Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Would she think the same if she knew the reasons behind our marriage?
“What was that?”
“Hm?”
“Your face.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“For a minute, it looked like you were suffering from some intestinal distress. Do you actually have IBS?”
39
LAVENDER
“Right, well, the numbers look great.” Whit reaches for his wineglass before leaning back in his. “Really great.”
“Yeah, but you knew that before you got here.” I give a little shrug, nudging my tablet a little with my knuckle. My brother brought his laptop, and his phone is on silent, which told me all I needed to know about his house call.
“How could I have known? I’ve been on a sabbatical.” His brows lift as he brings his glass to his lips.
We’re sitting at the breakfast nook after declining Raif’s offer to use his home office. Whit, Mimi, Gus, and Belle arrived in a flurry of cheek kisses, cuddles, and effusive introductions. Whit and Raif were a lot more sedate in their greetings—gruff hellos and solid, manly handshakes—though both men’s demeanors thawed when Daisy appeared in all her shy loveliness. Even the Irish twin hooligans toned it down a notch. In fact, I think Gus might have the beginnings of his first crush.
They’d arrive later than I’d originally anticipated after Mimi had called this afternoon, politely turning my offer of dinner down.
“A meal is meant to be enjoyed, not endured,” she’d said with a stuttering laugh. “A meal with our two monsters has become a feat of endurance lately.”
“They’re not that bad.” I was probably being polite.
“They’re worse than bad after our mammoth vacay. Too many late nights and too many treats. Of course, I blame the parents. Mine, I mean. I swear, they’d made a bet to see who could be the number one grandparent. “What was that, honey?” she said, impersonating her mother’s voice. “Can you have more candy? Well, of course you can! I’m your favorite, right?” Seriously, these kids are feral, so let’s not frighten your new hubs from the potential joys of parenthood.”
My laughter sounded like machine-gun fire. “Didn’t anyone tell you he kind of already is?”
“Is already what?”
“A parent.”
“Ack! Yeah, sorry! I totally forgot. Jet lag mommy brain. His niece, right?”
“Yeah. Daisy.”
“So admirable,” she murmured. “Honestly, I’ve been close to selling these two on eBay.”
As if. Mimi never thought she’d have children, and she’s an amazing mum, no matter what she says.
“How are you finding that?” she asked carefully. “You’re always so good with Gus, Belle, and Milo,” she was quick to add. “I’m sure you’ve taken it all in your stride.”
“Daisy is lovely.” What else was there to say? That I could tell she’d suffered trauma, that I recognize it in her? That she’s sweet and lovely, and I just want to hug her so hard and promise she’ll be okay? All true. Every word of it—I make sure of it because I feel like I can now. Like it is my place—like I’m here to stay.
“Congratulations, by the way. I just wanted you to know I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks, Mimi. That means a lot. What about Whit? What’s he had to say?”
“Oh, you know how Whit is.”
Which probably meant she had to pull rank and stop him from flying back to insist I sort my shit out once he heard about the wedding.
“He just wants you to be happy. He just worries, you know.”
Yeah. I know a thing or two about worrying.
“I, for one, can’t wait to meet the man who’s caught my sister-in-law’s very astute eye. I’m just sorry we have to bring the kids this time, but they’re desperate to see their aunt Lally.”
“I’ve missed the little snot machines.”
“Invite us for dinner sometime soon, though? I’m kinda jonesing for adult conversation. I’d even go for a wine hangover.”
“Rebel.”
“Oh, Lavender,” she answered on a sigh, “you know I was born to be mild.”
I didn’t doubt the kids wanted to see me, and Mimi couldn’t wait to meet Raif, but I also knew her presence would offer a lighthearted buffer between her husband and mine, should there be the need.
“Lavender?” Whit’s glass chinks against the table’s Calacatta marble top, and I snap back to the kitchen nook and the present moment.
“Sorry. I was miles away. A sabbatical, you said? That must be why things have been a bit quiet.”
“Funny,” he mutters.
“Isn’t sabbatical just another word for a holiday? The photos Polly loaded to the family WhatsApp sight certainly made it look that way, lounging on sunny beaches and wearing silly hats in theme parks.”
“I’ve also been working. Calling into the bank’s international offices and stuff.”
“And the checking the gallery’s accounting system,” I quickly add, “so don’t pretend you’re surprised to find we’re doing well. Every time you log in, I get a notification. And you have logged in. Plenty.”
My brother has the good grace to look embarrassed, though chooses not to address that as he mutters, “A sabbatical is not a holiday.”