Page 62 of Pretender

“Did I tell you we lived in Cuba for five years?” she asks and sips her gin.

“No?”

“When I was eleven or so. It was boring being in the secured expat compound, but when we got to venture out….” She sighs. “That’s when my inner designer sparked to life. Have you ever been there?”

I shake my head.

“Cuba is so vibrant and fun. Bold colours, dark woods, palm trees.”

“Like the Pink Room?” I ask.

“Inspired by Cuban style, indeed.”

“The under-lit bar as well?”

“No, that’s all me.”

“Where else have you lived?”

“Indonesia, Canada, Norway, and then here.”

“From sixteen, right?”

“Yep, after Cuba.”

“Did you leave a trail of broken hearts on your travels?”

She looks at me for a second, as if contemplating whether I’m joking. I love this quirk about her. She answers all my questions—rhetorical or not. I’m not sure if she just doesn’t get my jokes, or if it’s a Norwegian thing, but it’s consistent, and it’s rather charming.

“No, I didn’t,” she responds.

I stifle a smile. It’s clear she’s not aware of her own power. Especially over me.

“I made some good friends here and there,” she continues, “but it wasn’t easy. We were all expat kids and didn’t really bond deeply. I made my best friends once I got to uni here in London.”

“Jamie and Sophie?”

“Exactly.” She grins. “Have you been back to Sicily where your mum’s from?”

“Marzamemi. No, I haven’t.”

“Anywhere else in Italy then?”

I trace my lower lip with a thumb.

“I went to a fashion show in Milan with a date, but it wasn’t the best night. I’ve not travelled as much as I’d wanted, to be honest.”

“No?”

I shake my head. “No one I enjoyed travelling with enough, and my friends and I have worked most of our lives.”

“What’s the point of all your money if you can’t take the time to enjoy it?”

I bite down. That’s what I’ve always said to Mark. What happened to me in the last few years?

“Let’s go,” I say.

“What?”