“Whatever. Anyway, it means the pond will be okay.”
Bo exhaled deeply, before nodding. “Fine. Talk to Max. Get him to move his guests. But then come straight back, okay? I don’t want Max to have any more ammunition against me.”
“Ammunition?” Willa blinked.
Bo sighed. “I don’t have his love, Wills, but I still have his respect. Don’t do anything to mess with that, okay?”
“Bo . . .”
“It’s all I have,” Bo said sadly. “It’s all I have.”
* * *
They left the relative safety of Bo’s summer house, and Willa immediately marched up the garden, searching out Max. Bo, at a loss of what to do without the safety net of both her home and Willa, decided to fish the abandoned glassware out of her pond. Quietly, so she didn’t disturb the giggling women who’d trespassed ontoherproperty — and how was that for irony? — she unlocked her shed and stepped inside, looking for the netshe used to clear pondweed and other unwanted items from the water.
It was then, while blindly searching in the dark for her torch, so she could find the net, that she heard it: a silky, luxurious-sounding voice. Though lightly accented, it was still undoubtedly European in origin, and Bo paused, suddenly struck with interest.
What were Max’s friends like? Were they like him, all smooth intellect hidden behind sharp edges, or were they different? Would they be the kind of people who looked like they belonged on a catalogue cover, with a Georgian townhouse and designer dog, or would they be tortured, artistic types? Max never spoke about them. He was too private, too guarded. Bo chewed on her lip, intensely curious.
“Max is out of sorts this evening, don’t you think?” the voice asked, and Bo crouched down, trying to keep as still and quiet as possible.
“He seems like the same old Max to me. I never know how to read him.”
“No, he’s definitely out of sorts.”
“Well, you’d know. He’s your ex.”
Bo froze.Ex?
She blinked in the dark, pulse quickening, her torch all but forgotten. Her first instinct was to move, to retreat to the safety of her summer house, but something kept her rooted to the spot.
There was a laugh, high and bubbly, like champagne being poured over ice.
“Ex or not, I still know when something’s wrong. He’s gone all quiet and brooding. He’s doing that thing with his jaw too. You know what I mean. When he’s pretending not to be upset by something but absolutely is?”
“Is he?”
“Mm. He’s doing it a lot tonight. Something’s bothering him.”
Bo’s stomach twisted, and it was part discomfort, part something else. She hated that this woman, thisex,whoever she was, knew Max like this. Hated that someone else could read the tiny flickers in his expression, the silent language of his moods. Bo had spent the whole summer learning those same cues, from the stubborn set of his jaw when he was annoyed to the twinkle he got in his eye when he was amused. A wave of jealousy washed over her, and she took a deep breath, trying to quell her nausea. Underneath it all lay another emotion too: worry.
What’s bothering Max?she wondered.Is he okay?
Bo tried and failed to tell herself that she didn’t care, that Max was a grown man, and whatever this champagne-voiced woman thought she knew about him, it wasn’t her business. Still, the thought of Max being upset, of him quietly unravelling behind his guarded eyes, made Bo’s chest ache.
“Maybe he’s regretting your breakup last summer.”
Breakup? Last summer? Bo’s breath caught once more, and suddenly, it all became violently, horrifically clear. The silky voice, with its elegant, airy drawl, now fit with a name.
Raphaella.
A shiver worked its way up her crouched spine, and Bo felt a new spike of jealousy.Raphaella.Bo had imagined her a hundred different ways, but in every imagining she was elegant, educated and worthy. Worthy of Max. Worthy of his love in a way Bo never had been.
“Or are you already back together?” the second voice carried on mercilessly, and Bo’s stomach plummeted. She gripped the edge of the shed for balance, her fingers scraping against the damp walls.Back together.Of course they could be. Of course theywouldbe. Raphaella, with her soft voice and perfect vowels and whatever it was that had once made Max love her, couldwalk right back into his life as if the past year had been nothing more than an inconvenient pause.
Raphaella was quiet for a moment, and Bo listened intently for her response. She knew eavesdropping was wrong. She knew eavesdropping was immoral. But, oh God, this was Max they were speaking of and if he was getting back together with Raphaella — if he wasalreadyback together with Raphaella — she needed to know. It would be a knife to her heart, but all the same. She needed to know. “No, we’re not back together. At least, notyet.Max told me in Berlin he’s been seeing somebody else.” Raphaella lowered her voice. “Someone new.”
“Really?” the friend sounded interested. “Anyone we know?”
