“You sucked at croquet today,” Scott said, chuckling.

“That may be true,” she replied archly, draining her glass, “but you sucked at Marco Polo.”

“Are you kidding? I was on fire.”

“You didn’t catch one person. Even Aurelia was too fast for you.”

“I was deliberately holding back. I didn’t want to scare anyone with my mad skills.”

“Mad skills?”

“Or whatever the kids say these days.” He grinned. “I’ll get you next time.”

“Is that a challenge?” Emily shot back.

He turned and considered her, his eyelids heavy. Then he put down his glass and stood up. “Come on, then. Rematch.”

Her heart thumped.

He took his shirt off.

She couldn’t help it. She looked up.

He towered above her, one hand resting lightly on his hip, the moonlight bouncing off the contours of his chest. Emily’s stomach lurched violently and she looked away, but it was too late. She’d already seen the curve of his pecs and the pattern of dark hair that traveled in a lazy line all the way down to his belly button. She sneaked another peek and glimpsed a deep “V” of muscle disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts. Something pounded in her body, something other than her heartbeat, and she had to bite the insides of her cheeks to stop herself from giggling.

Nina came sliding silently out of the shadows, startling them both. “Aurelia’s asleep,” she said, and Emily looked away guiltily. I was most definitely not staring at your husband’s sex lines. Nope. Wasn’t me.

“Going for a swim?” Nina asked.

“Thinking about it,” replied Scott. “Her idea,” he added, pointing at Emily.

Emily cringed. Maybe it had been her idea, but she’d only been joking—she was drunk. She didn’t for a second think that he’d actually get up and whip his shirt off. And now, it seemed, he was waiting for her to do the same. No way, she thought, grasping the material of her dress as if to stop it from sliding off her body of its own accord. No one needs to see what’s under here.

But then there was a splash and Nina was gone, nothing but a puddle of blue silk in her place. She popped up in the pool some distance away, her teeth flashing white against a continuation of smooth dark skin, broken only by two triangles of creamy white. Emily didn’t know where to look. There was no sign of swimwear or underwear or any kind of wear.

Scott cannonballed into the water, hooting like a lunatic, sending up a spray of silver droplets. “Shush, you’ll wake Aurelia,” Nina said, but her words were swallowed up by the slap and rush of the water.

And then they both turned expectantly toward Emily, their faces distorted by the underwater lights, and maybe it was the prosecco or the vodka martinis or the adrenaline, but Emily felt her inhibitions fly away into the dark. Oh, who cares, she thought, or maybe she said it out loud, because both Scott and Nina laughed. They were both so beautiful, and they made Emily beautiful because she was part of them now, she belonged here in this crazy paradise, and if she was good enough for them, she was good enough for the sweet night air, the twinkling water, and the barefaced moon.

She let her straps fall over her shoulders, and her dress slipped off her body like butter from a hot knife. Cupping her naked boobs in her hands and giving not even one fuck about her plain cotton knickers or her belly fat, she laughed at her own audacity.

“And I’m freeeeeeeee!” she sang as she ran full-pelt toward the pool. “FREE-FALLING!”

She jumped.

For a moment, she hung suspended in the air. The world turned around her. Then she plunged into the water, the surface closing over her head with a snap.

Slippery limbs bumped against her skin.

Oh god. So drunk. So very, very drunk.

She let the water hold her. It carried her to the surface and pushed her up into the violet night where she shut her eyes, afraid of what she might see. She heard them instead: Scott first, then Nina, murmuring in her ear then calling softly from a distance.

“Marco.”

“Polo.”

They were everywhere and nowhere, all at once.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

SCOTT

SCOTT STOOD on the lawn looking up at the tree, unsure of what to do with himself. He felt somewhat better than he had a couple of hours ago, having taken a handful of acetaminophen and not just one but two showers, but his skin still felt grimy and his head still sore. Mystifyingly, he seemed to be the only one with a hangover; both Emily and Nina were bright and energetic, having already smashed through a quarter of their scheduled jobs before he’d even opened his eyes.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Emily had trilled as he’d wandered out of the family house after breakfast, sweeping past him on the driveway with a rake in one hand and a leaf blower in the other. Her cheerfulness had bounced off him like an uncaught ball.

Feeling a bit redundant, he ambled around the garden for a while, eventually finding himself at the shed. He grabbed randomly at the tools, selecting a pair of shears with the intention of making himself useful, but by three o’clock all he’d achieved was a few snips at a hedge and a long and thoughtful contemplation of a vine-covered trellis on the south wall of the guesthouse. He couldn’t keep his thoughts straight. What the hell had happened in the pool last night? Had they really all been naked? Had they fallen asleep on the daybed afterward, their heads on each other’s shoulders, their legs entwined … or had he dreamed that? If it had happened, how had he got back to his room? A bus could’ve driven through the holes in his memory.

Rather than feeling awkward, though, he felt good. Great, in fact. Better than he had in years. Despite the furry tongue and the delicate stomach, he felt light. Buoyant. And whole, somehow.

Scott was still standing there staring at the vines, waiting for his brain to catch up with his body, when Aurelia appeared. One minute he was alone, and the next she was there, a little old lady in a long-sleeved dress, barefoot in the grass, arms hanging limply by her sides.

Reflexively, he glanced around for Nina. “Well, hello there, cheeky monkey,” he said at last. “What are you up to?”

Aurelia fixed him with a stony look.

There was a slight movement at the kitchen window. Looking up, he saw his wife standing by the sink, staring out at them with a cluster of wineglasses in her hands. She raised her eyebrows at him, then put the glasses down so she could make an emphatic shooing action with her hands. Go do something with your daughter.

Scott groaned inwardly, his strange new happiness fading fast. He’d been ambushed. “So,” he said to the straw brim of Aurelia’s hat. “I hear Mummy bought you a pony.”

She continued to stare him down.

Scott snuck a look back at the window. Nina was still watching. “Shall we go and visit him?”

Aurelia contemplated his question like it was a riddle. Then, seemingly unable to find a catch, she turned and set off in the direction of the animal sheds.

Sighing, Scott followed her.

The horse, apparently, was called Sebastien. He was small and brown. He flicked his tail as they approached and turned his head away. For the love of god, thought Scott, a horse? What use is it to anyone?

Aurelia looked at Scott as if she expected him to do something clever, like leap onto the pony’s back and jump the fence.

“Are you, uh, going to feed him?” he asked her.

She shook her head.

“Have you ridden him yet?”

She shook her head.

“Do you want to?”

Head shake.

They stood in silence for a moment. Scott stretched out his hand. “Here, boy,” he said.

Sebastien gave Scott a look that said, Make me, then wandered off into a corner.

“Well, that was fun,” said Scott. “What do you want to do now?”

They walked back toward the house. Scott cast about for an activity. “Wanna play tennis?”

Aurelia shrugged.

“That’s the spirit.”

On the tennis court, Scott reached into the wooden storage box to retrieve balls and racquets. “Here you go.” He passed her a small pink racquet and he took a larger green one. “Alright, Serena Williams. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Aurelia looked at him blankly. Scott gave her a little nudge and she shuffled off to one side of the net. He positioned himself opposite, his mood suddenly lifting as he spun the racquet by its handle and bounced the ball on the asphalt. He loved tennis. He and Eddie used to play when they were young, before they lost the house. It was possible he played with his father, too. He had a hazy memory of Terrence bouncing around in a sweatband and white shorts, but who was to say if that was real or not. He might have just made it up.

Scott served gently to Aurelia. Motionless, she watched as the ball flew past her.

“Okay. That’s good, you kept your eye on it. That’s tennis one oh one. Now let’s see if you can hit it.” He served again, and Aurelia swung her racquet limply.