The Villa(34)

There are so many distractions at Villa Rosato.

But now, finally, they’re sitting down, Pierce’s notebook is open on his knee, and Noel is actually listening to him.

Lara crosses the room to flop onto Mari’s sofa, leaning her head against Mari’s shoulder. “Aren’t they beautiful?” she says dreamily, her eyes fixed on Pierce and Noel. Pierce is already strumming his guitar, Noel nodding along, watching the placement of Pierce’s fingers.

And they are beautiful, but it irks Mari, that dreamy wonder in Lara’s voice.

“I’ve started writing a little myself.”

It’s Johnnie, who has taken a seat on her other side, his thigh pressed against hers, and Mari frowns in confusion.

“I saw you were writing,” Johnnie goes on, gesturing to the notebook on the other side of Lara. “And I thought I might try it. I play music, too, you know. Brought my guitar, but Noel never wants me to play with him, so maybe writing could be something I’m—”

“Right.” Mari cuts him off, her gaze drawn back to the two men in front of her, and though she knows she’s being a little rude, she doesn’t care, not right now. Right now, she wants to watch what she’s sure is history being made. The beginning of something great.

She feels Johnnie’s eyes on the side of her face, but she doesn’t turn to meet his gaze, and after a moment, he gets up with a sigh.

Mari hears the creak of the door, hears his footsteps as he leaves, a muted slam coming from somewhere upstairs.

“What’s his problem?” Lara asks in a low voice. Pierce is still playing, but he’s just repeating the same two chords, and Noel is shaking his head, reaching over to scratch something in Pierce’s notebook.

“Johnnie?” she answers, her eyes still on Pierce. “I don’t know.”

“He’s hot for you,” Lara whispers, and Mari frowns.

“He is not,” she says, even though she knows that he is, and Lara laughs, her head tipping back. It’s a real laugh, her real voice. She’s not playing a part for Noel or for Pierce right now, and Mari remembers that there was a time when she actually really liked spending time with her stepsister. Back when they were girls, sharing the same bedroom, sleeping in twin beds and whispering secrets in the dark.

“I have eyes, Mare,” Lara says, nudging her. “And he clearly has taste.”

She snuggles in close to Mari again, all easy affection because that’s Lara. Mari has always felt her own prickliness acutely, knows that she’s not easy to talk to or really get to know. Lara, though … it’s all out there with Lara, and there are moments, like now, that Mari is glad for it.

Still, Mari wishes things were different with her and Lara. That they could just be sisters, sisters who love each other, sisters who aren’t vying for the same thing.

For the same man.

But that was always their way, wasn’t it? Before Pierce, it was Mari’s father. Lara had been twelve, nearly thirteen, when her mother had married William Godwick, but that hadn’t stopped her from calling him “Papa,” from running to him every evening when he got home to regale him with some story from school or a new book she’d read or an album she’d listened to.

Mari had always thought it was a little sad, how eager Lara had been for William’s attention, but then her father always indulged it, always smiled fondly at Lara in a way he never did at Mari, no matter her accomplishments.

Maybe Lara was simply easier to love because she wasn’t a living reminder of the woman William had loved and lost. Or maybe it’s something in Mari herself that makes men she loves, be they father or lover, look for something else in Lara.

That’s over, she tells herself. They both promised you it would never happen again, and, besides, Lara’s clearly hung up on Noel now.

But when Mari glances over at Lara, it’s not Noel she’s watching with those dark eyes.

And Pierce stares back. Not for long, and his eyes almost immediately slide to Mari, but his fingers nearly miss the note. Suddenly Lara’s skin feels uncomfortably warm and damp next to hers.

She’s thinking about going up to bed when something in Pierce’s playing shifts. The song becomes less hesitant, more solid, and then Noel finally picks up his own guitar.

The candles flicker and make eerie shapes on the wall while outside, the rain continues to pour down, thunder rattling the panes of glass in the windows. The storm that had not so long ago made her feel claustrophobic and trapped now makes the room seem cozy and close in a good way. Like their own universe.

Then Noel starts to play, and Mari instantly understands.

All the drugs and the women and the men, all the wild, dark rumors, all of that is both a distraction from and an offshoot of what this man can do with his guitar, his voice, and his words.

His elegant fingers move over the strings, and later, Mari will try to recall the exact melody of this song. Noel will never play it again, certainly never record it, and years after this night, when she asks him about it, he’ll swear to not remember even playing.

But Mari will remember, and this song will stay with her.

Noel begins to sing in that low voice she’s heard a thousand times on the radio. It’s different in person, though, and her heart seems to beat both a little harder and a little slower in her chest.

This, she understands, is the Noel people fall in love with.