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“Fabienne, what are you doing here?” I ask her as I start to follow Lucía out of the pool. She’s already at her mat and hurriedly pulling her T-shirt on by the time I’m out of the pool.
“I could ask you the same thing Reece’s Pieces,” she taunts, using the nickname she knows I hate. She holds out a towel to me.
I roll my eyes as I snatch the towel from her. Fabienne is my ex-wife. Our marriage was years of tantrums, breaking up, making up, accusations and drama. Our divorce was even worse. Unfortunately, she’s been cast in a film the studio is producing, but she has no reason to be here, in Malibu, looking for me.
“Can you just answer a question without being cryptic. Why are you here? How did you know I was at the guesthouse?”
She glances at Lucía who is drying her hair with a towel and not facing us. God, could this be anymore awkward?
“I went to your house and Alma said you were here. So, I took the golf cart. Sorry to interrupt.” Her gleeful tone says the exact opposite.
“Cut the shit. Why were you at my house?” I ask her, ignoring her evasion.
“I just thought we could have breakfast, you know . . . I want to talk.” She looks at Lucía again and this time Lucía looks up at her, too.
Her expression is shuttered, but I can see the tension in her jaw and I know she is anything but calm. And then she turns to face me.
“I’m going to get ready for work. I’ll see you at the office. Thanks for the lesson.” And then she walks towards the sliding door without acknowledging Fabienne.
“Lucía, can you wait?” I start after her.
She stops and turns to face me, her expression no longer shuttered. Her eyes are cold but her chin is quivering, and I can see that she is struggling to hold on her to her composure.
“No.” She gives her head a gentle shake. “I can’t.” And then she turns to go, closing the sliding glass door behind her.
“So, that’s the famous authoress?” Fabienne drawls as she drops into one of the lounge chairs on the deck. “I read her book, you know,” she quips.
“Good for you. And I don’t have time for breakfast,” I say as I start to walk past her into the house. I can’t imagine what Lucía’s thinking.
“What? You always have time for breakfast,” she calls after me, and I can hear that she is not perturbed in the slightest. She knows she’s done some damage and that makes her happy. She used to be one of the nicest people I’d ever met. Her fame changed her and I went from being her boyfriend to being a tool she used whenever she wanted to make headlines.
“Not anymore. At least not with you. If you need something, talk to your production team. You can show yourself out,” I say, not bothering to look back at her.
“Reece, I read chapter fifteen of the book. I know why you’re desperate to get it made,” she singsongs, but her voice has the edge to it, the one it normally gets when she’s about to say something she knows is going to sting. I stop and turn to face her.
“You don’t know anything, Fabienne,” I say slowly. I don’t want her even thinking about Lucía. She looks at me, her expression puzzled at first and then delighted.
“Oh, you haven’t read it.” She claps excitedly as she stands up. “This is perfect,” she says with a giggle. Her glee making me all kinds of nervous. She’s never happier than when someone else’s day is about to be ruined.
“Fabienne, please leave.”
I hear her laugh as I shut the door behind me. I walk to the front of the house and watch as she hops into her convertible Jaguar coupe and drives off.
“Lucía,” I call as I enter the house. The shower in her bathroom is running. I want to walk in there and make her listen. When she was pressed against me, I could feel every single curve of her body melt into mine. I could feel the pulse in her neck when I kissed it.
I owe her a conversation and I want to make sure Fabienne’s really gone. So, I grab a piece of paper and pen from her counter and write her a note.
I’m just about to walk out of the kitchen when a picture catches my eye. It’s a silver framed picture of her and a boy, I assume he’s her brother . . . he looks vaguely familiar, but I don’t know why. She looks like she’s about five years old. She’s sitting on his shoulders with a wand of bright pink cotton candy in one fist. He’s smiling up at her and she’s staring up at the sky, her mouth open in a laugh, her eyes full of wonder.
I’m going to put that smile back on her face. I let my fingers skim her face in the picture before I let myself out.
15
Lucía
I’m getting ready to leave the house when I see the slip of paper with my name on it. It stops me in my tracks. I pick it up and run my fingers over it before I read it. Reece wrote this. With the hands that had been on my body. Holding me, while he told me that he wanted me.
His handwriting is unexpectedly neat and restrained. I scan the short note.
