‘Bullshit. You know how those photos looked. And I was not “pictured with Alex Pauls”. You know full well what happened.’
‘I don’t actually. I don’t know what happened in the event. But I have to trust that you didn’t do anything.’
‘We aren’t together, Luc, I can do what I want.’
‘You retaliated, is what I’m saying.’
‘I’m not petty.’
‘Really?’ Luc’s eyes are wide, searching my face. ‘Maybe it’s best we just leave it.’ He shakes his head. ‘We have nothing if we don’t have trust.’ He pauses. ‘Why would I wait until we got home after the game to ask you about how your voice is feeling and how the vocal therapy is going if I was just going to sell the story to the papers? Why would I care that much about someone overhearing and leaking it if I was just going to tell the story anyway?’ He runs his hands through his curls. ‘Think about this logically for a second, Sienna. It makes no sense.’
He shakes his head. ‘We’ve been acting like we’re actually in a relationship. Which maybe we should, I don’t know, have made into a clearer rule, or something.’ Luc sips his wine. ‘Not sure which of the official rules we broke there, but feels a bit at odds with the whole fakeness of it, no?’
I don’t say anything, instead swilling my wine around in the bottom of my glass without any real intention of drinkingit. I take one of the olives and nibble around the pit. I’ve been backed into a corner.
‘I think you’re just looking for an excuse to bolt,’ Luc mumbles. His voice is flat, eyes dull. ‘Well, this is your out. If you want to bolt, go. You’ve sold the tickets now, so I guess you don’t need me anymore.’
Another couple sit down on the other side of the courtyard but don’t look in our direction.
‘We can talk about it later?’ I offer. ‘In private.’
Kareem will be here in thirty minutes.
‘I did not sell that story to the newspaper, and I’m not defending myself for something I didn’t do again,’ Luc says.
Another couple arrive, sitting closer to us this time. The next thirty minutes pass painfully slowly. We both order a glass of our favourite wine: the first Pinot Grigio. We drink them in silence, taking in the view and listen to other people’s conversations, not understanding a word of the Italian, to avoid having our own.
A third couple sit at the table next to ours. They got engaged two days ago and still haven’t told their families. I try to work out whether that’s because their families wouldn’t approve – theydolook young – or because they want to tell them in person. I try to sneak glances at the ring, but I can’t see it from here, just the light bouncing off the diamond. They’re talking about how they never want to leave their bubble, and, for the first time, I know the feeling.
This morning, I wanted to stay at home with Luc for the rest of the year, ignoring everything else, any other responsibilities, any other people, any health concerns. To just keep going without having the conversation that we would keep going. To trick my head into letting my heart make that decision.
I’m going to have to face up to the fact that I haven’t protected myself. That any hurt I feel from here on in is solely my fault.
We both jump up when Kareem starts to pull up the driveway, ready to get out of here. I try to pay at the desk with my credit card, but I can’t remember my pin. I haven’t used the card in so long – usually someone else does this stuff for me. I tap in two different numbers of what I think it could be and neither of them are right. If I get it wrong for a third time, will they block my card?
Luc leans over and puts his card in the slot, seamlessly typing in his own number and removing it without a receipt. The vineyard takes a photo of us in front of the beautiful view for their Instagram and gifts us bottles of Pinot Grigio and Chianti to take home as a thank you. I promise to tag them when I share photos on Instagram.
I disappear into the unused bedroom as soon as we unlock the door to the villa and throw myself, tummy first, on the bed. I ignore my stomach when it rumbles so deeply, it feels like the noise is going to come out of my mouth. My body is heavy, my bones sinking into the hard Mediterranean mattress.
I’m a long way from this morning when I was wondering whether Luc could really be it for me. Whether I could finally settle down with someone and be that person everyone wants me to be.
The signal here is awful, so I opt for calling Jess on WhatsApp to use the slightly less awful WiFi. The phone rings against my ear more times than I would like before Jess finally answers. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ she says. ‘I was letting the cat out.’
I freeze. ‘You don’t have a cat.’
‘Lucifer. My neighbour’s.’
‘Oh, that prick.’
‘I was about to protest, but no you’re right.’ There’s a rustling on the other end of the line. ‘He’s already bitten me three times.’
‘What did you do to earn that?’
‘Gave him a plate of food. He didn’t like the flavour.’ More rustling. ‘How are you two lovebirds doing? Did Luc love his gift?’
I take a deep breath. ‘Any chance you can fly here for a hug?’
Jess laughs. ‘You know I love you, but that is terrible for the environment, and you’ll be home tomorrow.’
