I am actually in the gym right now. It is the only place where I feel sane at the moment. I’m on the treadmill, jogging and panicking.
“What about that Pedro guy?” Ana asks.
“Pedro got me into this mess to begin with,” I say, swiping a droplet of sweat from my chin.
There aren’t many people here yet, and the morning gym crowd is more serious and subdued. Which suits me just fine.
“Unless you are now using ‘Pedro’ as a codename for your penis, I don’t think that’s true,” my sister says.
I wince. “I’ve messed up, haven’t I?”
“Does it feel like you’ve messed up? Did it not, you know, go well?”
It was the hottest and most intense experience of my life. I have never, ever wanted somebody so badly. Every moment we spent together in that car, I could feel myself drowning in the euphoria of it, even as I begged myself to wait and remember everything, because this was precious.
But I had one shot.
I wanted Izzy to take me seriously. I wanted to tell her my story, to show her that I do have a heart, whatever she’s always thought. And instead, I behaved like a thoughtless teenage boy. I should have waited until the breakdown truck arrived. I should have driven her back to my flat for a late dinner, kissed her slowly on the sofa, and told her how beautiful she was.
“It was amazing, but not how it should have gone. I had a plan.”
“Oh, a plan. I know how much you love a plan.”
Every time Ana says plan it is loaded with sisterly scorn. I scowl, upping the tempo on the running machine.
“It’s not that. I just wanted it to be special.”
“Wasn’t it?”
It was. But it wasn’t right. This was my chance to show Izzy there’s something real between us—everything had to be perfect. Instead, I’d been almost panicked with desire, desperate for more of her, and then those people had come to fix the car, and . . .
“Hello? Lucas? It is very, very early here, and Bruno has finished his feed, so I’m actually only still awake because I’m being an amazing sister, but if you don’t say something soon, I’m going to fall asleep.”
“Sorry. Go back to bed,” I say. “Love you. Kiss my nephew for me.”
“Love you, too. And no chance,” she says. “I am not waking that baby unless something very big is on fire.”
I smile as I reach for my phone to switch back to my workout playlist. I can’t wait to see Bruno again in February. As soon as this thought crosses my mind, I imagine Izzy there with me: charming my sister, tickling a giggle from Bruno, laughing with me as we get the barbecue going in the garden. The image is so potent I lose my footing and have to grab at the treadmill.
I don’t want to get Izzy out of my system. That is clearer than ever after last night. I want all of her. Her kindness, her commitment, her multicoloured hair, and the way she always puts me in my place. I want to take her home and call her mine.
* * *
? ? ? ? ?
As soon as I arrive at the hotel, it becomes clear that Izzy is still taking her rules extremely seriously.
“Lucas,” she says, giving me a bright smile when I get to the desk. “I’ve got a lead on the final ring. Better up your game if you don’t want to be dressing as Santa’s little helper. Oh, and I’ve sorted a magician for the party, and Irwin says they’ll be done with the staircase just in time.”
She’s so . . . brisk. Cold, even. But she still smells of cinnamon sugar, and I know what the curve of her waist feels like. I’ve dragged my tongue along the inch of collarbone I can see through the collar of her shirt.
“You OK to cover the desk this morning so I can get on top of all the renovation work?”
“Yes, fine,” I say. “But, Izzy . . .”
She whizzes away, hair flying.
I spend my morning posting out lost-property items we’ve sold and trying to decipher Izzy’s to-do list. I move mechanically, getting things done, and all the while I’m thinking, Was that all the Izzy I get? That thought, the very idea . . . it hollows me out.
And then there’s the knowledge that Izzy is going out with Louis tonight. That is making everything considerably worse.
I’ve never been jealous like this with another woman, but then, I’d never been cheated on before Camila. Izzy is the first woman I’ve cared about since that relationship ended. Maybe this is what Camila’s done to me—for all her protestations that she couldn’t change me at all.
I take a pause in the lost-property room, pressing my fingers to my eyelids, trying to gather myself. I hate the idea that my relationship with Camila made me weaker. I remember the way I felt when Izzy slipped into the pool with Louis—that feeling I was so convinced shouldn’t be called fear—and I wonder whether I had been frightened after all. That’s what jealousy is, isn’t it? Fear of losing someone?