‘Wow.’ I whistle. ‘It’s like a fairy grotto.’
Dom laughs. ‘Probably best not to tell Simone. I’m not sure that’s quite the look she’s aiming for. This way.’
The drive curves again and I gasp. I can’t help myself. Dominic said the villa was gorgeous and he wasn’t exaggerating. Illuminated by spotlights strategically placed in an unnaturally green lawn, Villa Paradiso is the most stunning house I’ve ever seen. The low-slung, two-storey building is icing-sugar white, with wooden shutters the colour of lapis lazuli and garlands of deep-pink bougainvillea creeping up the walls.
‘Pretty cool, huh?’ Dom says, smiling at my rapt expression.
I grin back. ‘Pretty cool,’ I agree.
The driveway leads to a gravel footpath that threads its way around the side of the villa. Voices carry on the warm evening breeze and my heart rate quickens. The spike of anxiety is as familiar and unwelcome as a fever. I used to feel like this before a visit from my social worker, a softly spoken woman called Lisa, who held my future in her hands. The knowledge that I was justanother name on her already straining caseload was a constant source of worry to nine-year-old me.
I follow Dominic onto a generous terrace beside an infinity pool glowing with underwater lights. It must overlook the ocean, because for the first time since we stepped off the sea taxi, I can taste salt on the breeze.
‘At last!’ a woman cries, and suddenly Dominic is no longer at my side but has crossed the terrace in long strides and swept up a slender, dark-haired woman, spinning her round and round until her skirt and hair are flying and she’s laughing in delight. They make such a glamorously beautiful couple I might as well be standing on the set of a luxury perfume ad, waiting for the director to yellcut!
They’re friends, I remind myself. Old friends who haven’t caught up in a while. Nothing more. But as I hover awkwardly on the edge of the terrace, fiddling with the strap of my bag, I wonder if Dominic has told me the whole story.
7
AMBER
A stocky, blond man growls, ‘Put her down, Dominic, for God’s sake.’
Dom does as he’s told and beckons me over.
‘Amber, come and meet my best friend Simone and her reprobate husband, Felix.’
Best friend? My eyes widen. Funny how Dom never mentionedthat. But as much as it needles, I refuse to let it show and force myself to smile.
Simone’s own smile fades when we come face to face. Her gaze travels over my crumpled, grubby linen trousers and cheap Shein top and she extends a limp hand like she’s expecting me to curtsy. She has the kind of glossy, patrician elegance you can’t fake and I have to fight the ridiculous urge not to drop to one knee and kiss her dainty fingers.
The blond guy – Felix – pecks me on both cheeks and hands me a glass of rosé.
‘Get that down your neck. I’m sure it’s been a long day.’
‘Actually, could I have something soft? I’m not a big drinker.’
Felix frowns as if I’m talking in tongues, then shrugs and bustles off, returning moments later with a bottle of Coke and a tumbler.
I wander over to the low wall that circles the terrace. From this side, the villa is even more picture-perfect, its sloping tiled roof the colour of burnt sienna, a blast of colour against the white facade. ‘What a beautiful spot. Dominic says you designed the villa yourself.’
‘I did.’ His chest puffs out. ‘Found the land, talked the old boy who owned it into flogging me a couple of hectares for a song’ – he guffaws at this – ‘then project-managed the build from the ground up. A lot of love, sweat and tears went into this place, Amber, let me tell you. A lot of blood, sweat and tears.’ His expression darkens. ‘That’s why I’m so fucking livid about that Russian wanker’s monstrosity.’ He waves a hand angrily at the building site below us. ‘Villa Olympus, he’s calling it, the knob.’
‘Christ, don’t get him started on the new villa,’ Simone says, gliding over. She touches my arm lightly and gives me a warm, practised smile. I blink, momentarily thrown. Just now she looked me up and down like I was something the cat dragged in. I tell myself I must have imagined it, that my insecurities are skewing the way I’m seeing things, because there’s no denying it: Simone’s acting like we’re old friends.
‘Are you sure you won’t have a glass of wine?’ she asks. ‘Felix flew it in from Navarra specially.’
‘No, really. I’m fine. Thank you.’
Dominic lopes over and asks Simone how the plans for her birthday are going. I use the opportunity to observe her. She is tall, maybe a smidgen taller than me, and we share the same build, but whereas I think of myself as gawky, she is willowy. Elegant. She’s wearing a kingfisher-blue organza dress with a tight bodice and shoestring straps. Blood-red toenails peek out of sparkly sandals. The effect is ethereal, like something one of the fairies might wear inA Midsummer Night’s Dream. My hair, still stubbornly escaping its ponytail, is bitumen-black. Simone’s is a dark mahogany and cut in a shiny, razor-sharp bob thatskims her bare shoulders. Even though she’s ten years older than me, her bright skin is smooth and unblemished. Botox? Fillers? I shut the thought down. So what if she’s had a little help pushing back the years? It’s none of my business.
‘We’ve booked a table at Yannis’s uncle’s taverna for my birthday meal.’ She turns to me. ‘You’ll find everyone’s related on this island, Amber. But we can probably all trace our ancestry back to Charlemagne, so who am I to judge?’ She tinkles with laughter and I do the same, even though I have absolutely no idea what she’s talking about.
‘I’m having some Cristal sent over from the mainland for the old girl’s birthday bash,’ Felix says, wandering over, a large glass of wine in his hand.
‘Hey, less of the old.’ Simone swats him on the arm playfully, but there’s a sharp edge to her voice. ‘Anyway, haven’t you heard? Forty-five is the new twenty-five.’
‘If you say so.’ Felix winks at me as Simone glides away to check on dinner. ‘And how old are you, Amber?’
