Page 59 of Pretender

“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.”

“Do you want to leave? I could say I’m unwell.”

He sighs, dragging his hands down his face.

“No. We need to play bridge with them, or Mum will never forgive me.”

There’s that half-smile, the one that doesn’t reach his eyes, but it makes me focus on his mouth.

No, don’t do that.

“So that’s the price we pay for this delicious-looking spread?” I ask, forcing my eyes back up to his.

He nods. There’s movement in my periphery, and I put my hand on his cheek. His breath hitches, and it does something funny to my stomach.

In a whisper, close to the ear on the side away from the doorway, I tell him, “They’re watching us from inside.”

He exhales, his breath tickling the side of my face.

His hand brushes up my side and over my shoulder, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He threads his fingers through my hair and pulls me closer. I follow until my nose touches his. I breathe him in. His full lips are parted, and mine are tingling. Remembering.

But he just holds me here, and we breathe together. I can’t move. I don’t want to. It’s like I’m suspended mid-air. Floating. My whole body tingles with every breath we share.

We sit like that for what feels like a long time, but then he shifts and I want him back. But instead he leans his forehead on mine, dropping his hand from my hair. He closes his eyes. Pinches them shut.

“Linnea, I…”