Summer of Like // Farleigh Start x OC

37: Put Summer in a Pine Box

I put on my bikini - not because I think we'll end up swimming, but because Farleigh asked, and it is our honeymoon, after all, even if Oliver Quick is here too. The sun feels good on my skin, the heat burning away all the stress and age that have gathered on the surface until I feel like I'm in college again, and the days are long and unnumbered. There are no bills to be paid, or stories to chase, or house renovations or car maintenance to be done here. It is just Farleigh and I and the gentle lapping of the lake at the shore.

Next to me, he leafs through a book that I told him to read probably years ago - Antony and Cleopatra - only getting to it now. He shakes his head, lips pursed. "I can't tell if this Antony guy was in love with Caesar or fucking hated his guts." He says, snapping the book shut and tossing it into the grass.

"Trick question - both are true." I say, rolling so that I can tan my back.

Farleigh sits up, propping himself up on his hands and moving his sunglasses from their perch on his nose into his curls. With a long sigh, he casts a wistful gaze over the lake. "We should have gone to Venice instead."

"Bored of Saltburn already?" I ask, gathering my hair in one hand and using the hairband on my wrist to pile it into a bun at the top of my head.

"Yes and no." He says. "It's weird being here without them. And that Oliver fucking Quick is here too, I don't know. I guess honeymooning at Saltburn sounded better in my head. I forgot how little there is to do here."

I grin, remembering how he would complain that he could never catch a break when he'd first come to New York with me. How the times have changed. "We'll just have to make our own fun." I say.

"I miss my sewing machine." He sighs again. "And York peppermint patties."

I reach over to the pile of things I brought out with me - my own pleasure read, Homer's Iliad, and a pen in case I wanted to make any notes in the margins. I click the pen and toss it to Farleigh before laying back down, resting my face against the towel underneath me. "Knock yourself out."

I hear Farleigh shuffle, and then warm fingers run across my back. "I'm so giving you a tramp stamp."

The cold nib of the pen traces against my skin as he begins to draw. I let my eyes fall shut, enjoying the rhythmic scratching of the pen against my skin, and the way his palm rests against the small of my back. "How come we don't have matching tattoos already?" I ask.

"Because you'd want to get something lame." He responds easily.

"Well what would you want?" I ask.

He's quiet for a moment. "A box of cigarettes, but instead of having Marlboro or whatever as the label, it says Start."

"And that's not lame?" I ask. Really, I wouldn't mind that at all - sharing cigarettes has punctuated our lives since we met, and now that we share the same last name, it's not a bad idea. But, for the sake of the conversation, I pretend otherwise.

He scoffs. "Fine then- what would you have us get?"

"A line-"

"A line?"

"Yes, a line, you didn't let me finish." I say. "A line that connects when we hold hands."

A kiss finds its way to the nape of my neck. "You're such a loser." Farleigh says, affection seeping from his tone. "Of course you'd pick some cutesy shit."

"Fuck off." I say. A shiver runs up my spine as the pen hits a sensitive spot. "You're lucky I didn't pick a heart or sparkles or something."

The pen stops for a moment. "Do you remember Felix and Venetia's stars that they had?"

That pang of guilt and loneliness that has haunted me since 2007 strikes through me again. "Yeah." I say. "Right next to their thumbs."

That tattoo was one of the first things that I'd noticed about her when we met. I thought it was a little hardcore, having your only tattoo be in a place that makes human resource management hiring officers flinch. But I guess, when you never really need a job, you can do what you want. She told me that the stars were from her family crest. I told her that they matched the ones in her eyes - god, I was already in love with her then. She laughed. I still remember her laugh.

The tears are slipping out of my eyes before I've even realized that they've welled up, leaving wet spots on the towel underneath me. I sit up, and wipe a hand under my eyes.

Farleigh's concerned gaze meets mine as he places a hand on my cheek. "You okay?"

"Yeah." I say. "I just - I don't know, something about being here just has me on the verge of crying all the time." I pause, looking back to the manor house. "I just really miss her."

"Me too." He says. It's not like when Oliver said it - I know that he misses her, and Felix, probably a thousand times more than I do. I didn't grow up with them - he did. "I keep expecting to run into them, you know?" He laughs. "Like I'll just round a corner and they'll be there." He pauses, fiddling with the pen in his hands. "I keep having dreams that they were at the wedding."

The thought of Venetia there, in one of the bridesmaid dresses, holding a bouquet, is enough to almost make me cry again. I wipe at my eyes again, and laugh. "They would have had a great time."

"Of course they would have, it was an open bar." Farleigh says, some of the melancholy on his face washing away.

I twist, doing my best to glance down at my back. I can't make out what he drew - the way I'm bending swirling the design into something unrecognizable. "What's it say?"

"Farleigh's girl." He says, the grin fully returning to his face.