Page 32 of The Retreat

Imogen brushed her teeth, washed her face, and ran a brush through her hair with grim, soldier-like efficiency. It helped. Rituals always helped. Especially after a morning that had begun with someone else’s body wrapped around hers in a way that had made her body say, ‘Hey. Remember sex? It’s pretty good, isn’t it? Maybe you should, er, ya know, have some?’

But it wasn’t just the way her vagina had reacted that was the problem.

She’d been into it. She’d liked waking up with Talia’s warm arms around her and the barest hint of soft snoring in her ear. She couldn’t understand what the hell was happening. She and Talia were enemies of old. How the actual hell had they gotten here?

She dressed quickly, as if putting on clothes could also put emotional distance between her and the memory of Talia sleep-clinging to her like a koala.

By the time she reached the breakfast buffet, the dining room was buzzing with too-early corporate cheer. She scanned the room and spotted Talia already seated at the long table. She was sandwiched between Daniel and Rebecca.

Talia caught her eye and smiled tightly.

Imogen sat down opposite her with an equally brisk bearing of the teeth. Civil. Normal.

They were so normal.

‘Sleep well?’ Rebecca asked.

‘Very well,’ Imogen said, arranging her napkin like it was a weapon. ‘You?’

‘Good, except I woke up with a little friend. Spider got into my bed.’

Talia made a startled ‘pffft’ into her coffee, narrowly avoiding a full-on spit take. Imogen turned, eyebrows raised, and they shared a split-second look.

Do not, Imogen told herself, smile like you’re in on some joke only the two of you know.

She decided to keep her mouth shut and listen from then on.

The breakfast conversation from there was as dry as unbuttered toast. Something about a botched clause in a fund prospectus that had apparently ‘triggered a review’ and a junior who’d been ‘quietly moved sideways’ after a conference call went nuclear. Someone made a joke about a trainee not understanding the difference between equity and debt, which earned a round of smug laughter.

Imogen smiled, nodded, and consciously didn’t roll her eyes at any boring bullshit. She was warm and wifely, exactly as advertised.

But things kept cropping up, little reminders of the cuddle incident.

They bumped knees under the table. Brushed fingers reaching for the butter. All tiny, normal things, made weird by how not-normal Imogen felt. Her nerves were vibrating like a struck tuning fork.

Stop it, she told herself. This is fake. You are fake.

Rebecca stood and cleared her throat in a way that Imogen was starting to dread.

‘If you’re finished with breakfast, we’ll be heading out to the conservatory for our next activity!’ Rebecca beamed. ‘This morning, you’ll be stretching yourselves in our Partners Yoga session! If you brought your life partner, you’ll be with them. For everyone else, find someone to pair off with. Get ready for some serious bonding!’

Imogen’s stomach dropped. The words partner and yoga in close proximity could only mean one thing: enforced intimacy, public flexibility, and way too many opportunities to fall face-first into someone’s crotch.

‘We’ll be working on communication, balance, and mutual trust,’ Rebecca continued cheerily. ‘So be ready to support each other physically and maybe learn something new about yourselves in the process!’

Talia made a tiny choking sound. Imogen watched her spit out croissant crumbs.

‘I’m OK,’ Talia said.

‘Sure,’ Imogen said.