When did you get so boring?
Hell, I don’t know, Bobby, maybe when my mother died and I realised life wasn’t made of roses. Maybe when you told me to wear the high-cut dress and the opaque tights, to downplay the make-up and the attempts at seduction, effectively killing off everything that was sexual about me. Maybe then!
I suck in a breath full of the Tuscan air: wildflowers, herbs and the distant sea.
Am I boring, though? Would the old me really have stripped off and dived right in? The one that existed before Mum died, before I got the promotion that set me above Bobby, before our hasty marriage took a turn for the worse...?
Yes! Bloody hell, Faye, yes! You were that woman. You were fun, you were adventurous!
And, Christ, it’s Dani in my head now. Telling me to forget Bobby, to be me again...and I’m going to start right now.
I push up off the bed and pad to the water’s edge, letting my robe hang loose. The breeze coaxes it off my skin to the floor. I toe the water. It’s balmy. Inviting.
I glance up towards the castle and see only darkness, save for the subtle lights that weave through the many paths that feed down the hillside. Spikes of blackness reaching up into the moonlit
sky as the cypress trees separate the pool area from the rest of the grounds and help to create a secluded little oasis. A sheltered, private oasis.
And, right now, it’s all mine.
* * *
The castle is quiet now that Marianna has enjoyed a nightcap—the best she could find in the bar, having turned her nose up at my grappa—and hastened to her room.
I’m finally alone with my thoughts and the place I call home surrounding me: Tuscany. I don’t get to come here as much as I should, and I miss it. I miss the sense of belonging that comes when I’m standing amongst the vines, breathing in the Tuscan earth that I spent my childhood exploring. It gave me what I needed—a place to run to, a safe place to avoid the chaos at home.
I stroke my hand over the rough stone wall that surrounds the veranda on which I stand. It grazes my fingers—rough, solid, safe. I look out at the castle’s grounds and the rolling hillside beyond; yes, this is home. And this castle is now mine. A purchase I wouldn’t have made so soon if not for Dani’s wedding and her dream to marry in a venue such as this.
Am I mad to buy it and then live in it for seven days with a family as messed up as ours? Who even does that?
I sip at my grappa. Seems the answer is me, thanks to Dani’s disillusioned view. She would have been better off eloping than insisting on even this small, intimate affair. But then Dani never did suffer the same reality as me. She didn’t have to grow up with our parents at each other’s throats. Their failed attempts at living together in harmony followed by bouts apart. But they never could stay away. They loved each other regardless and, if that’s what love does to you, then frankly they could keep it. It’s a fate worse than death.
Not in my little sister’s eyes, though. To her marriage is all roses and happiness, love and laughter, and maybe I envy her just a little for having that outlook.
I throw back the remainder of my drink and push away from the wall. A restless energy floods my veins that even a day of travel can’t rid me of, and I know it stems from unease about the whole affair and keeping a lid on my family.
I place my empty glass on the long mosaic table fit to host a real Italian family. Large, boisterous, happy. And even that taunts me as I pick up my stride, aiming for the path that weaves down to the tennis courts, the pool and the small private villa that I’ll use to escape to.
I’m already unbuttoning my shirt and easing it from my body. A swim. That’s what I need. An all-out lung-burning swim and then I’ll collapse into bed, grateful for the rest.
But as I near I hear the water sloshing and the definite sound of someone swimming.
I check my watch. One in the morning. Who on...?
I break free of the trees and the question no longer exists. My entire head is empty.
There’s a woman. In the water. Naked.
Make that a siren, graceful and serene as she glides with ease through the water, and I’m held hostage. I can’t move, I can’t speak. I blink, though. Blink to make sure what I’m seeing is real. Blink to try to clear my mind and tell myself that this is wrong, that I should turn away, announce my presence, anything but watch. Hooked. Mute. Hard.
I swallow.
Cazzo.
CHAPTER TWO
WHAT A GREAT DECISION! I feel so free and relaxed—liberated, even—as I move through the water. The persistent fog in my brain lifts enough to make me realise just how busy I’ve been for so long, how I’ve distracted myself with work to avoid the bad—to avoid dwelling on Mum’s death, my break-up and the things I can’t control.
I used to love swimming. It was a daily ritual—a few lengths of the leisure centre when I was younger and at the gym when I was older. But in recent years running has taken over. It’s quick, effective and suits my heavy work schedule. For the next seven days, work is parked, though, and I get to do this.