Chapter 17
‘Keeley. I am a total fucking liability to myself, and you should just kill me now and put me out of my misery.’
Keeley sloshes some more Oyster Bay into my glass. I’ll have a headache tomorrow, but carrying on drinking after my little interlude at Claridges seems the sensible thing to do right now.
‘Is this about your man? Miles-I’m-a-ride-Montague?’
‘Yep.’ I press my forehead to my glass.
‘Oh, jeez. What did you do?’
‘He asked me to go Christmas shopping for Bea this afternoon and—’
‘I wondered why she was in The Playroom.’
‘Yeah. Anyway, he met up with me afterwards and took me for a couple of glasses of champagne in Claridges.’
‘You know most women would give a kidney to go on a date with Miles Montague, right? You lucky bitch.’ Keeley puts the bottle back in the fridge and takes out some packs of stir-fry vegetables and chicken strips.
‘It wasn’t a date, smart-ass. But the conversation may have got a little out of hand, and I may or may not have blurted out that it was a waste, when he told me he doesn’t date.’
Keeley snorts. ‘You’re a class act, you know that? Here.’
She passes me the chicken strips, and I turn the wok on high and slosh in some oil.
‘I know.’ I groan. ‘But it all just went to my head—the champagne, and being there with him, and I wasn’t exactly monitoring my internal filter. I suggested he should go on Tinder.’
‘Oh, God! You are horrifying.’
‘I know, okay?’ I add the chicken strips. They make a satisfying sizzling noise as they hit the pan. I poke at them carefully with the spatula. ‘I wasn’t thinking with my head, all right?’
‘You were thinking with your vagina. I understand. My vagina gets very vocal around that man, too. Look, it’s understandable to have a raging crush on him. You wouldn’t be normal if you didn’t. But you don’t like him, do you?’
I let my breath whoosh out of me. ‘Here’s the thing. It’s hard being around him all day, because he’s so bloody gorgeous. I mean, he’s such a ride. It’s ridiculous. As you say, anyone would fancy him.
‘But I’m in this fucked-up position where I get to see him up close, at home.
I see him in his pyjamas, drinking his morning coffee, I see him cuddling Bea and cleaning up her puke.
’ And taking off my clothes to facilitate said cleaning up process.
‘It’s intimate. I know I’m—I know I’m nothing to him.
But it feels like we’re a little family, sometimes. Y’know?’
‘Woah.’ Keeley comes over to inspect the chicken and chucks in the pack of vegetables. ‘Careful, love.’ Her eyes are wide with concern. She’s a straight-talking Cork girl who does not pull her punches, and I flinch in expectation that this could hurt.
‘Listen to me. You are not his family. He and Bea are in a whole world of pain; you’ve said so yourself. And he’s unlikely to let anyone else in easily. Even someone as obnoxiously gorgeous as you.’
‘I know.’ To my horror, pressure builds behind my eyes. ‘You’re right, of course.’
‘They’re lucky to have you. God knows, they deserve a break. You’re doing a great job with Bea. She was on flying form today; couldn’t stop talking about you and all the stuff you’ve been doing together. But that’s your job. And that’s where it ends. With her. Not with him.’
I blow out slowly through my mouth.
‘With her. Got it. Focus on my little Bea; pretend the hot dad doesn’t exist. It’s just… there’s something there, you know. Between us. A chemistry. I swear he keeps checking out my boobs.’
Keeley laughs. ‘Of course he does! He’s male, and it sounds like he hasn’t been laid in a while, and your rack is perfection, damn you. You’re a beautiful girl, and he’d have to be blind not to notice.’ She takes a sip of her wine. ‘Why doesn’t he date? Did he tell you?’
‘He said he tends to attract high-maintenance women, and that he doesn’t have time for them, that Bea’s his priority.’
‘He’s a good dad; I’ll give him that.’
‘He said he’d rather be celibate. I swear, it made me want to get on my knees there and then. That may have been when I let it slip that it was such a waste.’
Keeley puts down her glass and presses her fist to her mouth. She’s shaking.
‘You are one crazy woman. I wonder if the poor guy knows how close he came to getting a blow job in Claridges. Please, for everyone’s sakes, leave the blessed man alone and just do what he’s hired you to, which means looking after his daughter so he can get on with his life.’
‘Message received. I’ll deal with it.’
‘Unless—you don’t want to save him, do you? I know you, Saoirse. You’re a softie. Miles is a lovely-looking guy whose wife abandoned him and their daughter. It’s a sob story if I ever I heard one, and you wouldn’t be the first woman to fall for a broken man. Especially one who looks like that.’
‘I don’t want to save him.’ It’s true. I wouldn’t presume to believe I could ever fill the hole Bea’s mum left in their lives.
That would be laughable. Practically blasphemous.
Especially now I’ve seen the photos of them together, and heard from Sandra how much Allegra complemented Miles, and how widely adored she was.
‘I just want to jump him,’ I add flippantly.
Keeley rubs my back as she crosses the kitchen. ‘You should probably forget about doing either. I don’t want you to get hurt.’
Keeley’s right.
I need to get a grip on these feelings I have for Miles: not just the lust, which is about as straightforward and frustrating as a scratch that needs to be itched.
But I need to put aside the pangs I get when he pours me a cup of tea in the morning, when I acknowledge that The Montague blend is indeed delicious and he smiles with pleasure, when his dimples flash and he gets out of his own way enough to tease me.
I need to stop letting Miles Montague get under my skin.
‘I won’t get hurt. But he did invite me to a thing with him and Bea on Friday night. He said he wants me to go along as their friend, not their nanny.’
Keeley’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘What kind of thing? Where?’
‘Sorrel Farm? He said it’s about an hour outside of London.’
‘Oh, I’ve heard of it. It’s supposed to be amazing. It’s in Kent, I think. Do you know what the format is?’
‘I’m pretty sure he said it’s a family Christmas thing… late afternoon into evening? It won’t be a late one if Bea’s with us.’
Keeley pulls her phone out of her back pocket and types.
‘Here you go. It’s really a gorgeous place.’
I take the phone. Wow. Wow. Sorrel Farm looks like heaven.
The carousel on the homepage scrolls to show beautiful barns, endless fields, and chic interiors shots.
I want to crawl into the place in the photos and never leave.
Suddenly the feeling of unease and yearning and disappointment that’s been crawling over me since I got home subsides.
This is going to be the best non-date ever.