Page 41 of The Retreat
His girlfriend was giving zero shits, however. Because that was how it looked when you were strong with someone. What a misstep Talia had made.
‘In the meantime, go and apologise. Save yourself the argument. Put the blame where it should be,’ Celeste urged.
Talia opened her mouth to argue. But Celeste wasn’t kidding. She expected Talia to act, and she expected itnow.
She stood, feeling all of twelve years old. The awkward kid told to go apologise with the adult hovering to make sure it stuck.
She moved around the circle slowly, her heartbeat strangely loud in her ears. Her mouth was dry, her thoughts already darting ahead. How would this look? Could she sell it?
Imogen didn’t look up until Talia was nearly there. Then her gaze lifted.
‘Hi,’ Talia said awkwardly.
‘Hello,’ Imogen said, just as awkwardly.
Talia stood for a moment. Then, quietly, she sat down beside Imogen, close enough that their shoulders almost brushed. Her voice was low, barely audible beneath the noise of the fire and laughter.
‘Celeste wants me to apologise for behaving jealously,’ she murmured, eyes on the flames.
Imogen nodded. ‘Got it.’
Talia knew this was the moment, and it had to read from a distance. She leaned in and made as much eye contact with Imogen as she could bear. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her mouth making the shape of the words in an exaggerated mime of contrition. She had to play to the cheap seats.
‘That’s OK,’ Imogen said back with a quick, nervous smile.
Imogen sighed and looked into the crackling fire, hoping it was over. But then she felt it. Celeste’s gaze was still on her. Expecting more.
Talia exhaled through her nose.Fine.
She turned slightly toward Imogen, not all the way, but enough to let her see her face. Then she gave her a small, deliberate look: eyebrows raised, lips pressed together, a subtle nod. A signal.She wants more.
Imogen’s eyes searched hers for a long beat, and something in her expression said,Do what you have to.
And so, feeling like she might combust from the inside out, Talia moved.
She reached out, not for Imogen’s hand, but for her arm. She gently curled her fingers around Imogen’s sleeve, just above the elbow. A soft, almost hesitant grip. Just enough to show warmth, connection.
Imogen looked down at Talia’s hand on her arm. Then back up at her. She didn’t stiffen as Talia might have expected. Instead, she leaned in ever so slightly. Her shoulder brushed Talia’s. And then her head casually tipped sideways until it came to rest against Talia’s head.
The contact sent a ripple through Talia’s whole body. Her skin seemed to tighten. Her pulse jumped. But she didn’t stiffen either. She just sat there, shoulder to shoulder, her temple resting lightly against Imogen’s.
The fire cracked and hissed. Someone made a joke about Marcus’s obsession with triathlons. The group laughed. But it all felt far away, unimportant. This little pocket of stillness wrapped itself around the two of them. Talia didn’t want to break it.
But they were playacting, weren’t they? Keeping up the ruse, performing closeness to satisfy the expectations of everyone watching.
But Imogen stayed close. And after a few seconds, Talia realised there was no one to perform for. Celeste had finally looked away, satisfied with Talia, and now fully engrossed in a conversation across the fire.
Talia could have pulled back then. She could have let the moment end. But she didn’t.
She kept her hand where it was. She let her head stay tilted gently toward Imogen’s.
After all, Imogen wouldn’t know. She would only know this was for the performance.
She couldn’t know Talia didn’t want it to end.
Twenty-Eight
Imogen was pressed up against Talia, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. Their arms were touching fully, all the way down, and their heads leaned together like it was the most natural thing in the world. No one commented. Why would they? They were girlfriends at a retreat, sitting close by the fire.
