22. Primrose #4
“He was always so happy. Content. But these last months…” His words trail off, and for half a second, I think he’s about to say something soft or maybe sad, but his voice comes out flinty instead. “There’s a filter on his internet usage. This should not have happened.”
“Or maybe it’s just normal,” I say. “Kids are super tech-savvy these days.”
He straightens, jaw flexing angrily. “I pay a great deal for my children to be protected.”
“Are you Jesus?”
He shakes his head. “What?”
“Why’ve you gotta be so cross?”
He looks at me like English truly is his second language.
“And you can’t tell him off because I promised him I wouldn’t tell you.”
“That is not what a responsible nanny is supposed to do.”
“I’ll remember that. Should I ever become a proper nanny.” I fold my arms as I mirror his expression. “Obviously, you’re going to need to talk to him about it, but you’re not throwing me under the bus. Not until I’m gone.”
His nostrils flare and I find myself hurrying on.
“I remember the first time I saw a naked—” I clamp my mouth shut. The last thing I need to do is invite anecdote-for-anecdote here.
“What did you say to him?” Luc’s eyes turn searching, as if he’s trying to peer through my skull.
“I answered his questions.” I stop destroying the remains of my croissant. “Best I could.”
“What did he ask?”
“If it was normal. I told him it was normal to be curious, but that his brain wasn’t yet developed enough, aged sufficiently, to deal with seeing that kind of stuff.”
“Was it bad? What exactly was he watching?”
“It was sex. Unrealistic and…” I scrunch my nose. “Nothing kinky, as far as I could tell. I mean, it’s not like I drew up a chair and watched it with him.”
“Bien s?r.” He reaches out to take my hand, but I pull back, dropping it to my lap. “Thank you for being there for him. For being the voice of reason.”
“No problem.” Something like consternation ripples across my brow.
“Was there something else?”
“Well, he, er, asked if ladies really… put it in their mouth.” No way I’m using the word penis, and it’s too early in the day for cock. But—fuck.
No—not buff fuck. Just fuck. And because my brain is a masochist, it reminds me of him teasing me there last night. Not that I’d ever let him bf me, even if the feather of his touch made me throb all over like I was made entirely of heavy bass.
I slice my hair behind my ears. I feel like my head is about to explode. I can’t believe I practically begged him to put his c—penis inside me.
“What did you say?” His face takes on a curious mixture of amusement and smolder.
“I said no—I mean, sorry?”
“No?”
“I was thinking of something else.” My cheeks feel as though they’re a thousand degrees.
“This isn’t funny.” I tip my eyes to the ceiling and mutter, “Why couldn’t he have saved this for Emmy?”
“Because Sophia wasn’t in Paris would be my guess.”
I slide him a questioning look.
“Maybe thoughts of the girl have somehow inspired him.”
“Maybe.”
“So how did you answer him?” he asks, his expression careful. Words too.
“I told him that it only happens within the bounds of marriage.” My mouth probably looks like a flatlining ECG. “And during a leap year.”
He barks out a laugh.
“It’s so not funny,” I answer, even as the sides of my mouth twitch.
“I’m sorry, but it is funny.”
“Not when you’re the one dealing with it,” I retort. “But I thought it best to give him a reality check.”
Still laughing, he shakes his head. Maybe in disbelief. I imagine that is not his experience. Sidenote: The way he laughs—the way I’ve made him laugh—makes me feel all sorts of warm and gooey. It’s hardly helpful to my current experience, but there you go.
“Thank you,” he says, still struggling to control his twitching lips.
“Stop laughing,” I say, struggling against the same.
“I’m not allowed to thank you for… rising to the occasion.”
It’s no good—we both give in, our laughter echoing.
“Poor Felix,” I say, eventually. “I imagine it was just as awkward for him as it was me. He’ll probably be scarred by the experience.”
“It won’t put him off.”
I pull a doubtful face.
“I was a teenage boy once.”
“When dinosaurs roamed the earth? Would you please stop laughing! Someone might hear you and they’ll”—guess what we did last night—“probably think you’ve been abducted by aliens.”
“Because I’m laughing in my own house?”
“Because it’s not normal behavior for you.”
His expression turns suddenly pensive, and his hand moving to his chin. “Last night,” he says, his thumb grazes across his lips. “You don’t regret it.”
Something blooms in my stomach, then drops.
“I’m fine. Provided we aren’t talking about it,” I add, no longer looking at him, but the coffee machine.
“As far as I’m concerned, I walked into Felix’s room, had a chat with him, then I went to the kitchen and ate cake.
Then I went to bed.” I shoot a warning glance his way.
“And somewhere between those two events I appear to have blacked out.”
“A good orgasm will do that to you. Two, almost three will—”
“Stop!” I whisper-hiss. “We can’t do this.”
“Maria tells me the hens are laying double yolkers.”
I spring back in my seat as though electrocuted when Zoe shuffles into the kitchen. My heart pounds hard. I can’t believe the sound of her shuffling Crocs didn’t precede her.
“Oh, wow!” I didn’t even know there were hens here, but why not? Llamas and goats and horses and hens. What next? A unicorn?
“I’m afraid my breakfast will have to wait,” Luc suddenly announces in his M. LDH voice as he stands. “My apologies, Zoe.”
“Oh, of course. No problem.”
I pick piece of invisible lint from the sleeve of my shirt rather than look at him.
“Sylvie will be downstairs soon. Please ask her to wait with you until Primrose is available.”
At the sound of my name, my head jerks up. “Where am I—”
“I’d like to see you in my office,” he says, stone-faced. Then he turns on his heel and all but storms out of the room.
As his footsteps echo against the terracotta tile, I glance Zoe’s way. I give a shrug in response to her questioning expression. No idea babes.
Our silent exchange is over in seconds. Or so I think when she gives a quick tap to the collar of her shirt and whispers one word. “Alejandro?”
This again?
“Now, if you please, Primrose.” His brisk tone carries. I pretend not to understand her as I follow him. She’s probably worried that I’m in trouble.
And I suppose I am, just not in the way she thinks.