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)
But the atmosphere has been pretty stilted. Usually, we’re all opinions and jibes and good-natured sniping. We draw up lines and encourage factions based on whims and thrown bread rolls as we gang up on one another. It’s only gotten more raucous since so many of us now have spouses.
“Sundays are so much better now that I’m not a vegetarian.” I push my cleaned plate an inch away. “If I eat another thing, I’ll go pop.”
“You’ve certainly worked up an appetite somewhere.” Polly adopts a particular tone. One that makes me frown. Surely, my own mother wouldn’t be implying anything tawdry.
I screw up my nose. Eww.
Yes, okay. So I made a bit of a pig of myself, but that was the point. I don’t want Raif thinking he’s married a delicate flower, do I?
“Vegan,” Primrose mutters.
“So?” I demand. “You think I don’t remember? That I don’t feel bad that I’m not anymore?”
“You’re just raisin’ awareness in other ways,” El, the third youngest of my elder brothers, puts in.
“Oh, the puns,” I reply, trying not to smile.
El puts his fingers to his lips. “Hush. We never talk about the time our sister was a cereal killer.”
“It’s not her fault. She had a lot of emotional cabbage back then,” Primrose puts in. “Did I say cabbage? I meant baggage.”
Raif chuckles softly as he slides his arm around my shoulders, giving me a brief squeeze. What comes as a surprise is how nice it feels.
“Lots of beans and cabbage.” El wafts his hand in front of his scrunched nose. “It’s little wonder we used to sit her at the end of the table.”
“Oi!” I protest. My eyes dip for my bread roll, but lucky for him, I’ve already eaten it. “You should’ve eaten him while his bones were still soft,” I say, turning to Polly, aggrieved.
“Now, come on.” Brin’s placating tone comes as a surprise. He’s been miserably silent almost the whole meal. “We don’t make fun of vegans,” he adds. “It’s tasteless.”
“Oh. The. Lols.” Leaning forward, I press my folded forearms against the tabletop and drop my head.
“Manners, Lavender,” Primrose mutters under her breath.
“Yes, let’s pretend we live by archaic and nonsensical etiquette in this house.”
“You don’t live in this house at all. Riddle me this. Why, out of all the flavors, did you choose salty?” she demands.
“Because sweet makes me sick. It gives me mood poisoning.”
“Polly, that was delicious,” Raif says, heading off her response. “I really can’t thank you enough for inviting me.”
“She didn’t,” says a once again brooding Brin from the other end of the table.
“I didn’t need to,” Polly says in the vein of “silly Brin” as she sends him the kind of fond glance reserved for troublesome toddlers. “Raif is part of the family now.”
Brin downs the rest of his wine in one gulp.
Not in celebration, I think.
“Do you have any photos of the wedding?” Polly asks.
“No,” I say at the same time as Raif answers in the affirmative, pulling out his phone. He turns it my way. It’s a close-up, obviously taken by one of his goons. I mean, one of our guests. He’s holding my face in his hands, and we’re looking at each other as though we can’t believe our luck. He’s about to kiss me, and I remember that moment—remember how my tummy flipped then twisted as his warm lips brushed mine.
I am such a sucker.
“Stop hogging it, darling.”
Mum’s voice pulls me back. I hand the phone to Raif, who passes it across the table.
Her eyes light up. She looks so pleased. Happy, even. It makes me feel like a total bitch.
“Will you send me a copy?” she asks tentatively.
“Of course.” Once everyone has viewed the happy moment, he slides away his phone.
“This is so delicious,” Mum says, putting her wine glass down. “If you don’t mind me asking, where did you pick this one up?” She touches the wine carafe the bottle has been decanted into. Bougie, remember?
“From a vineyard in Tuscany last year. I have a couple of cases in the cellar. Let me send them to you.”
“Oh no! I couldn’t possibly—”
“I insist. It’s the least I could do after such a warm welcome.”
“No, not at all!”
“Let him, Mum. I expect it must be a novel experience for Raif not getting what he wants.” All eyes turn to Brin at his peculiar tone. His gaze, bright and malicious, remains glued to the stranger at the table. “But it happens occasionally, doesn’t it, mate?”
16
RAIF
“What was Brin banging on about earlier?”
“When?” I feign confusion, willing the family to return to the table. The newlywed lovebirds weren’t allowed to help clear the mains or bring in dessert, though I do wonder if Polly’s reasoning had more to do with Lavender’s surly mood. Not that she was the only one churlish through lunch because Brin Whittington needs to get his act together.