Chapter 4 #2
Managing a chuckle, I peer down at my daughter. Only when she’s finally calm and eating do I feel like I can relax a little, and as always, I relish in her. It’s still such a novelty to see her there, knowing that this is the one thing only I can give her. I might not have much, but I have this.
“She’s very sweet.” Clementine interrupts my thoughts. “How are you finding it?”
My eyes find hers, so similar to Everly’s I don’t know why I didn’t notice before back in the bar.
The sixty seconds of silence aren’t enough to heal my shot nerves, and the truthful answer to her question has me unsuccessfully fighting the urge to cry.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” stammers Clementine.
My response wars in my head between being loyal to my daughter and telling the truth. In the end, the truth wins.
“You didn’t. It’s hormones and tiredness. And because I’m just so used to saying everything’s okay when I’m asked that question, I didn’t expect to tell you otherwise.”
“So it’s not okay?”
“No.” I shake my head once, and another tear falls.
“It’s hard. So much harder than I thought it would be.
She’s not an easy baby. She’s demanding and stubborn and cries all the time.
Then I wonder if it’s me, and I’m a terrible mother.
It’s been such a struggle doing it by myself.
And I haven’t even really been that alone.
My best friend Saylor has helped me with everything.
It’s the night that’s the hardest, though, when it’s just the two of us.
And my whole body aches . . . my nipples . . .”
I stop myself before I tell Clemmie way more than she needs to know, but I dare not look at her.
I don’t want to see her face before she tells me that I’ve brought this all on myself.
I didn’t have to have a baby at all, and I have no business being a mother when I’m barely looking after myself.
Plenty of people get abortions. I could have been one of them.
I could be living the life she has—carefree, fun—and looking cute while she does it.
“I know what you’re thinking, but my parents died when I was a teenager. She’s all the family I’d have, so I never even considered it.”
The screech of the chair legs is followed by arms wrapping around me carefully enough not to crush Everly but with enough pressure to make me cry again.
“I’m not thinking anything. But why didn’t you call Alex? He’s been devastated not hearing from you.”
If Clemmie’s trying to make me feel better, she isn’t. It’s worse. I don’t want to hear how upset Alex was that I never replied to him. It was hard enough hearing his tone when he asked me himself. Because I spent the last year imagining him meeting someone new, someone of his own stature.
Fucking US Weekly and its fucking gossip pages.
But it’s like Clemmie’s turned on a tap and now I can’t stop spewing, no matter how stupid I sound.
“It was too intimidating.”
Clemmie’s grip loosens, and she sits back in her chair. “What was?”
Swiping a hand under my nose, I take a breath.
“Alex. All of them. Your brothers.” My eyes drop down again, and I focus on Everly.
“He was visiting my hometown on vacation. I’ve never even left the United States.
We’re so different, and how was it going to work?
I deleted his messages before I discovered I was pregnant, then it was too late. ”
I don’t add that not long after the boys flew back to England, the next edition of People magazine had come out, and there on page eleven were pictures of Lando and his canceled wedding.
Saylor had read out the entire feature, which went into great detail about the Duke of Oxfordshire and his brothers, the Lords, and how the entire high society of England was in a tailspin.
I’m not even high society Aspen.
Dating Alex would have been a huge waste of my time, and his. He’d have quickly tired of the long distance and left me with nothing but a broken heart.
So no, I didn’t call him back.
“Well,” says Clemmie, picking up a cookie from the plate and crunching into it. “You’ve made it out of the United States now.”
Her dry tone and deadpan expression raise a smile, followed by a small giggle. “Yes. I did.”
“Baby steps, am I right?”
“Baby steps.” I nod.
“Now, how about you give me Everly when she’s done feeding, while you go and shower.”
Immediately, I stiffen. For all intents and purposes, this woman is a stranger, and I’m in her brother’s house. I’ve never left Everly with anyone I didn’t know. Because that’s crazy. But she’s not to be deterred.
“It’s okay. I’ll look after her. Guard her with my life. I swear. I’ll take you up, show you the shower, and find you some clean clothes.” Clemmie says the magic word—clean—and immediately senses weakness. “Come on, I promise she’ll be fine.”
As though Everly heard and understood, her mouth loosens, and she turns away quickly enough that milk shoots out of me and hits Clementine.
I can’t even find it in me to be humiliated.
I once again hold her over my shoulder and attempt to coax a burp.
If I’m going to get clean, there’s no harm in getting covered in another round of rejected breast milk.
“Okay, thank you, but I really don’t need a full change of clothes. Just a sweater would be great.”
“Absolutely, follow me.”
The upstairs is just as cute as the downstairs, and much tidier.
Clemmie leads me along a narrow corridor with such a low roof that I wonder how Miles isn’t permanently bent at the neck or covered in bumps to the head.
Passing a couple of bedrooms, including one with the largest four-poster bed I’ve ever seen, we reach a huge bathroom at the end, featuring a roll-top bath and a double walk-in shower.
“Here you are.” Clemmie sweeps her hand around. “Take your time. Miles ordered this ridiculous shower from Japan, and it’s designed to target sore muscles. Feel free to take advantage. Let me run and grab you a few things, then I’ll leave you in peace.”
When she goes, I peer out of the window to find a backyard as pretty as the front. It’s fall now, but I can imagine the trees plentiful with fruit in the summer months. Miles must have help with it. He doesn’t strike me as the type of person who’d cultivate fruit trees or prune bushes.
“Here you go,” Clementine announces on her return, placing a basket on the vanity unit.
“Everything you need is in here. And we’ll be waiting downstairs when you’re ready. But seriously, no rush.”
I smile gratefully. “Thank you.”
For a second, I forget she’s taking Everly downstairs, and I wonder why she’s standing there holding her hands out like she’s waiting for me to tip her.
“Oh, right.” Stepping forward with bated breath, I ease my baby out of my arms and into Clementine’s.
I try not to take it personally when she doesn’t fuss.
“Just . . . if she gets antsy, rub her back . . . and she sometimes likes her tush patted, or you know . . .” I can see Clementine is being patient with me, which only makes me feel like a dumbass, gah. “Okay, I won’t be long.”
“We’ll be okay, don’t worry.” Clementine smiles and leaves me alone, closing the door behind her.
Switching on the shower that sprays jets of water from all angles, I strip off as it heats. Then because I’ve become totally neurotic, I open the bathroom door a fraction just so I can hear Everly if she starts crying.
I mean to be quick—a lightning-quick body shower at the most—but Clementine’s basket is laid out with shampoo, conditioner, and a hairdryer, along with a cozy navy sweater embroidered with the words Foxleigh Park on one side. It’s all far too tempting.
I used to love long showers, but since Everly came along, I’ve rushed through them, too scared to leave her on her own. But stepping under the hot water, the first hit of it pummeling my shoulders and back from all angles, some of the tension in my muscles melts away.
By the time I’m done, the mirror and windows are running with condensation, and I feel almost human again. And not once have I heard Everly cry.
But when I head back down to the kitchen, the sound of a male voice makes me pause. Then I realize it’s not Alex. It doesn’t have that soothing baritone rumble Alex’s does. It’s Miles, and he’s holding a cup of tea in one hand and the baby in the other.
More accurately, he’s cradling her in his arms, swaying from side to side as she stares up at him. She’s completely mesmerized.
Clemmie notices me standing in the kitchen doorway and rolls her eyes, throwing out a, “Don’t worry, Miles is great with babies,” as an explanation.
“Women. I’m great with women,” he corrects in a soft voice, putting down his cup.
“I’ve heard,” I mutter, sitting back in the chair I’d vacated. I pick up the tea I’d also left and go to sip it, but Clemmie snatches it from my hand before it meets my lips.
“Urgh, no. I’ll get you a fresh one.”
“So Haven from Aspen. Long time, no see.” Miles flashes his perfect white teeth at me. “What have you been up to?”
“Well . . . I had a baby.”
“I see that,” he replies, as another steaming cup of English tea is set down in front of me.
I never drink tea. I’m a coffee girl. And on the rare occasion I have drunk it, I used lemon, not milk.
But this . . . I think the English might be onto something.
It’s both calming and cozy all at the same time.
My veins warm, and my cheeks flush even more than they did following use of the hairdryer.
“Where’s Alex?”
“He went back to Burlington,” Miles says, though it means nothing to me. “Don’t worry, he’ll calm down. Once the paternity test comes through positive, then he’ll be on board.”
“Miles!” Clementine’s face drops in horror, and her eyes slice to mine to check my reaction, not that Miles notices.
“What? Come on, don’t be silly.” He turns to me like I was the one who objected. “Of course you’ll need a paternity test. Hendricks had one for Max, and I would never claim a child without one.”
“That’s because you sleep with anyone with a heartbeat,” Clementine snaps. “Anyone can see Everly is the spit of Alex when he was a baby.”
“Stop being naive—”
I hold my hands up, not wanting to get in the middle of a sibling argument or set my daughter off crying. “No, it’s okay. I expected it. I would have insisted on it too.”
“See.” Miles jerks his chin to me. “Sensible.”
Clemmie concedes with a harrumph and changes the subject. “Well . . . it’s bonfire night tomorrow, you should come.”
“Bonfire night? What’s that?”
She drops down in the chair opposite and picks up a cookie from the plate she set earlier.
“I guess the best way of describing it is like your July Fourth. All the fireworks. Alex will be there, and you can talk. I know it must all seem daunting, but if there’s one thing about Alex, it’s that he’s loyal. He won’t let you do this alone.”
I glance at Miles, still swaying side to side with my daughter in his arms. He’s holding her like she’s his own, then I realize that she is—she’s his niece.
Which means that if I’ve done anything today, it’s give my daughter a family. A family she not only looks like but is happy to be around.
Yup. That stings.