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Villa Nine had its own gate, its own gardener and a plunge pool lit from underneath like a swimming pool in a film about rich people doing something wrong. At nine o’clock exactly I stood outside it in a green wrap dress with my heart going like a drum.
Gary opened the door in swim shorts and a smile of pure relief. “She came! Lou, she came!”
“I heard,” Lou called. “Don’t pounce.”
She was already in the pool, gold bikini, dark bob slicked back, a bottle of prosecco balanced on the edge. I slipped off my sandals and sat down with my feet in the warm water. Gary poured. Lou raised her glass.
“Rules, one more time,” she said. “You can say stop at any point. Not just now. Any point. Nobody is cross, nobody is hurt. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” I said, and meant it.
“And if you say yes?”
“Then I mean it.”
“Good girl.” She swam over and settled between my knees, wet hands resting on my thighs. Her eyes were green and wicked. Behind her, Gary sat on a lounger, drink in hand, his gaze fixed on us with the stillness of a man at a very good film.
“You’ve been looking at my mouth since Tuesday,” Lou said softly.
“I have.”
“May I?”
I nodded. She came up out of the water and kissed me, soft at first, then deep, her tongue sliding against mine. I heard Gary breathe out, slow and shaky, behind her.