Page 7 of Her Dark Lies
I try to mimic the way theRrolls off his tongue and bungle it massively, which makes Jack laugh.
“I’ve been studying the tapes and everything. I swear it.”
“Say it slowly, like this. Sko-lee-AIR-a. It means cliffside.”
“Skola-air-a.”
“Close. Emphasis on the third syllable, and roll yourR,” he says, planting a soft kiss on my cheek. “Chef Boy-ARRR-dee. Sko-lee-AIRRR-a. You can just call it the Villa, you know. No one will mind.”
“I need to learn Italian properly.”
“And you will. But let’s focus on one thing at a time, shall we? We have our whole lives ahead for me to teach you.”
Our whole lives. Lives that can be changed in an instant.
Stop it, Claire.
“The terrace is lovely. Is it special? Historically important? Did Medusa stand there or something?”
He rolls his eyes. “Not Medusa. Venus, maybe. The whole island is loaded with odes to Venus. No, my dear, it’s special because that’s where you will spend your first night as Mrs. Compton. Just you, and me—”
“And thirty of our nearest and dearest.”
He laughs. “Well, they won’t be watching what we get up to in there. Besides, I’ve been told the bed is magic.”
There is something...wistful on his face. I run my hand from his cheek to his temple, smoothing back his too-long hair. There is the lightest sprinkling of silver in his part, just a few hairs here and there, lending him a serious, studious air.
“A magic bed? What, does it fly?” I tease.
“In a way. Rumor has it ladies tend to get knocked up on their wedding nights. My grandmother and my mother swear by it.”
“Ah.” A deep sense of foreboding seizes me, and I instinctually scan my body for any signs of pregnancy. It’s a reflex, something I’ve done regularly since we first became intimate. An accidental pregnancy terrifies me. I can only imagine the headlines, how I’d be portrayed. Prevailing wisdom: a woman like me can only land a man like Jackson Compton if I get pregnant and he is forced to do the right thing.
I run my mind over our sexual escapades from the past month. I had my implant taken out; it was making me feel terrible. I have been taking my pills on time, haven’t I? We’ve been careful, yes?
Stop it. You’re being paranoid.
Yes, of course we’ve been careful. The dull ache deep in my stomach is certainly my impending monthly, just in time to ruin our wedding night. The malaise I’ve been feeling for the past couple of days is stress and travel related. I’ve never flown well, even short hops leave me with a headache, clammy and uncomfortable. Add in a mild concussion and a boat on slightly stormy seas? I’d gone to the doctor for a preventative motion sickness patch before we left; it is helping tamp down some of the nausea from the bump on my head, too.
The long night coupled with the long journey from Nashville to Naples is catching up to me. We’d been forced—quelle horreur—to fly first class on Delta instead of being chauffeured across the sea in the family jet. Jack’s father is flying in from Africa, where he’s been on business with Jack’s brother Elliot. As heads of the company, their travel needs take precedence.
Yes, it was a terrible burden for me to be waited upon by the dark-eyed flight attendants with their prettily accented Italian and sly smiles for Jack. The wine was plentiful, the carbonara and crusty bread delicious, the lay-down beds surprisingly comfortable. I’d only disliked being separated from Jack. He was in the cozy suite behind me, and I felt all alone, watching the flight attendants’ faces light up with pleasure as they walked past me to tend to Jack’s needs.
The breeze picks up, and I realize Jack is looking at me curiously. “Everything okay?”
“Yes, but good grief, don’t wish a baby on us just yet. I want to be married for a while, first.”
“No promises, darling. My parents will explode with happiness at the idea of another heir.”
There is a certain hopefulness in his voice. Jack is a decade older than me. A widower. His first life was stolen from him. He is ready to start a family. I understand. He’s already experienced so much. I’m only getting started. I’m not ready for a child. I might not ever be ready. I need to tell him that, before the wedding. In case it’s a deal breaker.
I take a deep breath. “Jack?”
“Yes, darling?”
But we are interrupted by a call from the upper deck. Gideon, beckoning. “We need you for a moment, Jack.”
Jack squeezes my shoulder. “Be right back.”
