Primrose
I’ve been to the Balearic Islands before, though I’d avoided the Ibiza party scene, despite it being a rite of passage for many a British twenty-something. But I’ve never been the high-energy-dance-from-dusk-’till-dawn type of girl. Not that we’re in Ibiza but Mallorca. On the du Beaumont estate.
The house is huge, even by mansion standards, and in the traditional Spanish style.
Maybe that should be Iberian with a few Moorish elements thrown in?
Anyway, it’s beautiful; blond stone and terracotta-tiled roofs, exposed beams and vaulted arcades.
With the mountainous view to the Serra de Tramuntana range, the property is set within lush grounds of date palms, cypress and almond trees, and offers views all the way to the ocean.
There are tennis courts, extensive stables, an equestrian arena, guest cottages, and a pool area to rival any five-star hotel.
The place is mind-blowingly bougie, as well as a working vineyard that produces one of the region’s best rosé. I sound like I’ve read the brochure.
“Does the boss entertain while he’s here?
” I pop an olive into my mouth, unimpressed I’d asked.
I lean my elbows against the island in a very high-end kitchen.
Pale wood cabinetry and top of the range appliances set into walls of ancient stone, and fancy pendant lights hanging from the vaulted ceilings.
I find myself periodically glancing up because I’m on gecko high alert. God, they give me the heebie-jeebies. Their almost translucent skin, their creepy lidless eyes, and freaky toe pads.
“You okay? Zoe asks as I give in to a shiver.
“Yeah, good.” I glance ceilingward again. My sister reckons I must’ve been fly or a moth in a previous life to harbour so much hate.
“He’s had a dinner or two here since I’ve worked for the family,” Zoe answers, now concentrating on a large mixing bowl as she carefully folds its contents. “And always business.” Her mouth gives an unimpressed twist.
“It’s a lot of house for a vacation home.” I glance at the range that looks like it belongs in a commercial kitchen. Behind it, copper pans hang in graduated sizes, worn with use and age.
Maria, the housekeeper, gave me the grand tour when we arrived a few days ago, but I still need a GPS to get around. And that’s just the house, because a person could easily get lost within the grounds. In fact, I almost did earlier this afternoon.
Sylvie wanted to visit her pony and insisted on running ahead.
Maria’s husband or Sophia, her granddaughter, usually takes her, which meant I wasn’t sure where the heck we were heading.
One minute, I was following the back of Sylvie’s white-blonde head, and the next, I stood in the shade of the palm trees, wondering if the boss who hates me would send out a search party.
Thankfully, the little love realized I wasn’t behind her and came scampering back.
“Oh, Jacques said to give this to you.” She pulls a white envelope from a nearby shelf and slides it across the countertop.
“Thanks.” I peel open the unsealed flap.
“Anything interesting?”
“Just my ticket home.” I’d made a point of demanding it. I wanted to make it abundantly clear I’m out of here as soon as possible. Twenty-five days and counting.
“Cattle class,” she says with a sigh. “At least your flight will be pretty short.”
“Yes.” It can’t come quickly enough. “Do you think I should go and look for the kids? They’ve been with Maria a long time.”
“Nah, they love hanging out with her and Sophia.”
Story checks out. Since we got here, I’ve barely had to look after them. When they want to swim, they come looking for me, but mostly they’re off doing their own thing. Or at least doing things without me.
“Does Maria’s granddaughter live with her?”
“She’s just here for the summer to visit her grandparents and their pooch, Bouton.”
“There is nothing button-like about his size,” I reply. “What is he? One-part Great Dane, one-part wolf?”
“I think there might be some pony in there.” She glances at the clock. “I expect Sylvie will be helping Sophia muck out the stables right about now. She’ll be yammering in her ear while staring adoringly at that dog. She’s desperate for a dog.”
“Is she?”
“Crazy desperate. Meanwhile, Felix will be gazing doe-eyed over his shovel at a certain female. He’s desperate for a girlfriend. A girlfriend called Sophia.” Her brows lift tellingly.
“No.” I scoff, then add, “Really?”
“Yup.”
“Isn’t he a bit young?”
“Apparently, the men start young in the du Beaumont household.”
Fuq moi, is that even normal? As the youngest sibling of our brood, and an aunt to only littlies, I have no idea how boys of twelve work.
“A chip off the old block.” At her tone, I glance sharply her way. “The boss is also a fan of older ladies,” she adds.
I almost say that’s not my experience but snap my mouth closed instead.
Monsieur LDH likes older women? Brain, back away from that thought because it requires no further examination.
I mean, the older generations do have a lot to offer, but I’ve seen the framed photo Sylvie has of her mother by her bed. She wasn’t any kind of old. She was stunning.
“Think I should go and keep an eye on him? Felix, I mean.”
She gives a laugh with the kind of confidence I long to buy into. “Sophia is fifteen. That boy hasn’t got a chance.”
“Still, maybe I should—”
“Sit. Take the wins when they come. You’ll get enough of them this month, believe me.”
“If you’re sure,” I mutter unhappily at the sudden reminder. It’s not spending time with the kids that annoys me but how this whole thing came about. Curse his pretty face for forcing me to come along to the house named after his joyful late wife.
It’s not even like he needs me here. It’s more that he didn’t like the thought of me getting the better of him.
I should’ve left when he threatened to chuck me out in his office.
Except I detest bullies, and I wasn’t going to stand for him threatening Emmy.
I will have my payback, I think darkly as I run my fingers over the corner of the envelope.
I’ll make sure that arsehole won’t escape unscathed.
I’m not sure how I’ll get my revenge, though I imagine it will be in small, petty ways.
But as Zoe said, I’ll take those wins when they come.
“It’s a beautiful place, right?” I look up to find Zoe’s attention has followed mine as I gaze out over the terrace and the pool beyond.
“Stunning.”
“You know, this family has a lot of big, beautiful houses.” A sudden flash of mischief crosses her face. “What are the chances he’s trying to overcompensate for something?”
I frown as though I don’t have some impression of that being untrue. Though it pains me to admit it, there’s no correlation. Maybe he just likes big houses.
“I’m just sayin’.”
“And I’m not going there.” Not again.
“No one’s going there, Prim. And no one’s been there since he broke up with whatsherface.”
“Who’s… who’s her face?”
“The woman Daddy Beaumont was seeing last year.” She snickers, presumably at my lip-curling expression. “You don’t like that, huh?”
“I once caught my brother and his wife canoodling in their laundry room, which was traumatic enough, but hearing her call him daddy while he tried to drive the washing machine through the wall…” I fake gag on the distaste.
“Who was he seeing?” I ask blandly as I fold a little salami around a slice of Manchego and pop it into my mouth.
First off, Zoe’s version of picky bits is first class. And second, it’s only natural to be curious. I’m just making friendly conversation.
“Some CEO of a beauty company. All legs and hair,” she adds, making a cloud-like gesture above her head.
“And she was older?” I picture a glamorous granny type in my head, someone like Helen Mirren. Who would say no to that?
“No idea. His wife was, though. So I heard. I only saw the girlfriend once or twice at dinner not long after I started working here. Then poof! She was no more.”
“Interesting.”
She laughs.
Hmm. Inside thoughts should not become outside words. I’m not jealous. I’m just surprised he found someone to put up with him.
“Disappearing women seems to be a bit of a pattern,” I say airily. “The temp nanny?” I add in response to her blank look.
“Yeah, who knows. But at least we know why the man is so grouchy.”
“Do we?”
“It’s a crying shame no one is hitting that.” She gives a slow shake of her head.
“I don’t think that’s it.”
She points the spatula my way. “Do you know something I don’t? Because I see way you are together.”
My heart goes a bit like it did when I thought I’d lost Sylvie in the grounds. Or when I was lost. “What do you mean, the way we are together?”
“At the dinner table.”
There is no way she can know about us. That night will never be spoken of—not until I’m in my nursing home. Hey, Edna, did I tell you about that one time I went to a sex club and had an orgasm so good, my legs almost went from under me?
I probably won’t even tell Edna the rest.
Oh my God. I had sex at sex club. I was pleasured orally at an orgy?
I’m still not sure on the terminology.
Zoe taps her spoon lightly against the bowl, and I jerk back to the moment.
“What about the dinner?” I ask carefully.
“You could cut the atmosphere with a knife.”
He started it, I think. But then I suffer a pang of regret that we might be making the kids uncomfortable.
“He’s not like that with Emmy.”
“Because Emmy is an angel.” I pause. We’re not openly hostile—it’s not like we’re prodding each other with our forks.
I am excessively polite, for my own part, and I hope it grates on him.
He only looks at me when necessary, and if I catch his eye, he immediately looks away.
And if he does speak to me, it’s with a kind of indifference I’ve suffered from him before.
“Emmy doesn’t eat every dinner with the family.”
“Huh.” Probably because he doesn’t want her to feel uncomfortable. We’ll screw him. I give as good as I get.
“I kinda wondered if you’d spoken to your brother about him.”
“My brother?”
“Yeah, Jacques mentioned your family is in the same tax bracket.”
Dammit. “Jacques is misinformed. My brother is… well, he’s wealthy. But I’m not.”
“No need to get prickly. Hell, I don’t care if your brother is cashed up. I just wondered if you’d come by some juicy intel, and maybe that’s why he’s been such a dick.”
“I just assumed that was his natural state.”
She gives a heavy sigh. “That man seriously needs to get laid.”
I shove another olive in my mouth, though I could do with something bigger. Like a melon. “I don’t think we should be talking about this.”
“I’m just taking an interest in my employer’s well-being. What’s good for him could be good for the team. Anyway,” she says in a peculiar tone, “to you, he’s probably just another body.”
“I don’t think about his body, Zoe.” Not much, anyway.
“Not even professionally speaking?” A sly grin spreads across her face.
“I’m not his doctor. He’s not my concern.”
“Well, I’m sticking to my theory. The man is sexually unfulfilled.” She rotates the spoon in the air as though she’s in the midst of some great oration.
“If you say so.” Except he was at a sex club. And he went to town on me.
“But the only person I’ll be watching is you.”
The memory flickers to life between my legs as I recall the brush of his breath and the sounds he made as…
I frown and shake off the thoughts. The man is nothing but a rotten clit tease whose kink may or may not be getting girls hot under the collar before pushing them out into the night. An esoteric kind of sadism, for sure.
“You okay there? You look a little flushed.”
Rage, possibly. At myself for revisiting this topic. Again.
“I’m just tired. And hungry,” I say as I reach for the bowl of olives again. My 3 a.m. thoughts aren’t existential dread. They’re the memories of that night. My own stupidity haunting me.
“There’s some Ibérico ham in the fridge. And some ensaimadas that Maria brought in from the village.” She glances over her shoulder as though trying to place the sweet bread rolls. “Unless the kids ate them already.”
“That’s okay. I don’t want to spoil my dinner. What are we having, by the way?”
“Well for mains we have stop spoiling my fun with a side of you can’t get me to change the subject.”
“Was worth a try.” I’ve found Zoe to be fun as well as funny, but this conversation is a little too close to home to enjoy.
She drops her elbow to the marble countertop and her chin to her fist. “Aren’t you worried you might sleepwalk, trip on the rug, and fall into his room late at night?”
“Weirdo,” I scoff. Like the house in Paris, my room is next to the kids. Unlike my room in Paris, so is his. Our doors almost face each other. I can’t say I love that.
“Dang. So much for the power of suggestion,” she says, straightening again.
“If you’re so concerned for improving his mood, you “sleepwalk”.” I make air quotes around the word. But then find myself wondering if this is her way of sniffing out if I’m into him, maybe because she is.
“You’re the one sleeping under the same roof,” she retorts. “And maybe I have a boyfriend back home.”
“Maybe I do too.”
“Nope, Miss Primrose, you do not. According to your bestie, you are eternally single.”
Ouch.
“She says you’re too busy trying to save the world, one old person at a time.”
“Emmy said that?” That’s sort of sweet.
“She also said that you’re too busy to date, what with study and your career. She kind of also might’ve implied you’re above such things.”
“I’m not,” I say awkwardly. “I mean, I have been busy, but I do date. Sometimes.” I feel my expression twist but rush on. “But for the record, sleeping proximity or not, hard pass on taking one for the team.”
“Really?”
“Let me put it this way, if Luc du Beaumont was the last man on the planet, I’d happily be its sole survivor.” And with that, I throw an olive into the air, open my mouth, and tip back my head ready to catch it.
“Wouldn’t that go against your Hippocratic oath?”
As the olive travels upward in slow motion, I find myself wondering why Zoe’s voice suddenly sounds so deep. Why her face is suddenly so pale. And why she’s looking behind me.
My brothers would be impressed as the olive finds its goal. I close my lips over it when the realization of what’s happening hit me belatedly.
Oh no.
I spin and, presumably because the moment isn’t horrifying enough, I begin to loudly choke.