Page 76 of Best Wrong Thing

I glance at Mum and Barry, but I’m one hundred per cent sure they’re too far away to hear our hushed voices. Not that either of them seems to be paying us any attention.

“Just not that we almost got caught?” I ask.

Jacob grimaces.

“I’m sorry. I’ll behave from now on.”

He meets my gaze. “You shouldn’t have to.”

I want to put my hand on his knee. I don’t. “Yes, I do. I promised secrecy, and I meant it. No more playing dangerously.”

“I really like you, Archer.”

I smile. “And I really like you too.”

“I wish our circumstances were different.”

I force myself to keep smiling. My fingers twitch with the desire to touch him. “But they’re not. Can I make an observation? About your dad.”

He nods.

“He holds you to higher standards than he holds himself.”

Jacob makes a strangled sound.

“Is he the reason you care so much about what others think?”

“Yes.”

“You know he has no right to judge you, right?”

Jacob’s expression becomes miserable.

“I’m sorry. I’ll back off. It’s none of my business.”

Jacob doesn’t say a word.

I’ve scored two own goals in about ten minutes. Way to go, Archer. “I’m going to my room for a bit.” At least there, I won’t be tempted to touch him, steal a kiss, or put my foot in my mouth.

Jacob remains silent as I slip away. At the door, I look back. He’s sitting in the same position, his stare fixed firmly on his glass, the ice cubes clinking against the sides.

I walk down the corridor leading to the bedrooms and go into my room, which is light and airy like the rest of the villa, although not very big. It’s longer than it is wide, so there’s barely room to walk around the foot of the double bed. Since we got here, I’ve kept the curtains closed to keep it cool, even when the air con isn’t on. It sort of works. I grab a book from my suitcase and lounge on the bed. I’ve barely reached the end of the first page when there’s a knock on my door.

“Come in.”

The door opens. Jacob enters the room and shuts it.

I raise my eyebrows. He was the last person I was expecting.

“What happened with Dad wasn’t your fault,” Jacob says.

It was, but I keep my mouth shut. I close my book and put it on the bed.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he says.

“I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about. I hate seeing you this tense.”

He replies with a wry smile. “Well, my usual form of stress relief is off-limits.”