Page 45 of The Retreat

The second course was a delicate risotto with wild mushrooms and a drizzle of truffle oil. Talia couldn’t taste it. She was too busy trying to keep her cool, keep her eyes off Imogen, and pretend she wasn’t slowly coming undone from the inside out.

Then Imogen reached for her hand casually. It was the kind of move that screamed ‘loving couple’, but Talia’s brain was already asking the real question: was this for them, or was it for everyone else?

Because they kept finding these moments—these excuses to touch. To lean in too close. To play the part too well. And now, with Imogen’s hand resting in hers, thumb gently pressing into the soft web between her fingers, Talia wasn’t sure what the performance was covering up or what it was revealing.

Talia reached for her water glass and knocked her elbow into Imogen’s. The elbow collided with the wine, which tipped. A perfect arc of red spilt across the white tablecloth.

‘Oh no!’ Imogen cried, half-rising from her chair in mock horror. ‘We’re such a clumsy couple!’

The words rang out bright and cheerful, and the table erupted with laughter. Talia felt her whole face flush.

‘You two are adorable,’ said Marcus, shaking his head like a proud uncle.

Talia wanted to melt through the floor. Instead, she looked at Imogen, who was the picture of composure. She really was playing her part perfectly tonight. The question was, to what extent was it an act?

‘We’ve been practising the synchronised clumsiness for months,’ Talia said dryly.

More laughter. Celeste looked amused. She knew right then she wasn’t just surviving the dinner, she was doing well. Not just her, but Imogen too. The way she had hit that note about balance…

Talia was almost there. The partnership didn’t feel like a dream someone else was having anymore. It was hers, just within reach, if she could hold her nerve. If she could just focus on what she was here to do.

‘You two have such great energy,’ Marcus noted.

Talia smiled, still clasping Imogen’s hand. But as the conversation moved on, she knew it was no good. She couldn’t ignore, even for a meal, what was happening with her fake girlfriend.

She wished she hadn’t been such a chicken in their room. She could have let Imogen speak. She might have just been asking when she’d be transferring the agreed balance.

But maybe not.

She’d never know now. Because she was such a fucking wimp. And now the onus was on her. If she didn’t act, she’d never know what they might be. She’d never touch her the way she burned to.

As she watched Imogen mopping up the wine, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear, moving in only the way she did, Talia knew it wasn’t a question anymore. She had to do something.

But how the hell was she ever going to find the bravery to let Imogen know that she wanted her?