellent choice,” he says, taking the bowl to the table and setting it in front of Bianca.
Damian twists out the cork and fills four glasses.
As he carries them to the dining room, he takes in the scene.
There are candles on the table, their flames flickering as Curtis places bowls of food on the place mats.
Syd takes her seat at the end nearest the kitchen.
With her hair wet and no makeup, she looks sexy, but wholesome and ethereal.
Bianca is seated beside her, looking drawn but placid.
On the surface, this appears to be a rustic but upscale dinner party, four friends enjoying comfort food on a stormy night.
Underneath, there is so much more at play.
Handing each diner a wineglass, Damian sits next to Bianca. Curtis has served him a heaping bowl of food, and he realizes he’s starving. He scoops up a forkful, stuffs it into his mouth, and chews.
“Mmm,” he mumbles appreciatively, glancing around at his companions.
He knows this is all fake, that the collegial atmosphere is forced for Sydney’s benefit, but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy it.
The plan he concocted back in Indiana has come to fruition.
Curtis has promised to deliver on their demands.
They can stop punishing him for one night before he’s left in ruins.
“This is delicious,” Sydney says, taking a delicate bite.
“Thanks,” Curtis responds. “It was my grandmother’s specialty.”
She glances at her husband. “I thought your grandmother was British?”
“On my mom’s side. But my grandma on my dad’s side was half Hungarian.”
“How did I not know that?” Syd’s question is light, rhetorical. But her husband’s ancestry is just one of his many secrets.
As they eat, they discuss the weather, the fear of flooding and mudslides. Curtis and Sydney fortified the hillside above their property with sandbags as soon as they moved in, and they’re hopeful they’ll hold. The trauma of Spain’s deadly floods lingers.
Syd eats her special serving sans mushrooms and changes the subject. “Bianca says your fuel pump should be in tomorrow.”
“If all goes well, we’ll be out of your hair by tomorrow night.” Damian glances at his partner, who gives him a wan smile. She’s picking at her food like she did at lunch. Unlike Damian, Bianca is unable to compartmentalize her hatred, to put it away and enjoy herself for a few hours.
“Hopefully the roads won’t be affected by this rain,” Syd says.
“They should be fine,” Curtis responds quickly. He smiles at Damian and Bianca in turn. “We’re grateful for all your help. You’ve done so much around here.”
“We are,” Syd agrees, clearly missing the subtle barb in her husband’s compliment.
“A toast.” Curtis holds up his wineglass. “Though our paths will diverge tomorrow, may all four of us have bright and happy futures.”
They all clink and drink. Then Bianca sets her napkin on the table. “If we’re leaving tomorrow, I need to get packing.”
“You’ve barely touched your food.” Curtis sounds concerned.
“I think I’m coming down with a summer cold,” Bianca says, standing. “It was really good, though.”
Curtis jumps up, too. “I’ll save it for you. You might be hungry later.” He hustles into the kitchen with Bianca’s plate, leaving Sydney and Damian alone at the table.
“Is she feeling okay?” Syd asks him.
“She had some drinks at lunch and didn’t eat much then either. She’s probably just tired.”
“She could be dehydrated.”
“I’ll check on her.” But he doesn’t move. He’s too content here in the low light, with this tasty meal, the quality wine. And Sydney.
Syd leans back in her chair. “Is everything okay between you two?”
“Why do you ask?” He refills her wineglass, tops up his. “Did Bianca say something?”
“No. Just a vibe I picked up from her.”
“What kind of vibe?”
But Curtis returns then, digging into the food on his abandoned plate.
“Does Bianca seem okay to you?” Syd asks him.
“I think she’s just a little stressed.” He turns to Damian as he chews. “You two have made yourselves at home here. Now you’ve got to pack up your entire lives and move on.”
“We travel light,” Damian counters. “I can throw everything I own into one backpack. B. doesn’t have much more.”
“I guess she likes to be prepared.” Sydney smiles, and they finish their meals.
Even though he cooked, Curtis insists on cleaning the kitchen. Damian and Sydney take the bottle of wine and their glasses to the living room, sink into opposite ends of the sofa.
Syd tops up her glass with barely more than a tablespoon. “Where are you and Bianca off to next?”
“Greece, I think. I’ve heard Milos is beautiful. And fairly cheap.”
“I’ve heard it’s got amazing geography.” Syd takes a sip, stares at him over the rim.
Her gaze feels intense, magnetic. Are they having a moment?
He’s had several drinks, and his infatuation with Sydney may be skewing his judgment.
Damian doesn’t know what’s real between them or if he can trust his own judgment.
He just knows the clock is ticking. He needs to try.
“I might stick around Spain a little longer.” His words are loaded with subtext. “I seem to have grown attached.”
“Oh yeah?” Syd swirls her wine gently. She seems receptive, but it could be wishful thinking. “And how does Bianca feel about that?”
“Bianca and I are going our separate ways.” The words have been uttered before he can think them through. “We’re not angry or fighting. We just want different things out of life. Our futures will be better if we spend them apart.”
“That’s a big decision.”
“It’s the right one.” And it feels true. Two and a half million is enough for both Damian and Bianca to move forward, to be happy, separately. And as his eyes connect with Sydney’s, a confidence fills him. A sense of knowing. He’s creating the life he’s always wanted.
Curtis enters, wiping his hands on a dish towel. His timing is impeccable. “How are your drinks?” he asks brightly. “Shall I open another bottle?”
“Why not?” Damian tears his gaze from Syd’s, smiles up at her husband. “It’s our last night, after all.”