Page 15 of The Retreat

Talia hadn’t expected to enjoy the game. She’d gone along with it because it was easier than arguing.

But now there was a kind of... looseness between them. Not trust, exactly. Just a sense that neither of them was about to launch a passive-aggressive grenade. She had to call that progress.

‘Alright,’ Talia said, shaking her arms out as if the movement would dispel the last of the weird warmth she felt. ‘That’s enough emotional excavation for one day.’

Imogen gave her the smallest smile. Then her expression shifted. She cocked her head, frowning slightly. ‘Did you hear that?’

Talia froze. Voices. Doors slamming. The clatter of wheelie suitcases on flagstones.

Oh, god.

She whipped her phone out of her pocket and checked the time. ‘Shit. The welcome lunch starts in fifteen minutes. People are arriving.’

‘You told me we had time to settle in!’ Imogen wailed.

Talia was already straightening up in the full-length mirror. ‘We did. We used it.’

From outside came a booming, ‘This place is SWEET!’ that could only belong to Marcus Talbot, junior associate and the office Labrador.

‘OK, alright, OK,’ Imogen said, standing from the bed. ‘Do I look OK?’ she asked with slight self-consciousness.

Talia turned from the mirror and gave her a once-over.

The clothes were cosy and cute, and her sandy blonde hair was in some sort of deliberately messy braid thing that was casual yet presentable. She was an appealing human to look at, Talia conceded. The sharp cut of her cheekbones, the way her full mouth tilted slightly at one corner like she was always halfway to laughing at you. The wide amber-hazel eyes were soft and open. Her skin was absurd. It had that maddening glow of dewy health.

And there was something about the energy she gave off... Charming. Warm. Slightly chaotic, yes, but there was charisma there.

Talia didn’t trust Imogen as far as she could throw her, but in that moment, she could appreciate her. If she’d had the choice of someone to hang off her arm, Talia was forced to admit to herself that she couldn’t have done much better.

‘You’ll do,’ Talia said, turning back to her reflection.

Talia stood up and brushed her hands down the sides of her trousers, though there was nothing on them. ‘Look. You don’t have to be perfect,’ she said. ‘You just have to seem... plausible.’

‘That sounds like a lawyer word,’ Imogen observed.

Talia sighed. ‘I guess it is. But it’s not a bad way to approach it. Be charming and be plausible. Does that sound like something you can manage?’

‘For ten grand? I’ll plause my arse off.’ The words were light, but Imogen’s eyes weren’t.

Talia caught a flash of real fear before Imogen masked it with another shaky smile.

‘It’ll be OK,’ Talia said quietly. She didn’t know that, of course. But she just needed Imogen to calm down a bit. She looked like Talia felt.

Imogen nodded once, sharp and jerky.

Talia opened the door, and they stepped out into the corridor together. Somewhere downstairs, smooth, inoffensive jazz played, and the low hum of conversation floated up.

‘Should I hold your hand?’ Imogen whispered as they walked.

Talia glanced at her. ‘Oh, umm…’ She nearly said, ‘No, that’s not necessary.’ But then she realised how stupid that was. Of course she should hold Imogen’s hand. She had to. ‘OK.’

Imogen slipped her hand into Talia’s, and Talia felt her grip go rigid and told it to chill, relaxing into the hold. As she did, she found that Imogen’s hand was soft and warm, and Talia wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable with holding the appendage of her enemy as she would’ve thought.

At the top of the stairs, the noise below sharpened. Cutlery on plates, low laughter, and the clink of glass rose up to meet them. Talia felt Imogen’s fingers tighten.

Below them, the lodge’s main hall was rowdy. Long tables lined the far wall, stacked with platters and drinks. A couple dozen people milled about, some holding a plate already.

Imogen shifted beside her, nervous energy rolling off her in waves.

‘I feel like I’m about to walk on stage naked,’ she muttered.

Talia didn’t say anything to that, but she let her thumb brush lightly over Imogen’s knuckles, just once, not even thinking about it until it was already done. Imogen’s hand responded, tightening her grip on Talia’s. Just for a second.

Talia glanced sideways at her—at the faint flush high on her cheeks, the way her chest rose and fell a little too fast—and felt an unexpected jolt of protectiveness.

Side by side, they started down the stairs, the chatter and clinking glasses swelling around them. Heads were already turning. Eyes tracking them as they descended.

Talia lifted her chin and pasted on a smile she prayed looked natural.