‘I’m aware of that, yes. And it’s crazy. You know, if he really wanted me out of the way, all he had to do today was keep quiet. I was about to open a door with a bomb attached to it. But I guess he couldn’t sink that low. I also guess he wishes he could have.’
‘He doesn’t think straight where Mum’s concerned,’ said Layla, shuddering at the image he’d just conjured up.
‘Crazy, uh?’
‘Yeah. Crazy,’ she agreed.
A silence fell, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. Alberto was staring at Layla.
‘What, have I got a spot on my nose or something…?’ she asked, half-laughing, horribly self-conscious. She knew that if Precious could see her now she’d be pissed off. She wasn’t acting as she should – cool, alluring. Oh, she knew she looked fine. Her hair was puffed out, voluminous, framing her carefully made-up face. She still wore the white silk shirt above a tight-fitting black pencil skirt, with nude sheer tights and high heels. Precious would have approved of her appearance. But she was finding it incredibly awkward, sitting here talking to him.
‘You look… so different,’ he said, his eyes moving over her.
Layla could hardly breathe. ‘In what way?’ she asked, her voice sounding tight and unnatural to her own ears.
He hesitated for a moment. ‘You don’t look like my little sister any more,’ he said at last.
Layla took a gulping breath. So he wasn’t completely blind, after all. Merely distracted.
‘Alberto – I’m not your sister. I never have been. I never will be. My mother happened to marry your father once upon a time, that’s all.’
His eyes held hers. ‘This is going to take some getting used to.’
‘Is it?’
‘Mmm.’
‘Do you think you could get used to it?’
‘Let’s wait, shall we? And see.’
Next morning Layla was up early, doing laps in the pool. Alberto had gone out. Annie was passing Max’s room on her way down to breakfast when she caught sight of him in there, combing his hair in the mirror. It was still damp from the shower. He’d changed his shirt. Curiosity got the better of her. She approached the half-open door, and knocked. Max turned.
‘Something I can help you with?’ he said, tossing the comb down on the dressing table.
Annie walked into the room, pushed the door closed behind her.
‘Yeah. There is, actually. You can answer a question.’
‘Shoot.’
‘Why didn’t you let Alberto open that door?’
Max stared at her, said nothing.
‘Well?’ she prompted.
Max came over to where she stood. Looked hard into her eyes. She caught a fragrant whiff of his skin: clean, male, mingled with the tangy lemon scent of his cologne.