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)
“What did you say?” His face takes on a curious mixture of amusement and smolder.
“I said no—I mean, sorry?”
“No?”
“I was thinking of something else.” My cheeks feel as though they’re a thousand degrees.
“This isn’t funny.” I tip my eyes to the ceiling and mutter, “Why couldn’t he have saved this for Emmy?”
“Because Sophia wasn’t in Paris would be my guess.”
I slide him a questioning look.
“Maybe thoughts of the girl have somehow inspired him.”
“Maybe.”
“So how did you answer him?” he asks, his expression careful. Words too.
“I told him that it only happens within the bounds of marriage.” My mouth probably looks like a flatlining ECG. “And during a leap year.”
He barks out a laugh.
“It’s so not funny,” I answer, even as the sides of my mouth twitch.
“I’m sorry, but it is funny.”
“Not when you’re the one dealing with it,” I retort. “But I thought it best to give him a reality check.”
Still laughing, he shakes his head. Maybe in disbelief. I imagine that is not his experience. Sidenote: The way he laughs—the way I’ve made him laugh—makes me feel all sorts of warm and gooey. It’s hardly helpful to my current experience, but there you go.
“Thank you,” he says, still struggling to control his twitching lips.
“Stop laughing,” I say, struggling against the same.
“I’m not allowed to thank you for… rising to the occasion.”
It’s no good—we both give in, our laughter echoing.
“Poor Felix,” I say, eventually. “I imagine it was just as awkward for him as it was me. He’ll probably be scarred by the experience.”
“It won’t put him off.”
I pull a doubtful face.
“I was a teenage boy once.”
“When dinosaurs roamed the earth? Would you please stop laughing! Someone might hear you and they’ll”—guess what we did last night—“probably think you’ve been abducted by aliens.”
“Because I’m laughing in my own house?”
“Because it’s not normal behavior for you.”
His expression turns suddenly pensive, and his hand moving to his chin. “Last night,” he says, his thumb grazes across his lips. “You don’t regret it.”
Something blooms in my stomach, then drops. “I’m fine. Provided we aren’t talking about it,” I add, no longer looking at him, but the coffee machine. “As far as I’m concerned, I walked into Felix’s room, had a chat with him, then I went to the kitchen and ate cake. Then I went to bed.” I shoot a warning glance his way. “And somewhere between those two events I appear to have blacked out.”
“A good orgasm will do that to you. Two, almost three will—”
“Stop!” I whisper-hiss. “We can’t do this.”
“Maria tells me the hens are laying double yolkers.”
I spring back in my seat as though electrocuted when Zoe shuffles into the kitchen. My heart pounds hard. I can’t believe the sound of her shuffling Crocs didn’t precede her.
“Oh, wow!” I didn’t even know there were hens here, but why not? Llamas and goats and horses and hens. What next? A unicorn?
“I’m afraid my breakfast will have to wait,” Luc suddenly announces in his M. LDH voice as he stands. “My apologies, Zoe.”
“Oh, of course. No problem.”
I pick piece of invisible lint from the sleeve of my shirt rather than look at him.
“Sylvie will be downstairs soon. Please ask her to wait with you until Primrose is available.”
At the sound of my name, my head jerks up. “Where am I—”
“I’d like to see you in my office,” he says, stone-faced. Then he turns on his heel and all but storms out of the room.
As his footsteps echo against the terracotta tile, I glance Zoe’s way. I give a shrug in response to her questioning expression. No idea babes.
Our silent exchange is over in seconds. Or so I think when she gives a quick tap to the collar of her shirt and whispers one word. “Alejandro?”
This again?
“Now, if you please, Primrose.” His brisk tone carries. I pretend not to understand her as I follow him. She’s probably worried that I’m in trouble.
And I suppose I am, just not in the way she thinks.
23
LUC
I close the door with a quiet snick and turn to a reception I wasn’t quite expecting.
“Don’t,” she says, spinning away as I take a step toward her. She moves quickly to the far side of the room, her arms folded tightly across her chest.
This definitely wasn’t the reception I was hoping for.
“What’s going on?” I begin to follow when she slides a glance over her shoulder that stops me in my tracks. I’ve enjoyed her haughty looks, and her cutting put-downs, but this feels different.
Her attention pivots to the garden; the doors open to the sun-bleached terrace. “What do you call French doors?”
“What?”
“What do the French call French doors?”
“Portes-fenêtres,” I answer unthinkingly.
“Isn’t that just window doors? The translation, I mean.”
“Yes. Sort of.” I give my head a brief shake. “Primrose, what is it—what’s wrong?”
“Why would there be anything wrong?”
“Because you’re behaving like there is.” Tension tightens my belly as I recall Zoe whispering ‘Alejandro’ as I left the kitchen. Zoe thinks she’s fucking the viticulturist?