Page 36 of The Villa

“I have eyes, Mare,” Lara says, nudging her. “And he clearly has taste.”

She snuggles in close to Mari again, all easy affection because that’s Lara. Mari has always felt her own prickliness acutely, knows that she’s not easy to talk to or really get to know. Lara, though… it’s all out there with Lara, and there are moments, like now, that Mari is glad for it.

Still, Mari wishes things were different with her and Lara. That they could just be sisters, sisters who love each other, sisters who aren’t vying for the same thing.

For the same man.

But that was always their way, wasn’t it? Before Pierce, it was Mari’s father. Lara had been twelve, nearly thirteen, when her mother had married William Godwick, but that hadn’t stopped her from calling him “Papa,” from running to him every evening when he got home to regale him with some story from school or a new book she’d read or an album she’d listened to.

Mari had always thought it was a little sad, how eager Larahad been for William’s attention, but then her father always indulged it, always smiled fondly at Lara in a way he never did at Mari, no matter her accomplishments.

Maybe Lara was simply easier to love because she wasn’t a living reminder of the woman William had loved and lost. Or maybe it’s something in Mari herself that makes men she loves, be they father or lover, look for something else in Lara.

That’s over,she tells herself.They both promised you it would never happen again, and, besides, Lara’sclearlyhung up on Noel now.

But when Mari glances over at Lara, it’s not Noel she’s watching with those dark eyes.

And Pierce stares back. Not for long, and his eyes almost immediately slide to Mari, but his fingers nearly miss the note. Suddenly Lara’s skin feels uncomfortably warm and damp next to hers.

She’s thinking about going up to bed when something in Pierce’s playing shifts. The song becomes less hesitant, more solid, and then Noel finally picks up his own guitar.

The candles flicker and make eerie shapes on the wall while outside, the rain continues to pour down, thunder rattling the panes of glass in the windows. The storm that had not so long ago made her feel claustrophobic and trapped now makes the room seem cozy and close in a good way. Like their own universe.

Then Noel starts to play, and Mari instantly understands.

All the drugs and the women and the men, all the wild, dark rumors, all of that is both a distraction from and an offshoot of what this man can do with his guitar, his voice, and his words.

His elegant fingers move over the strings, and later, Mari will try to recall the exact melody of this song. Noel will never play it again, certainly never record it, and years after thisnight, when she asks him about it, he’ll swear to not remember even playing.

But Mari will remember, and this song will stay with her.

Noel begins to sing in that low voice she’s heard a thousand times on the radio. It’s different in person, though, and her heart seems to beat both a little harder and a little slower in her chest.

This, she understands, is the Noel people fall in love with.

And then there’s another soft chord as Pierce picks up his guitar again, too. He finds the harmonies easily, Noel lifting his head to give the other man a surprisingly kind smile. Pierce practically glows in response, and the song continues, lifting, falling, raising goose bumps on Mari’s arms.

When it ends, there’s no sound except the patter of the rain on the windows, and Mari’s own breathing in her ears.

“That was gorgeous,” Lara enthuses, and not even her bright energy can quite puncture the moment, which feels heavy with meaning, with… something that Mari can’t quite put a finger on.

They play more songs, that night, Noel and Pierce. Songs of Noel’s, including Mari’s favorite, “Autumn Sun.” They play songs they each like, Pierce’s sweet voice lending unexpected depth to lighter tunes like “I Wanna Hold Your Hand,” Noel’s famous velvet baritone turning “California Dreamin’” wry and less wistful.

Eventually Lara gets up from the sofa, clearly intending for Noel to follow.

He doesn’t, of course, and there’s another muffled slamming of a door upstairs, but by then, Mari is drowsy and happy, content to watch Pierce and this man he admires so much create music in the candlelight.

She’s not sure when she falls asleep exactly. The musicmakes everything soft and hazy, lulling her into dreams. Mari’s never been a fan of drugs, barely drinks more than a glass or two of wine, but she thinks this is what those kinds of altered escapes must feel like, this slow slide, like slipping into a warm bath.

When she wakes up, the music has stopped, and she opens her eyes to see Pierce and Noel are now standing, their guitars abandoned.

It takes her a moment to make sense of what she’s seeing. Noel’s mouth on Pierce’s, Pierce’s hand almost tentative on Noel’s waist underneath that dressing gown. Pierce has always seemed so tall to her, but Noel is taller, his grip surprisingly strong in Pierce’s soft brown hair.

When they part, Pierce’s face is flushed, his throat moving as he swallows hard, and when he looks over at Mari, she waits for the guilt to flash across his face, for outrage to rise in her.

But Pierce only watches her, his gaze steady and warm, and there’s no anger in her at all, she realizes. Only a sort of vague disappointment that they’ve stopped.

Then Pierce turns toward her even as his hand never leaves Noel’s waist. “Come here, Mari,” he says, his voice soft, and she gets up from the sofa, wondering if she’s still dreaming.

---