15. Whiplash
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
whiplash
LINNEA
“You’re here!” Amara greets us outside the door as we arrive. I accept her hug, and her near-cheek kisses. She’s careful not to smudge her red lipstick on my face.
Last night she was dressed up for her engagement party, but today is brunch, and still she’s ravishing in her turquoise wrap dress.
“Mum, you look gorgeous as always,” Aiden says, bending for a hug and kiss on the cheek. She wipes the lipstick off his skin.
“Gioia mia,” she croons. Her smile resembles Aiden’s but her face is small and heart-shaped, so his strong jaw and dented chin must be from his father.
She gestures for us to follow her through. Aiden walks behind me and I turn to him with a smile, celebrating that the first thirty seconds went well. But his gaze is on the floor as he walks and seems to be chewing the inside of his cheek. Where is his mind?
We come out the back to her stone-paved, tree-lined courtyard, the sun beating down on the space from high in the sky.
“Hey, Will,” Aiden calls out from behind me, and I’m startled by the sudden shift. From the pensive expression inside when he didn’t see me looking to this over-the-top greeting. Aiden gives a wide-eyed Will a large hug, and laughs as he pats his back after.
“Did you already start your Aperol, Aiden?” Will says, laughing, patting Aiden’s back reassuringly.
“No, but I could really do with one.”
“I’ll go make some. Linnea, lovely to see you,” Will adds and gives me a polite peck on the cheek.
“You too.”
“Aperol Spritz for you as well?”
“That’d be lovely, thank you.”
Amara has opened the parasol over the wooden lounge, and we all take our seats in the shade.
“Why don’t you get a housekeeper, Mum? She could make your drinks for you. Do all this stuff.” Aiden waves at the pillows Amara is straightening in the outdoor sofa opposite us.
She keeps her eyes on him while sitting down.
“Oh, no. Your dad always said that, too, I don’t get it. I like doing things myself, and Will and I want to live sustainably. I can’t keep living off your generosity now it’ll be two of us.”
“But your honeymoon is a gift and you will accept it.”
“With all the gratitude, my son. The Maldives will be a fairy tale.” She turns to me. “Isn’t he just too kind? Always giving, giving, giving."
“Yes,” I say, not sure where to put my hands or how to sit on this oversized outdoor sofa. I reach out to Aiden, it’ll probably be more natural to hold his hand.
But he’s not looking at me.
Amara’s gaze flits down at my hand between me and Aiden and up at her son. He’s staring into space again.
“So, Linnea, you’re Norwegian?”
“I am, but I grew up all over.”
“Why?”
“My parents were IT expats, so we moved around a lot. They implemented software for large companies worldwide.”
“Are they still with us?”
“Yes, oh, I said were. Yes, they’re just retired. In Oslo.”
I reach out to Aiden again, and when he doesn’t move his hand towards mine I plant mine in his.
He doesn’t want to touch me. He’s still not looking at me. Just down at our hands. Is he so off me after yesterday, he can’t even pretend anymore?
“Do they visit you often?” Amara asks. “Will I get a chance to meet them?”
“Oh…”
Aiden faces me in my periphery. We’ve not talked about family yet. Only briefly. He’s probably curious too.
How much do I share?
They were always work-focused and our relationship is shallow, at best, and I suspect my mother never wanted to be a mother in the first place?
Nah.
“They’re quite finished with travelling. I’ll see them for Christmas, I guess.”
Amara purses her lips, and my stomach churns in the silence.
“Tell us about your grandfather,” Aiden says and squeezes my hand before I spiral. I glance up at him. Can he see the relief in my eyes? I thank him silently with a twitch of my lips, and he mirrors me before turning to his mum again. “Linnea’s grandfather taught her how to play croquet.”
“He taught me most things I know. He was quite the man,” I say. “I spent every summer with him until I was twenty-eight. He taught me to fish, drive a boat, and play chess, poker and rummy.”
I pause, the memories flashing behind my eyes. From all the summer evenings spent playing cards and boardgames on his terrace, to the campfires and burnt marshmallows by the shore. My grandfather’s eyes as he looked at me with the adoration I missed from his daughter.
I clear my throat, pushing that thought away.
“We’d read all kinds of books together,” I continue. “From The Hobbit to Nancy Drew. Darker crime novels when I got older. He was a police officer in his day.”
Will returns with a tray full of drinks and I catch my breath.
Eek, I’ve been babbling.
But Amara is grinning at me. “Your grandfather sounds like a beautiful soul. Aiden’s dad was like that with Aiden, and it was such a joy to watch them together.
He’s just like him in so many ways.” Her eyes shimmer, staring at her son with a soft smile.
Aiden has let go of my hand and is already deep into his bright orange summer drink.
“Thank you, Will,” he says when he finally comes up for air. “You make the best Aperol Spritz. Just the perfect amount of Prosecco.” He does a chef’s kiss, and I catch Amara eyeing him with a slight crease on her brow.
“Take it easy, Aiden, we don’t want a hole in the wall in this house.”
She laughs, that loud contagious laugh, but I think I’ve missed the joke. Aiden chuckles, shaking his head before taking another sip.
Will sits down across from me. He has that calm, lopsided smile on, and a glint in his grey-green eyes. He’s like a Zen garden, if a Zen garden were a person. Such a soothing presence. Especially when my fake boyfriend is acting weird and I’m not sure what the hell to do about it.
“Aiden, please help me with the food,” Amara says as she gets up from her chair. She takes the drink out of his hand and puts it on the table before pulling on his hand. “Andiamo, gioia mia.”
I know this one. It means ‘let’s go’, but I wonder what his nickname is.
It’s just me and Will now. And the sound of Amara talking to Aiden in Italian all the way from the kitchen. It sounds heated, but I can’t tell whether she’s angry or if that’s her normal volume.
“So the wedding is in Devon?” I say, reaching for my drink again.
“Yes, at my brother’s house. We grew up there together, so it’ll be special.”
“I’ve never been.”
Will chuckles, sensing my terrible small-talk abilities, I’m sure.
“You should come down early, enjoy the countryside.” His voice is a low, slow bass rumble.
“I’d love that. And I can help out with getting the venue ready if you need it.”
“I’ll mention it to Amara, I’m sure she’d want to spend some time with you as well.”
I nod, and a strange huff of air escapes me. Did I just promise myself away for alone time with my fake boyfriend’s mother? Lifting my Aperol to my lips, I hope to hide the unease that just washed over me.
“Aiden seems off today,” Will says, and I nearly choke on my drink.
“Umm.” I wipe my chin. “Yeah… I guess he does.”
“Hm.”
“How did you and Amara meet?” I ask, desperate for a change of subject.
Will folds his hands in his lap and a slow smile spreads on his face. “We met at a market when I was selling my art,” he starts but waves a hand when my eyes widen in surprise. “It’s nothing big, just a hobby after I retired. Anyway, it was about a year ago now.”
“And you knew right away?” I quirk an eyebrow at him.
He chuckles and grabs his dewy goblet of Aperol.
It leaves a ring of water on the wooden table.
“Not exactly. I noticed her straight away, of course. She’s vibrant, as you’ve seen.
She kept coming back. Bought more and more of my artwork, and considering it’s not exactly Renoir, I thought maybe…
” He shrugs, blushing, and it’s the sweetest thing I’ve seen.
“We talked more every time. When I finally asked if she wanted to grab a drink, I was already head over heels.”
“That’s lovely.”
“Neither of us imagined we’d find love again at our age, but here we are.”
“Do you have children from a previous marriage?”
He shakes his head. “No. Neither of us married our earlier loves, so it’ll be extra special for us both to share our wedding vows, knowing they are words just for us.”
Amara and Aiden exit the house, and we leave our conversation there. What Will just said makes a weird kind of sense, though. I archive it away—this is not the time or place to start asking questions about Amara’s past love.
“Check it out,” Aiden says, his voice loud and showy. “Pastries, cheeses, fruits, meats. Something for everyone.”
He stoops down and kisses the top of my head.
“Here we are, sweetheart,” he says, still in that theatrical voice. “Isn’t this great?” He waves a hand at nothing in particular and my eyebrows shoot up.
Jesus Christ, this man is giving me whiplash today.
I turn to Amara instead, trying to rearrange my face to a normal one. “This is all very lovely,” I say and she beams in response.
“Will, darling,” she says. “Help me fetch some plates, please.”
“Get the deck of cards, please, too,” Aiden says. “And another Aperol, please. Or just a wine. I’ll have some white wine.”
His knee bounces under the table, and he leans over the spread, grabbing a piece of fluffy white bread. The crust crumbles all over the floor as he breaks a piece off it.
“What’s going on with you today?” I whisper.
He stuffs a large piece of bread into his mouth and gestures that he needs to finish chewing before he can talk.
“Will said you’re being different. Even I can tell.”
“Hm,” he grunts through the mouthful of bread.
“Can you calm down?” I whisper, putting my hand on his bouncing knee, finding his eyes with mine.
He stops moving his leg. Stops chewing. Just stares at me.
Then he closes his eyes and leans back on the cushion.
He chews and swallows his food, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“I’m really sorry,” he says. “This is just so hard.”
“Yeah, deceiving someone you love shouldn’t be easy.”
“What?” He sits up, his eyes wide. “Oh, Mum. Yes.” He leans back again. “That’s it.”