Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 740(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 740(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
“Ma famille.” My heart is full at the sight of them. As much as I’ve enjoyed my time with Primrose, I’ve never been away from my children for any length of time before. A night here and there due to business, but I work long enough hours not to be deprived of them for days. Pre Primrose. “Have you been behaving?”
“Oui,” Sylvie says immediately.
“Non,” Felix says at exactly the same time.
She elbows him, and he grins.
I settle deeper into my chair. “I see.”
“Where’s Primrose?” Sylvie demands.
No hello, Papa. No I miss you, Papa. Just where is my llama-loving friend?
“She is—” I glance up as though I expect her to come walking through the door. But she doesn’t. She won’t. Even if she were awake, she wouldn’t interrupt this call. “Busy,” I decide on.
From somewhere off-screen I hear Amélie make a noise of deep understanding. But she doesn’t understand a thing.
“Busy doing what?”
Taking a siesta after a vigorous afternoon of… none of their business. “I’m not sure.”
“But you’re in the same house—all alone.”
“Who says we’re alone?”
“Tante Amélie.” My daughter blinks. And her aunt laughs. “She must be so bored without us.”
“Perhaps when you call tomorrow, I can ask her yourself.”
“Excellent!” Sylvie claps her hands together before I’ve even finished. “Then I can talk to her about Lola and Bouton and if she has visited Andiamo and also if Alejandro is her boyfriend yet.”
“Yes. You can ask all those questions, I’m sure.” Unfortunately, she won’t be able to tell you that Alejandro has been seconded to a winery far away because she doesn’t know.
“Who is Alejandro?” Amélie demands from beyond.
“A man who works for papa.” Sylvie turns her head over her shoulder as my son rolls his eyes. Girl stuff, the look seems to say. “He has lashes like a llama,” she adds.
Felix leans closer. “Is she still cross with you?”
“The llama?”
“Primrose,” he says as though I’m dense.
“Why would she be cross with me?”
My children exchange a look I haven’t seen in quite some time. Silent and conspiratorial.
“Don’t tell me. Because Tante Amélie said.”
“No, because we saw her,” Felix replies unhappily. “We were at Maria’s house—”
“Waiting for the stars to come out,” my daughter adds. “We can still do that, Papa, yes? When we come back from our vacation.”
“Yes, when you come back from your vacation from your vacation, we can ask Maria and Jose.” I turn to my son again. “You saw Primrose?”
“She was at Zoe’s house—”
“She was wearing a pretty blue dress!”
“She looked like she was going out, but her eyes were red. You were the only one at home,” he adds with an air of accusation.
“She should’ve come with us,” Sylvie adds. “Then you would not have upset her.”
“I haven’t upset anyone,” I protest. “Primrose is perfectly fine.” More than fine, last time I saw her.
My daughter looks down her nose at me while my son looks unconvinced.
“Will she still be there when we come home?” Sylvie gets so close to the screen that, for a moment, all I can see is one gimlet eye and one sun-browned cheek.
“Of course,” I say, because the admit I don’t know would be a mistake. My brain tells me the sooner she leaves, the better for me. And my body tells my brain to shut up. “She’ll be here.” Even if only for a little while. But the answer comes easily. Too easily to be the truth.
Felix leans into view beside her. “You promise?”
“I do.”
They accept this with the resolute faith children place in their parents when they’re young, and the conversation moves on to the places they’ve visited, and the things they’ve seen. But my promise feels like a chicken bone stuck in my throat.
Primrose has not indicated that she’ll leave before our time is up. The date on her ticket that we don’t speak of. Things between us are good—better than good. The past few days have been full of laughter and long meals and her warm body curled against mine at night. So I won’t think about the future. The end. Whether she’ll be here when the children come home or whether I decide that shouldn’t be the case.
Be honest.
If there was any justice in the world I’d be struck down from above.
43
PRIMROSE
He asks me to be honest and all I can think is, I see you hiding.
He asks me to be honest, but what I want is for him to ask me to stay.
Stay. I nibble the inside of my lip. How would that even work? He lives in Paris, and I live in London. His children belong in Paris—it’s what their mother intended for them. And London is my home; my job is my home. How would we even navigate our lives, our commitments, and a relationship with the English Channel between us?
This is ridiculous, I think as I adjust the throw pillow behind my head then almost frisbee my book to the coffee table. He’s not going to ask me to stay. We have seven days—that’s all. Two more without the children. Is it weird that I miss them?