Page 53 of Good at Being Alive
“It just turned into this weird thing where I started to actually enjoy it,” Bex continues, her teeth sinking into her plump lower lip. “It felt like…a relief, somehow, gnawing on one. I know it’s weird and pathetic. I have no idea why I was so much hungrier than her or Bronwyn. I just was.”
I stare at her. These little snippets that she’s offered of her childhood have been consistent in one way only: they paint Jessie in a highly unflattering light. And it’s not that I think she’stryingto do it. I think Jessie deserved to be painted in an unflattering light, and for some reason, no one did it. I’m not even sure that Rebecca has put it together herself.
“I don’t think that’s weird,” I tell her. “I think it’s fucking heartbreaking. Why did your father allow that?”
Her gaze is fixed on the empty shot glass. “I probably never even mentioned it to him.”
Why? Why didn’t she mention it, and why didn’t Rick ever ask his wife why the fucking freezer waspadlocked,and, come to think of it, why did he allow her to take so many potshots at Bex when they were in public?
Jessie was always throwing Bex under the bus, right in front of him. And even when she wasn’t around, Rick never once alluded to how fuckingbrillianthis daughter was…and hemusthave known. Spend an hour with Rebecca and she’ll do or say something extraordinary.
“Freeze one of the cookies if you must, but eat the other one now.”
“I don’twantit now.”
“Bex, you’ve got a hollow leg. I’ve never seen you claim to be full. Eat the fucking cookie, right here, and I swear I’ll never bring it up again.”
With a deep sigh, she lifts the cookie, bites into it, and chews, frowning the whole time.
“What’s the verdict?”
Her eyes narrow. “It’s really good.”
I laugh at the almost childlike anger on her face. “But you’re still pissed at me?”
“Yes.” She takes a second, scowling bite.
Beneath the table I reach out and squeeze her knee. “Then at least we’re back to normal.”
• • •
Because the waters around Capri fill up fast, the only way to make the boat ride from Sorrento to Capri without too much traffic clogging the view is to leave at sunrise. I get down to the lobby at six and Bex arrives only a minute later, wearing a gauzy swim cover-up through which I can see the outline of her white bikini and a whole lot of skin. I picture the robe sliding from her shoulders. The way she’d gasp as I pulled the ties of that string bikini and let it fall to the floor.
I swallow hard. Just because you have an impulse to do something doesn’t mean you have to act on it. And I definitely won’t act on it, but bloody hell, I think of it often.
Her stilettos echo across the marble floor as she takes her suitcase over to a bellman, then turns my way. “You need a cover-up for that cover-up,” I grunt as she approaches, taking careful, tiny steps. “And why the hell are you wearing high heels to go on a boat?”
She rolls her eyes, moving toward the revolving door. “You don’t actually think this was my decision, do you? I just wore what Mindy told me to wear.”
“Go get the sandals,” I tell her, narrowing my eyes at the gawking bellboys and valets. “I’ll have the crew wait.”
She shrugs. “I’m trying not to piss anyone off this early in the process. Besides, I’d have to unpack the whole suitcase.”
When the van appears, she’s ogled equally by the valets and Caden as she climbs in. I’d pay a thousand bucks to put her in a full-coverage robe and a pair of flip-flops right now.
“Lars isn’t available this morning,” says Caden. “Paula’s directing and I’m AD1.”
Excellent. I’ll be taking direction from Caden, then. Caden, who has checked out Bex at least ten times in the past minute. I can’t possibly see how this could go awry.
We careen down a steep, twisty road carved into a cliff face and pull up behind the other van at the marina. Caden jumps down from the passenger seat and waits by the van’s sliding door, eager to help Bex out.
“I’ve got it,” I bark, bumping him out of the way and helping Bex climb down in the ridiculous shoes.
“Fucking take them off,” I demand. “If you try to climb those rocks in heels you’re going to break something. Mindy isn’t all-knowing.”
“I’m not sure I want to climb thembarefooteither.”
She’s right. And I can only see one solution at present, one solution I’d prefer not to employ, but fuck it. I swoop her up into my arms, as if she’s a bride being carried over a threshold, and continue to walk, ignoring her surprised gasp.
