Page 39 of One Bed

‘Hey, anyone here? Golly, where are you?’

Everyone whipped around at the masculine voice drifting down the passage, followed by footsteps. As the twins walked into the kitchen, bearing bags from Harrods and Fortnum & Mason, Bea realised she hadn’t got the reassurance she so desperately needed from Golly. That Lou wasn’t going to rock up and ruin the weekend, and Bea’s holiday.

Dammit. And now Golly would use the arrival of the Two Jacks, as she called them, to delay having that conversation.

While Golly introduced the twins to Cass and Nadia, and Nadia started hauling edible goodies out of the bags, including olives from Lesbos and cheese from an artisanal dealer in Yorkshire, Bea picked up Golly’s phone and swiped the screen.

If Golly wouldn’t give her mother the heave-ho, she would. She was typing the message when Reena gently tugged the phone out of her hands.

‘It’s not your phone, and it’s not up to you to reply to your mother. This is Golly’s house, this weekend is for her, and you have no say in who she invites,’ Reena added.

‘Reena,come on! You know Lou poisons everything she touches!’ Bea hissed.

‘Don’t do it, Bea. It’s wrong, and you know it’s wrong. And you’ll regret it.’

The thing about Reena was that she so rarely interfered, when she did, her words carried a lot of weight. And,shit, she was right. Bea had no right to respond on Golly’s behalf. It was her life and her party, and she could invite whom she wanted, even if that person was Bea’s narcissistic, selfish, uncaring, had-the-maternal-instincts-of-a-black-widow-spider mother.

Before she could argue any further, she found herself in Jack’s arms, being lifted off her feet and whirled around. Her feet touched the floor again, and she heard the noise levels in the kitchen rise. Golly told Cass to open another bottle of wine – what the hell, two – and just like that Bea knew that, like Gib, she needed some quiet.

When the attention was off her, she followed in Gib’s footsteps, slipping out of the kitchen and into the night.

* * *

Gib found himself waiting for Bea, annoyed by his inability to settle down, read his book, and enjoy the quiet. When she didn’t return to the cottage after an hour, he decided to walk off some of his irrational frustration.

Pulling on a thin hoodie, he ambled through the olive grove, his hands in his pockets. Emerging between the house and the cottage, he walked through the courtyard that would, on Saturday night, be covered in tables, and no doubt exquisitely decorated by Cass. For now, unlit lights were draped from one wing to the other, the moonlight glinting off the occasional bulb. Veering into the garden, Gib cursed when a stray bougainvillaea branch snagged his shirt and his skin, its sharp thorn pulling blood to the surface.

The moon peeked out between UFO-looking clouds, and the sea made a soft whoosh-whoosh sound in the distance. It was a cool, but lovely night.

How long had it been since he’d noticed the nuances of his environment? The way the moonlight bounced off the sea, the deep blue of the night, the pop of starlight? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d walked through the countryside in the dark.

He was so far from his real life, a million miles from the hustle of Nashville, London and New York City. He’d deliberately on purpose forgotten to charge his phone, so he was unaware of what emails had landed, whether there were fires he needed to put out, clients he needed to reassure, or employees he needed to promote or fire.

He’d have to check in tomorrow, but tonight he’d give himself the gift of being free of work-related worries.

He’d stepped out of his own life and instead of having a relaxing holiday and getting to know the island as an adult, he’d stumbled into Bea’s world. He’d enjoyed dinner earlier–Nadia was a fantastic cook! –and had been content to listen to the lively conversation. But when Golly had turned her spotlight onto him, he’d immediately removed himself.

Unlike his Uncle Hugh and Navy, Gib wasn’t good with people. He knew he could only cope with Golly in small, very small, doses. He was an excellent manager, he knew that to be true, he gave clear instructions, and didn’t ask for the impossible or the inane. He didn’t play games, but he expected people to give their best, and then some. He was the boss, and he didn’t socialise with his employees after hours. But, despite striving to keep his distance, he still had to network, to meet with clients, investors and partners, with suppliers. He was constantly pressing hands, making small talk, negotiating deals.

The CEO position required him to become an extroverted introvert and after nearly burning out this year, he knew he needed time away from people and drama, solitude and quiet, to recharge his batteries.

Yet, here he was, standing on the outside, watching Bea’s family drama. Why? Why wasn’t he taking the opportunity for some solitude? Why was he still in the cottage? Why the hell hadn’t he demanded a refund from Golly and found another place to stay?

Because …Bea.

Shefascinatedhim. She was a study in contrasts … prickly and sweet, tangy and hot. Her eyes held secrets and pain. What caused the light frown marks between her eyebrows, the tiny creases at the corner of her eyes? Why was her smile sometimes hesitant, why did it seldom reach her eyes?

And why did it seem she was always waiting for the other shoe to drop?

He approached the wooden deck built over the edge of the swimming pool, designed to resemble a wild pond. In the darkness, he could see the shadows of the water plants poking through the nooks and crannies between the boulders surrounding the pool. And sitting on the edge of the deck, her bare feet dangling in the water sat Bea, holding the weight of the world on her slim shoulders.

He should back away, leave her in peace, but …fuck. Not gonna happen.

At the edge of the deck, he kicked off his flip flops and stepped onto the smooth planks, still warm from the sun. Instead of sitting beside her, he slid in behind Bea, his thighs on either side of her hips. His toes skimmed the surface of the water. It was warmer than expected, and he realised the pool was heated.

Bea tensed, and he told her to relax. He kept his left hand on her hip while he picked up the wine bottle beside her. He recognised it as the nearly full one from dinner earlier and removed the cork with his teeth. He handed her the bottle of chilled Chenin Blanc and rested his chin on her shoulder while she took a deep sip from the bottle, then another.

He knew the value of silence, so he simply wrapped his arms around her waist and waited. She’d either talk or she wouldn’t, he couldn’t force her. He hated people prying into his mind, loathed being peppered with intrusive questions, so he’d let her be.

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