Chapter 23 #2
‘We aren’t together, Luc, I can do what I want.’
‘You retaliated, is what I’m saying.’
‘I’m not petty.’
‘Really?’ Luc’s eyes are wide, searching my face.
‘Maybe it’s best we just leave it.’ He shakes his head.
‘We have nothing if we don’t have trust.’ He pauses.
‘Why would I wait until we got home after the game to ask you about how your voice is feeling and how the vocal therapy is going if I was just going to sell the story to the papers? Why would I care that much about someone overhearing and leaking it if I was just going to tell the story anyway?’ He runs his hands through his curls.
‘Think about this logically for a second, Sienna. It makes no sense.’
He shakes his head. ‘We’ve been acting like we’re actually in a relationship. Which maybe we should, I don’t know, have made into a clearer rule, or something.’ Luc sips his wine. ‘Not sure which of the official rules we broke there, but feels a bit at odds with the whole fakeness of it, no?’
I don’t say anything, instead swilling my wine around in the bottom of my glass without any real intention of drinking it. I take one of the olives and nibble around the pit. I’ve been backed into a corner.
‘I think you’re just looking for an excuse to bolt,’ Luc mumbles. His voice is flat, eyes dull. ‘Well, this is your out. If you want to bolt, go. You’ve sold the tickets now, so I guess you don’t need me anymore.’
Another couple sit down on the other side of the courtyard but don’t look in our direction.
‘We can talk about it later?’ I offer. ‘In private.’
Kareem will be here in thirty minutes.
‘I did not sell that story to the newspaper, and I’m not defending myself for something I didn’t do again,’ Luc says.
Another couple arrive, sitting closer to us this time.
The next thirty minutes pass painfully slowly.
We both order a glass of our favourite wine: the first Pinot Grigio.
We drink them in silence, taking in the view and listen to other people’s conversations, not understanding a word of the Italian, to avoid having our own.
A third couple sit at the table next to ours.
They got engaged two days ago and still haven’t told their families.
I try to work out whether that’s because their families wouldn’t approve – they do look young – or because they want to tell them in person.
I try to sneak glances at the ring, but I can’t see it from here, just the light bouncing off the diamond.
They’re talking about how they never want to leave their bubble, and, for the first time, I know the feeling.
This morning, I wanted to stay at home with Luc for the rest of the year, ignoring everything else, any other responsibilities, any other people, any health concerns.
To just keep going without having the conversation that we would keep going.
To trick my head into letting my heart make that decision.
I’m going to have to face up to the fact that I haven’t protected myself. That any hurt I feel from here on in is solely my fault.
We both jump up when Kareem starts to pull up the driveway, ready to get out of here.
I try to pay at the desk with my credit card, but I can’t remember my pin.
I haven’t used the card in so long – usually someone else does this stuff for me.
I tap in two different numbers of what I think it could be and neither of them are right.
If I get it wrong for a third time, will they block my card?
Luc leans over and puts his card in the slot, seamlessly typing in his own number and removing it without a receipt.
The vineyard takes a photo of us in front of the beautiful view for their Instagram and gifts us bottles of Pinot Grigio and Chianti to take home as a thank you.
I promise to tag them when I share photos on Instagram.
I disappear into the unused bedroom as soon as we unlock the door to the villa and throw myself, tummy first, on the bed. I ignore my stomach when it rumbles so deeply, it feels like the noise is going to come out of my mouth. My body is heavy, my bones sinking into the hard Mediterranean mattress.
I’m a long way from this morning when I was wondering whether Luc could really be it for me. Whether I could finally settle down with someone and be that person everyone wants me to be.
The signal here is awful, so I opt for calling Jess on WhatsApp to use the slightly less awful WiFi. The phone rings against my ear more times than I would like before Jess finally answers. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ she says. ‘I was letting the cat out.’
I freeze. ‘You don’t have a cat.’
‘Lucifer. My neighbour’s.’
‘Oh, that prick.’
‘I was about to protest, but no you’re right.’ There’s a rustling on the other end of the line. ‘He’s already bitten me three times.’
‘What did you do to earn that?’
‘Gave him a plate of food. He didn’t like the flavour.’ More rustling. ‘How are you two lovebirds doing? Did Luc love his gift?’
I take a deep breath. ‘Any chance you can fly here for a hug?’
Jess laughs. ‘You know I love you, but that is terrible for the environment, and you’ll be home tomorrow.’
I blink slowly to try to stem the tears.
‘You okay, chicken pie? Why do you need a hug from me and not the gorgeous man in your company?’
‘You know Dennis isn’t one for hugs. Not professional enough for him,’ I grumble.
‘Stop deflecting, Sienna Martin,’ she scolds.
‘Have you seen the story?’
‘About your voice?’ Jess asks. She sounds sad. Nearly as sad as I feel. ‘I did.’
‘It must have been Luc…’
‘I don’t think it was, personally.’ A cupboard slams. ‘Sorry, doing a hundred different things here.’ A clashing of ceramic and the suction of her teabag storage. ‘I didn’t want to tell you about the story while you were on holiday, but I spoke to the journalist. I asked for her source.’
I sit up straight. ‘What did she say?’
‘She wouldn’t tell me who sent her the story, obviously, because they have to protect their sources, blah, blah. But she did tell me that it was a woman who sent her the story.’
‘A… woman?’
‘Yeah.’ The fridge shuts on the other end of the phone. ‘Obviously it wasn’t me or Mimi.’ The mug hits a coaster, and I hear Jess sink into the sofa cushions. ‘I think it was Mauve, Sienna.’
Mauve. My mother. Selling stories.
You really can’t trust anyone.
I hate that I’m not shocked.
‘Luc told me he doesn’t want it to end,’ I blurt.
A pause on the other end. ‘Well, I’m not really surprised – you flew the guy to Tuscany.’ The sound of her email notification on her laptop. ‘And we both know that you haven’t exactly been law-abiding citizens when it comes to this fake relationship.’
I wince, cringing even more than when she actually caught us.
‘How do you feel about that?’ She sips her tea.
‘Luc said me thinking the leak was him was me looking for an excuse to bolt.’ I pause. ‘But it has to end… it was never the deal for it to continue.’
It’s better that we just stick to the business arrangement, the rules. We’ve had our fun, but we need to stop before someone really gets hurt. This isn’t like last time. There’s too much at stake now.
We’re not young anymore. I can’t waste Luc’s time that he could be spending finding someone who can give him the life he deserves. I can’t let myself get this comfortable with someone.
‘But, Sienna, I hate to break it to you… I think you’re in love with him.’
I don’t say anything, burying my face in the pillow.
‘Sienna, I think you probably are looking for your way out, but I really need you to not push him away,’ Jess says gently. ‘You’ve been so different since…’ she trials off. ‘Why don’t you try it?’
I shake my head violently, my voice muffled by the pillow.
‘It only ends one way.’ I live my life under a microscope – everyone has opinions on everything I say and do.
Does Luc even understand how hard it would be for our relationship to withstand scrutiny like that?
How long before Luc sees that, before he realises that my life is too much for him, that he’ll never be able to have a private moment again for as long as he knows me.
‘I– Luc knows what he’s getting into.’ Jess slurps her tea and gasps when the hot liquid goes down her throat.
‘He didn’t tell his family it’s not real.’ I’m not expecting the sob that escapes my mouth. ‘What if the reason he doesn’t want it to end is so that he doesn’t upset his family? Or, like, because he thinks the media attention from dating me will get his screenplay picked up?’
‘Sie,’ Jess groans. ‘The screenplay has already been picked up, and Hostile Minds was a huge TV show. His CV is brimming.’
‘I will destroy his life, Jess,’ I insist. ‘He might not be able to see it now but… when it ends – because whether it ends at the beginning of the tour as planned, or we try to stay together, it will end – he’ll look back and realise I ruined his life.’
It would be selfish of me to expect Luc to stay in my world forever. To expect him to give up everything he loves about his life. Being able to go to Tesco on a Saturday afternoon, or to the theatre and being able to stay in your seat.
The phone crackles like the WiFi is disconnecting. ‘Everyone I get close to… they all leave. They all realise sooner or later that I have completely destroyed their life.’ I squeeze my eyes shut. ‘They lose their privacy, loads of them end up having to leave their jobs. Do you remember the doctor?’
‘What doctor?’
‘I went on a few dates with a doctor. I don’t know, I was, maybe like twenty-three, twenty-four?’
‘Oh, Doctor Lemon.’
‘Limone, but yes. He had to move to a different hospital hundreds of miles away.’
‘I don’t think that was because of you, Sienna… when his mother was sick and he was going to work at a hospital nearby to be close to her.’
‘Oh,’ I squeak.
‘Don’t run,’ Jess warns. ‘Think about it like this. If your life didn’t have all the… noise, would you want to be with Luc?’