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)
“Oh, I remember.”
“Ew! Unnecessary!” Because I know what’s coming next.
“While Lavender doesn’t remember—”
“Blessedly.”
“The older boys and Heather caught her father and me many a time in, shall we say, more compromising positions.”
I put my hands to my face and, for some reason, repeat the horror in a whisper, “Please never ever say ‘positions’ in that tone again.”
Lord alive. I thank my lucky stars that I was too young to remember walking in on my parents going at it on the shagpile rug. And I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Raif actively sought an annulment after this. It’s not the kind of thing you’d look forward to hearing over roast lamb for the next twelve months, is it?
“All I’m saying is, I understand.”
“Fine. But please take your understanding somewhere else.”
Mum sort of tsks and shakes her head as though to say Silly Lavender. “I just came to tell you both lunch is ready.”
“Okay.” I don’t release my brows because I’m not convinced she’s done.
“Raif does look rather ravenous.”
“Muuum!” I growl, pulling the sleeves of my sweater over my fingers as I morph into my teenage self.
Heather, my elder sister, often says our parents were hippies ten years too late. It’s how we all ended up with ridiculous names, but she hypothesizes it’s also why the topic of sex is up for discussion at the dinner table. It’s little wonder I don’t have girlfriends. Having friends over as a teenager was so stressful.
“Come and carry the French beans to the dining room, would you, darling?”
“Why can’t Primrose do it?” There’s no way I’m leaving these two alone in a room. Raif might think he’s slick, but he’s got nothing on Polly. The woman is so wily.
“Primrose is on potato duty. They’re coming out of the oven as we speak.”
“You already gave me a job. I showed Raif around the house.”
“Oh, yes. I forgot. Admiring the tree house, wasn’t it?”
“We haven’t finished yet.”
“In the parlor? Well, maybe you are like your mother after all.”
“Lord, make it stop,” I whisper to the ceiling as Raif slides an arm around me, pulling me into his side.
“I’m sure you can finish showing me around the house another time.”
I make a face. Did they just create a new euphemism?
“I’ll flick the bean,” says Raif.
“Whoa—what?” I rear back, holding up my hand like a stop sign because, please, Lord, make it stop. I know we’re a pretty open family, but he did not just say that in front of my mother. Did he?
“Thank you, Raif. That would be lovely,” Polly says without batting an eyelid. Not that I’d rely on her reaction. My mother is a quirky bird. “They’re in the warming drawer under the oven.”
“Oh, thank God.” Beans, plural. I’ll fetch the beans, not…
“Do you have something against vegetables?” Raif asks, mildly perplexed.
In answer, I just wave him in the direction of the door.
“What a gentleman,” my mother says as his shoes echo along the hallway. But it didn’t sound like a compliment. More like a complaint.
“Yep, that’s my Raify bear,” I trill happily. “He’s a real prince.” And before she can make me the subject of her grilling, I trot off after him.
“For fuck’s sake, smile.”
Despite his words, Raif stares lovingly down at me, his soft expression barely flickering.
“You must’ve missed the training course. How to win friends and influence people?” I add.
“I don’t need friends, and I choose to influence people by ways other than niceties.”
“Story checks out,” I mutter. “But I’m not sure if you know women, on the whole, aren’t all that keen on being told to cheer up.”
Why is he even surprised I’m not smiling? First, I had to put up with Primrose’s attitude, and then my mother mentioned sex—in an actual conversation! I’m very slightly hung over and twisted up over the dry-humping session I initiated just a few hours ago. I know it happened in the dark and in another country, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking about it. But I survived. And I haven’t booked my ticket to Peru. Yet.
“I’m not sure every woman has to be asked to smile.”
I snort. Really attractive, right? “You’ve got to be joking? Cheer up, love—it might never ’appen, the patriarchy yell from the bellies of their work vans.” Grabbing my napkin, I give it the kind of shake a Parisienne fine dining server would be envious of. In other words, violently. Though the addition of a cockney accent might’ve been a bit much.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m beginning to wonder if you know any actual women. Because telling a woman to cheer up often has the opposite effect.”
He turns in his seat to rest his arm across the back of my chair, effectively shielding me from the view of the doorway. “I didn’t tell you to cheer up, mainly because I think you’re already happy. Happy torturing me,” he adds a little menacingly.