Jeremy jutted out his bottom lip but then raised his glass. “To Truscote & Dalton,” he said to a chorus of cheers.
My cheeks flamed. I wanted to crawl under the table and hide. Francesca caught my eye and winked; a gesture probably intended to put me at ease, but it put me more on edge, like I was the butt of a joke I didn’t understand.
I concentrated on the food on my plate as the conversation turned to Francesca and Jeremy’s travel adventures. Jane and Jasper’s faces glowed with adoration as Francesca held court and recounted the highlights of their trip. From Paris to the sun-drenched Riviera, where they’d sipped rosé on the beaches of Nice and Cannes. And from the electric buzz of Barcelona to Rome, where they’d hired mopeds and eaten in trattorias straight out of a Fellini film.
Jeremy nodded enthusiastically and threaded his fingers with Francesca’s as she spoke.
“It all nearly ended in disaster though,” he said.
Jane leaned in. “Oh, do tell.”
“I left Francesca to catch her breath on the Spanish Steps while I nipped off to get a gelato. By the time I returned, the damned thing was dripping through my fingers, but being the generous chap I am, of course I offered her a lick?—”
Francesca rolled her eyes dramatically. “He dribbled it all over my silk scarf.”
Jane gasped.
“I swear, if looks could kill, it would’ve been the end of me,” said Jeremy.
“I hope you got Francesca’s scarf dry cleaned,” said Jane.
“No, I went one better.” Jeremy beamed at Francesca, and she conceded with a smile. “I bought her a Valentino to replace it.”
“Good boy!” Jane clapped her hands.
Jasper chuckled. “Goodness me, wrapped around her little finger, aren’t you, son?”
“Quite right,” said Jane.
My mood darkened with the sky. As if sensing my struggle, Dad nudged my leg under the table. I looked at him. He raised his eyebrows and mouthed, “Are you okay?”
I gave him a brief nod before returning my focus to the pattern on the plates; it was far more interesting than the insipid travel tales I was being forced to endure.
Truth was, I wished it had been me. Perhaps if I could’ve afforded to traipse around Europe for two years and buy Francesca designer silk scarves on a whim, then she’d be looking at me the way she was looking at Jeremy. But then, less than an hour ago in the rose garden, she had been looking at me like that; when she kissed the finger she placed on my lips, and when she asked me to trust her. How could I trust her when I knew at least one version of her was lying right now?
The conversation moved on to “unforgettable” Berlin. At this point, even Dad seemed a little mesmerised by Francesca’s storytelling.Traitor.
“We arrived just months after the wall came down. It was wild. There was this sense of…” She drew a long breath as if more air would help her articulate her point. “…something huge unfolding around us. You could feel the energy of the city being reborn.”
Nods and murmurs passed around the table.
“I literally saw Vrubel claim his grey canvas on the East Side Gallery.” She fixed her dark eyes on me and said, “My God, help me to survive this deadly love.”
I stilled. The moment stretched to the score of my thudding heart in my ears, but then she looked back to the Daltons and seamlessly picked up the thread. “You know, Vrubel’s mural… also known as theBruderkuss. I sat and watched him paint it for hours. He was so intense, so lost in his work, like all that mattered was that wall, that kiss.”
A burst of laughter tore from my throat. Everyone turned to look at me, but it was Francesca’s glare I met — a silent reprimand.
“Sorry,” I muttered, once again fixing my eyes on the intricate pattern of the plates.
Jeremy cleared his throat. “It’s ghastly, all that graffiti, but I couldn’t tear her away.”
“It’s what helped me to decide.” Francesca paused, fanning her fingers at her temples, and everyone leaned in for the dramatic reveal. “I’m going to get into art, albeit curation rather than creation. Just being in the midst of all that creative energy really inspired me.”
Jane squealed and Jasper clapped.
For the first time, I saw Francesca’s eyes shining with genuine excitement, and everything clicked into place.It’sthe lifestyle she’s in love with, not Jeremy.He couldn’t see it; none of them could see it, but it fitted with the theory I’d aired to Jeremy before they’d left.Francesca is a chameleon.
Our eyes locked again and her lips twitched with a grin. Jeremy squeezed her hand, pulling her attention back to him. She gave him a barely perceptible nod, and he cleared his throat.
