“For being too good-looking.”
He scowls, which is at odds with the blush illuminating his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He’s beautiful when he’s embarrassed.
He takes a couple of deep breaths. “Behave.”
“I’m trying.”
Mum’s lying on the sunbed, her face tilted to the sky. She’s too far away for me to tell if she has her eyes closed. Barry is sitting on the edge of the pool in the shade, his back to us, dangling his legs in the water and patting his bald head with a handkerchief.
I hop to my feet and peck Jacob’s lips.
“What are you doing?” His face is even more flushed than before.
“You make me tactile.” I wink at him, kiss him again, and then release him as Barry stands.
By the time Barry faces the villa, I’m sitting and innocently sipping the water Jacob gave me.
“Oh, you made drinks. Thank you, Jacob.” Barry takes a drink from the tray. “You should come outside. The weather is beautiful.”
“No, thanks.” Jacob’s voice is strained.
“This animosity towards Molly has to end. You’re an adult. Stop acting like a child.”
Tension floods my body. Over the last few days, I’ve discovered I hate how Barry talks down to Jacob. It’s me he should be angry with, not Jacob. I’m the reason Jacob is on edge. I shouldn’t have kissed him. How can I fix this?
Jacob’s knuckles turn white. The two remaining glasses rattle on the tray. “It’s too hot outside.”
“Nonsense. Stop making excuses.”
“Itistoo hot,” I say. Which isn’t a lie. It’s uncomfortably hot outside, especially under the brilliant glare of the sun.
Barry looks between us. Why doesn’t he accuse me of ‘making excuses’? He grumbles something under his breath, takes a second glass for Molly, and stomps outside.
Jacob releases a breath. The tension in his body dissipates.
“Sorry,” I say.
“It’s not your fault.”
Isn’t it? “Do you want to get out of here? We could go for a walk.”
“After we’ve just said it’s too hot to sit outside? I don’t think it would go down well, do you?”
I shake my head.
Jacob sighs. “Maybe coming on this holidaywasa mistake.”
My chin trembles. “You didn’t think that yesterday.”
“That was different.”
We weren’t here, trapped like peas in a pod with Mum and Barry.
He deposits the tray beside the sink and sits on a chair adjacent to mine, holding his glass in both hands, not looking at me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. It’s just hard.”
“And even harder when I go and do dumb things like kissing you,” I whisper.
“I liked that you kissed me.” He keeps his voice just as low.
