Page 18 of The Retreat

The reception had begun to take on the feel of a typical office gathering: laughter, clinking glasses, polite grins worn thin around the edges. Imogen stood near one of the long tables, feeling tired. She needed a breather. This shit was wearing.

Talia approached with two glasses in hand: her smile smooth, distant. ‘Thought you might need this,’ she said, handing one over.

Imogen took it. Their fingers brushed briefly. Though it wasn’t the first time they’d touched hands today, it made Imogen’s arse clench every time.

But she wasn’t supposed to be clenched. She was supposed to be comfortable going skin-to-skin with Talia Knox, so she smiled quickly. ‘You know me so well,’ Imogen said, in case of rogue ears.

They stood together, angled just slightly away from the rest of the party. It would look right, Imogen thought. From a distance.

‘So,’ Talia said after a sip, ‘how’s the whole… charming-the-firm thing going?’

‘You tell me,’ Imogen replied.

Talia threw her one quick, real look. ‘I’m not unhappy,’ she said.

Imogen thought that was pretty close to a compliment coming from Talia. She was about to respond when her eyes caught the label on a nearby bottle set beside a plate of sugared almonds. She stilled.

The wine was a deep gold; the bottle stamped with a silver-inked heron. She knew that label. Too well.

A small, accidental sigh fell from her lips.

Talia picked up the reaction and followed her gaze. Her expression didn’t change, not right away. But the silence between them shifted, tautening.

‘Christ,’ Talia said, low-voiced. ‘They had to have that one.’

Imogen turned away from it. ‘She used to swear it went with everything,’ she said carefully, her voice neutral.

Talia swallowed. ‘It really didn’t.’

A short pause. Nothing in Talia’s posture or face said sadness, but Imogen felt it in her all the same. Talia swirled her glass and said, half to the floor, ‘Bold choice for a party.’

‘I bet no one drinks it,’ Imogen replied.

Their words were bland. Safe. But the weight behind them was not. The wine sat between them like a ghost neither of them could look at directly.

They didn’t speak again for a while. Just stood there as the rest of the party moved on around them. Eventually, Talia tilted her head, a gentle warning in her voice.

‘Probably best not to dwell on the bad wine choices of the organiser.’

Imogen knew she was probably right. They shouldn’t dwell on… anything.

Yet, something in her compelled her to say more. But what? What could be said about the woman they had in common that wouldn’t make what they were doing that much harder?

Nothing at all. But the topic was like a scab you shouldn’t pick, not yet healed, but oh so inviting.

‘Look, Talia…’

Talia looked at her in alarm. Imogen paused, looking for the right words. ‘I just—’

And then Rebecca yelled, ‘Right! Come on, everyone! It’s time for the obstacle course!’