Page 74 of The Forbidden Fling

That pricked Faye’s skin, but Carla went on, “A few times he’s mentioned me living with him so we could see more of each other, but he was just being kind. He didn’t mean it.”

“Sounds like you’re assuming to me.” Faye’s pulse sharpened as Carla glanced at her. “You’re assuming that because he’s younger than you, he’s not taking it seriously. But what if he is?” She folded her hands in her lap, nails picking at the skin. “Both of you would miss out on something great, not because you didn’t want it, but because you miscommunicated.”

Carla clicked her tongue. “Huh. I guess I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

The bud of hope rooted inside Faye dared to grow. Was that what she was doing, too? Still assuming how Diana felt? But their situation was different; it was always clear what they were getting into. They had an arrangement: a bit of fun on the island and then part ways. It was embarrassing to admit that it had all changed for Faye.

But what if it had changed for Diana, too?

She bit her lip, anxiety smothering the hopeful feeling before it had chance to spread. If she wasn’t sure, she couldn’t assume either. Not if she ended up regretting it for the rest of her life.

Damn Senhor Arenoso. He is a wise man.

“It’s scary, taking that risk,” she said. “But I suppose that’s what life is about, right? No risk, no reward.”

“Yes!” Carla pounded the steering wheel. “See. You’re going to be an excellent poker player. I knew it.”

Carla spent the rest of the journey explaining the different hands to Faye. Which hands beat what, what the “flop” was, and how an older woman called Filamena had the best poker face in the group.

When they arrived at the dock, a shiver rolled up Faye’s spine.

“I thought you said we weren’t going on a boat?”

Carla laughed as she switched off the engine. “Not a moving boat. Don’t worry. Your stomach is safe tonight.” She hopped out of the buggy and headed towards Duarte’s boat, which was swaying against the walkway with a gentle creak.

Faye grabbed her backpack and followed, reciting the poker hands in her head. Was it a flush or a straight that was better? She checked her watch; she should be fine without emptying her bag for a few hours. How long did poker games usually take?

Carla led them onto Duarte’s boat and into the cabin, which housed a wooden table and chairs, an overflowing coatrack, and a rusty coffee machine that looked like it might’ve been saved from a sea wreckage. She opened another door that led downstairs. “After you.”

Faye frowned. “I thought you said this wasn’t an underground den.”

Carla chuckled, patting her on the back. “Come on.” She steered her down the wooden steps. Immediately, cigar smoke hit the back of Faye’s throat. She blinked to adjust to the darkness.

Five pairs of eyes looked back at them as they entered. The area was lit by a solitary overhead bulb. If the lack of light was for ambience or simply the captain’s carelessness, she didn’t know, but she recognised Duarte, with his headful of dark hair and the enormous grin on his face. Some of the other faces were familiar, but she couldn’t place them.

“Olá a todos!” Carla greeted. “We have a guest. Put out that dirty smoke.”

The men on either side of Duarte grumbled but did as she asked, extinguishing the cigars in an old tin can acting as an ashtray.

“You’ve met Duarte already, but maybe you don’t remember, because your head was hanging over the side of the boat.” Carla cracked out laughing, then pointed to the man on his right—a taller, less smiley version of the captain, but with just as much dark hair. “That’s Tiago, but—”

“Toranja,” Duarte interrupted, earning a scowl from his brother and laughter from the others.

Carla sighed, as if the very effort was draining. “But sometimes they call him Toranja.”

“Grapefruit?” Faye asked. “Why?”

“Trust me. You don’t want to know.”

Bruno, Catarina’s husband from the nature reserve and Carla’s coworker, sat on Duarte’s left. Faye had seen Bruno a few times, but he’d never offered more than a grunt. In the corner, a long, gangly man called Romeo perched on a chair, floppy brown hair falling over his eyes. Faye guessed he was around twenty, although the fluffy fuzz covering his chin and cheeks made him look younger. Filamena, the only other woman, didn’t pay either of them much attention. She huffed as she shuffled the cards, tucking her short white hair back into her lenço—a red floral wrap tied at the nape of her neck. Deep-set wrinkles carved ridges into her skin, but her eyes were a clear and sharp honey.

The stark difference between the grinning Romeo and the annoyed elderly lady made Faye relax a little. As far as underground dens went, this wasn’t bad.

Carla broke Faye’s twenty euros using Duarte’s tip jar—it was mostly empty, which Faye put down to the man’s wild sailing—and handed her the change. She counted out their stack of coloured chips, and the two of them joined the others at the table.

Filamena let out another sharp huff, strong enough to blow the shack down, and Carla announced the buy-in bet—twenty-five cents. The chips started moving across the stained green felt, and Filamena dealt the first round. Faye plucked up her cards, sticky to the touch, and the numbers on the suits stared back at her. She couldn’t remember one thing that Carla had said.

“Do you like goats?”