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‘Was everything okay?’
Valentina had come to clear the table.
‘It was delicious. I wonder if I might be able to have the recipe. Bunet is my father’s favourite dessert.’
Watching Lily smile up at the housekeeper, he felt an unfamiliar pang of envy, both for that smile and the way her eyes softened when she mentioned her father. It was the same, he noticed, whenever any of her family called or texted. Her face, her voice would alter because, despite the part they had played in getting her here, her love for them was clearly unconditional. And they loved her, too, and he felt uncomfortable at having so casually exploited that love.
Uncomfortable too with that hunted look on her face when she talked about people saying things about her, presumably on the Internet. He had no idea what mud they could throw at Lily. She was smart and hard-working and loyal and brave and passionate. Not that she was perfect, he told himself, feeling his body twitch in response to just how passionate Lily could be. She was stubborn and snippy too. But still, he didn’t like knowing that she had been picked on in that way.
‘Prendiamo il caffè in salotto, per favore,’ he said quietly to Valentina, then, pushing back his chair, he turned to Lily. ‘Shall we?’ It was a question but also an assumption and he took a step back to allow her to pass.
It was four hours since she had taken his hand and led him into that clearing and his body was still flushed with post-orgasm dopamine so that it had taken a little while for him to register it, but at some point between then and her walking out of the bathroom, something had changed.
She had changed.
At first, he’d thought it was just her blouse. She had done up the remaining buttons in their correct order, which was a pity. How Lily looked after sex was one of the things that gave him the greatest pleasure. Ever since that first time, he had loved knowing that he was responsible for her hair tumbling loose over her shoulder. Loved, too, the contrast with how prim and poised she normally looked.
But there was more going on than a few adjustments to her blouse.
On the way back to the villa she had got quieter, and, even though they had been holding hands, he had been able to feel her retreating from him so that every time he’d glanced over at her, she had been a little more out of reach. And now she was so distant and distracted it felt as if she were behind glass.
His eyes rested on the faint red marks on her bare shoulder where, earlier that day, his stubble had scraped against her skin.
And it didn’t take a genius to work out what was on her mind.
She looked up at him then, her grey eyes resting on his face then moving past his shoulder as if it hurt her to look at him.
Which was ridiculous, he thought, with a flicker of irritation, given that her body had been fused to his for most of the afternoon.
‘Is everything okay?’
‘Everything’s fine. I think I caught the sun earlier.’
He glanced over at her pale face, his chest tightening. Now she wasn’t just holding back, she was lying. And it didn’t make any sense that he should mind. This whole arrangement was a web of lies, but that was hard for him too, although he doubted that she’d believe that.
Somewhere in his head he could hear his mother’s voice as she made up yet another excuse.
Of course, she had plenty of practice, he thought, his eyes moving past Lily’s face to the classical acoustic piano at the other end of the room. His father had often been late or he would change his plans at the last minute. Nothing was sacred. Not anniversaries or school sports day or birthdays.
There were so many to choose from but one in particular stood out. He and his mother had flown to Italy for Spring Break. It had been the weekend of his father’s birthday, but Charlie had been studying for his exams and had stayed on at grad school to revise, and Henry Sr had been due to join them but then, inevitably, he had called to say that he would be delayed.
Trip felt his gaze drift back through the house, seeing his eleven-year-old self. He had been out riding all afternoon and come back hungry, and feeling guilty because he had left his mother on her own. But the house had been so quiet that for a moment he’d thought it was empty.
And then he’d heard it. A tiny catch of breath, like a gasp.
She had been sitting at the piano in this very room and at first he had thought she was singing softly to herself as she had sometimes when it had just been the two of them. Then he’d realised she was crying. Which had been the other, more likely option. But no child wanted to find their mother weeping.
Not that his mother had seemed to realise that. Her face had stiffened but it had been several moments before her hand had risen like a brushstroke to wipe away the tears.
‘Everything’s fine. It’s this melody, it always makes me weep.’
His childish self had accepted her explanation. But then six weeks ago he’d found the letters and the first one he’d picked up had made it clear that his father had been with his mistress that night. Had chosen to be with her instead of his family.
He felt the shock of it reverberate through him as if it had only just happened. For so long he had chased the perfection his father had demanded. But all the time Henry had been presenting a perfect front, he had been lying, cheating, deceiving. And constantly calling his youngest son to account.
The memory of his father’s cool, excoriating gaze made his spine stiffen. Or maybe it was that he felt like a hypocrite for getting so out of shape with Lily for lying to him when he’d made her an unwitting and unwilling accomplice to his lies.
His jaw tightened. But her lying to him was different from the two of them deceiving other people. Her lies were personal, and it hurt because, confusingly and without precedence, he found that he cared about what she thought of him.
