‘Well, you are officially invited to all future hen parties I attend,’ Bella said, forking another piece into her mouth and swallowing.
‘Your personal chef. Can’t wait.’
Bella blinked. She’d meant it as a compliment. Why was this woman so damn prickly? It was like holidaying with a cactus!
She picked up her drink and took a large swallow. It was important to Bella that people liked her. It was one of her strengths that she could get women – and men – to like her. It was about knowing how to reach them, what was needed to make the connection. It was instinct. Intuition. Some people were born with a natural aptitude for sports, or music, or art – and she, Bella Rossi, was born with the ability to make people like her. （And, if she were being honest, also dislike her. It wasn’t that she minded being disliked. It was that she wanted to be the one to choose.）
But Eleanor? She was tricky. Not that she even particularly wanted Eleanor’s friendship – after all, the only connecting piece in their lives was Lexi, so they didn’t need to become friends. She knew Eleanor had lost her partner fairly recently, but she shouldn’t have come if she didn’t plan to try to have a good time.
Her gaze trailed to Fen. She looked clean and fresh from the shower. Bella wanted to run her fingers along the shorn sides of her hair, feel her palms kiss her neck. She wore a blue short-sleeved shirt buttoned to the collar, a fabric badge stitched to the breast reading: Nevertheless, she persisted.
This woman.
Bella would persist. She wasn’t going to lose Fen.
She couldn’t.
At the other end of the table, Lexi was listening to Ana, her eyes bright with interest. Bella watched for a moment, trying to understand Lexi’s infatuation with the woman. Sure, they could swap notes on hipster London hangouts, or talk about books, or yoga, or vintage stores, or whatever the hell they both wrote in their gratitude journals – but Ana and Lexi didn’t have history. Ana hadn’t made her own cigarettes out of tracing paper and a stale pack of tobacco. She hadn’t nicked Lexi’s mum’s stash of vodka and got wasted on a Thursday morning before assembly just for the hell of it. She hadn’t crowd-surfed at a Jamiroquai gig beneath a blaze of strobe lights or slept on the beach, shivering beneath a single blanket and a full moon.
Bella stood, tugging down her body-con dress. This outfit looked so much better when she wore it with heels. Still. Soon she’d be too drunk to notice. Barefoot, she limped around the table to Lexi’s side. She draped an arm over her shoulder. ‘How’s your hen party, babe?’
Lexi looked up at her, smiling. ‘The best.’
Bella grinned. ‘Hope you’ve noted the lack of veils, cocks, and karaoke?’ Then with a wink, she added, ‘So far.’
‘I called veto.’
‘Really? I didn’t hear: all that clubbing has given me tinnitus. I do have one small surprise for you.’
Lexi raised an eyebrow.
‘All I’m going to say is, I hope you’ve had enough to eat as you’ll want that flat yoga-stomach of yours lined.’
‘No drinking games, that’s what we agreed.’
‘Did we?’ Bella said, wiggling her eyebrows. ‘I get so forgetful when I’ve been in the sun all day. Back in a minute.’ She turned, limping rather than sauntering across the terrace.
Inside, the villa was cool and quiet. She pushed her sunglasses onto the top of her head. Alone, she felt her smile slipping. A wash of exhaustion broke over her and she leaned her forearms against the kitchen counter, head hanging down. She sighed. What was going on with this introspective mood? She was on holiday!
Outside, an eruption of laughter echoed around the terrace. She glanced sideways to see Ana collapsing against Lexi, their shoulders shaking. Across the table, Fen was smiling too, her skin tanned, her expression easy. Bella felt the hollowing lurch of insecurity: she should be the one making Lexi laugh, or lighting up Fen’s expression.
She bit down on her lower lip. She would not cry! This was Lexi’s hen party! The sun was setting! The drinks were flowing. She should be having a good time.
Pressing her palms firmly against the work surface, she pushed herself upright. Lengthening her spine, she took a deep breath. She shook out her hair. Right. Time to get this night back on track. She fetched her lipstick and reapplied it using the lens of her sunglasses as a mirror. She pressed her lips together. Pouted.
If Lexi thought she was getting through this hen party sober, she was mistaken. She lined up six shot glasses on a tray, then reached into the fridge for the ice-cold bottle of ouzo. There was no chance that this weekend was going to pass without one blowout.