As her younger sisters proceeded to argue about the shower hierarchy structure, Sam felt a headache prickling at her temples. These were not good signs and God knew what was to come next.
Chapter 7
The first timeScott saw Samantha, she’d been dancing. His family had just moved into the new house and after a long day of unloading boxes, his father’s simmering anger had driven him to his bedroom. Once inside, he’d heard bright pop music coming through the window. He stuck his head outside and then he saw the girl next door. She had long black hair and a pale face, and she was dancing. Not swaying from side to side, dancing—throwing her body around the room as she lip-synched the words. She was being awfully loud. Scott watched her, waiting for someone to tell her to stop, but no one did.
One song turned into another, and though a squirmy feeling told him to look away, he couldn’t. She wasn’t agooddancer, exactly, but she clearly didn’t care, she was justdancing, kicking and punching the air with the utmost pleasure and zero shame. He watched her dance until his dad shouted for him to shut the bloody window.
His post plane panic that he would be alone and friendless in Melbourne had proved pointless. As soon as he started work, his old life rebuilt itself. His colleagues were friendly and his proximity to the Yarra made finding another rowing team simple. His BMW had been delivered, his boss was friendly, his apartment was semi-unpacked and his father was leaving him alone. Everything was sorted.
Everything except the matter of Samantha DaSilva.
There was nothing sensible there for him to hope for, nothing about a shared future that made sense. Yet, his memories of their shared adolescence were sharper than they’d been in years. In London, he’d barely thought of Sam. In Melbourne he walked the streets recalling even their most mundane run-ins. His teenage romance had glossed the whole city in rose-gold nostalgia.
It was moronic. Even before she had extensive tattoos and a failing business, his attraction to Sam made no sense. She was an uncompromising exhibitionist and he was…British. Yet he couldn’t let go. Thoughts of seeing her again were more compelling than asking out any of the pretty, interested women he came into contact with.
In the back of his mind, he was perpetually inventing excuses to swing by the tattoo parlour again. Of course, he couldn’t do it. There was no plausible reason and he’d told Samantha he was only visiting. He’d look like a twat if he just showed up at her door and said‘surprise! I do live in Melbourne again! How about another drink?’
So he tried, with limited to no success, to put her out of his mind. At least until his personal assistant burst into his office. “Your dad’s here! Your dad’s here and I don’t know what to do!”
Scott saw the demented fear his father inspired in the meek glittering in Toby’s eyes and knew this wasn’t a drill. “Christ, what does he want?”
“I have no idea. He looks mad, though. Do you…want me to tell him to leave?”
Toby looked terrified at the idea. He was a good kid, fresh out of uni and eager to please. The last person Scott wanted getting a collateral chewing out from his father. He pulled out his wallet and extracted twenty bucks. “Tell you what, send him in and then grab us both a coffee from down the street.”
Toby smiled gratefully. “How does your dad have his coffee?”
“I’ve no idea. I meant the two of us. Can you get them to put that peppermint stuff in mine?”
“Su—”
There was a loud knock on the door. “Scott, I know you’re in there. Bloody well let me in!”
Toby shot the door a nervous look. “Two lattes, one with peppermint?”
“That’s right. Take your time.”
His assistant had no sooner opened the door than his father burst in, almost bowling Toby over. “They’re refusing to negotiate with me,” he said, by way of introduction.
Scott waved Toby out of the door and into the safety of the main office. “Who are?”
His father dropped his arse into the visitor’s chair. “The DaSilvas. Edgar’s wandered off somewhere, the business is going under and theystillwon’t negotiate with me on the house.”
“Dad, why the hell did you go and see the DaSilvas? I told you they weren’t interested in selling.”
“Theyareinterested. I’m getting that bloody house, Scott. It’s going to be mine.”
Scott stared at him in horror. He couldn’t believe this. He’d always known his dad was determined to a fault, but this was insanity. “Dad, what does Marina think about all this DaSilva house stuff?”
“Don’t you speak to me about that woman.” His father’s black eyes were hot with anger at the mention of his second wife. “I came here to talk to you about the house. You lied to me. You said the oldest girl was the one running the tattoo business and the others aren’t around.”
“They aren’t!”
“Then why was the other one there? The little one?”
“Tabitha? Tabitha DaSilva was at the tattoo parlour?”
His father shot him a filthy look. “I don’t know her name. I wanted to speak to the older girl about the sale and the little one threw a bloody cat at me.”