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)
“I didn’t need an explanation. It was stupidity.”
“Like pretending you don’t speak French?”
“He said he was afraid.” My gaze dips to the linen napkin on my lap. “And yes, I suppose he did try to say sorry. Not that sorry is enough.”
“A man who admits to being afraid? Well.” She lets the word sit in the air between us. “And now he’s sending you flowers. Because he wants you back.”
I say nothing.
“Would you move to Paris?”
“He hasn’t asked me.”
“But would you?”
It seems academic now. I did think about it back in Mallorca, but the topic never came up. He had no intention of asking me.
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. My job is here. My family. But there’s no way Luc could live anywhere else. Not with his business and the kids. Maybe we were just doomed from the start. Urgh, so melodramatic.
“Do you want to tell me what he did? What heinous act he committed to make you so sad?”
“I’m not sad.” I help myself to more garlic bread, and she doesn’t complain this time.
“Primrose,” she says. “I know you’re hurting. You haven’t been yourself. We’ve barely seen you because you’ve been hiding away, and now I know why.”
“I’ve just been busy settling into my new job.”
“Busy moping, more like.” She clasps her hands together and presses them to her cheek. “This whole conversation is giving ‘But daddy, I love him’ vibes. And you do.”
“I can’t turn the feelings off,” I mumble.
“That’s shit, Prim,” she says reaching over to clasp my hand. “Shall I tell Raif?”
“Thanks, but I don’t think I’d feel any better knowing Luc is sleeping with the fishes.”
“We could just frighten him a little?” She scrunches her nose and gives a tiny shrug.
“How?”
“I could tell him this beauty is his,” she says, caressing her bump with both hands.
“Evil wench.” I give a smile and feel it dim as I think about how much Sylvie would love that. “Not so sure Raif would be pleased with that plan.”
“He knows revenge isn’t just a pastime to me. It’s half my personality.”
I chuckle, and at the sound of my name I turn, just in time as something small and fast collides with my chest. The impact knocks a startled breath from me as wiry arms lock around my neck.
“Primrose, tu m’as tellement manqué!”
“Sylvie.” Astonished, I set her back a little. My heart, I’ve missed her so much too. The thought feels like a slap to the head. Like, how did I not realize? I miss them and their silly arguments that remind me so much of my own siblings.
“Yes, it is me!” she announces, beaming, pink-cheeked, her pale hair escaping its untidy braids.
“So it is.” My voice catches. “Look at you. What are you doing in London, sweets?”
“I live here now.”
“In London?” I reason her father has many houses… even if that sounded a bit biblical. He has heaps of property. But he never mentioned…
Her father. If Sylvie is here, M. LDH won’t be far behind. I don’t look up. I can’t. I can’t even look at my sister. The restaurant continues around us—cutlery chiming, glasses clinking, the soft hum of lunchtime conversation—but all I can hear is my own heart, frantic and hopeful and fucking terrified.
“This is my sister, Sylvie. Lavender, this is Sylvie.”
“Bonjour,” the little girl offers. “Zut!” she adds immediately. “I mean, hello. I am pleased to meet you.”
My sister’s lips twitch. “Hello.”
“If I am in London, I should speak only English,” she says, looking my way again. “I have missed you. You went away,” she only half accuses. “Papa said you would be in the house when we returned, but you were not.”
“I know.” I smooth the hair from her forehead. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye properly.”
“Papa said it was his fault.”
“Well, sometimes,” I begin, ignoring the prickle in my eyes.
“Sometimes even fathers get scared.”
My heart gives an arrhythmic flutter as I look up and find his blue staring down at me. Fork in the toaster time as my mind just… empties. Everything goes “pouf!” at the sight of Luc standing behind his daughter. Every thought, every sensible notion, every reason I have for keeping him out of my life. Gone. My body doesn’t suffer likewise, amplifying instead. My heart swells and my tongue twists. My insides pulse and… well, you get the picture.
“Mon cœur.”
My sister sighs loudly, all eyes turning her way. “What can I say? I love a pet name,” she says with a shrug.
“Papa calls Primrose his little flower.”
What now? My head swings comically to Luc, mouth open in a kind of ‘oh-no-he-di-dent’. Tell me you did not tell your child what you call me during sexytimes.
“It’s a perfectly innocent name.” But there’s some guilt in that tone of his.
“Well, I think this baby would like an ice cream,” Lavender announces. “Would you like to come and help me choose one, Sylvie?” Her attention flicks to Luc. “Maybe you might like to have an ice cream too, if your dad says that’s okay?”