PRIMROSE #2
I drag my attention back to my sister’s petulant expression. “No, you won’t.”
“I might.”
There is nothing wrong with having a boob job if that’s what you want, but if she was going to, she would’ve done so by now. “You won’t because you look amazing, and you have a husband who’d crawl over hot coals just to get a peek at your bra strap.”
She sets off giggling. “I’m so gonna tell him you said that.”
“He’ll think it’s a cunning ploy on your part. That you’re pregnant and horny and making excuses to get him into bed.”
“Maybe. But Raif also knows you’re not as sweet as you seem.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Lol,” she says without any kind of laughter at all.
I’m extremely fond of my sister’s husband, even if he was the kind of surprise none of our family could’ve anticipated.
Raif is staid, serious, on the surface, I suppose.
He’s also practically a father to his late sister’s daughter and more than a little scary.
But when we got to see how happy he makes Lavender—a person who doesn’t come to that state of being easily—nothing else seemed to matter.
One minute she was stroppy and single, and the next, she was announcing her surprise marriage to this bloke we’d never heard of.
I’m only very slightly envious.
“What was that?” Lavender’s gaze narrows as my attention snaps back to her.
“What?”
“You were all smiley-eyed, but then your expression turned down,” she demands like a terrier with a rope toy.
Same as in the kitchen, I force a yawn like my face is just malfunctioning. “Just a bit tired.”
“Too much excitement in your life?” she deadpans. “Oh, the fam asked me to ask when you’re going to join them on the boat. Given Emmy isn’t around.”
“I’m not sure,” I hedge.
“You should totally tell them to get lost and find yourself a man for a torrid summer affair.
“T-torid?” Why do I suddenly sound like Minnie Mouse?
“Y-y-yes,” she stutters back, far too entertained. She says nothing else though her head very slightly quirks to one side. “Why, Primrose, my darling sister. Are you having relations with a man right now?”
I scoff. “You know you’re not meant to drink when you’re pregnant, right?” Ignoring the fact that my face feels like its overheating, I bluster on. “Right now?” I glance down as though expecting to find Luc between my legs. “I mean, I know I’m pretty good at multitasking, but…”
“You are,” she insists, ignoring my sarcasm in favor of a narrowed and very piercing gaze. “Excellent!” She sits back, suddenly delighted. Clapping her hands together and everything.
“I am not!” I sound like a toddler on the verge of a tantrum. “You know that’s not me.”
“I know you date duds for some reason.”
“What?”
“That you play your cards close to your chest. I mean, I get it. You’ve got to in this family because everyone has an opinion.”
“Is that your way of saying the fam have been talking about me?”
“Why should you be any different? Our lot are like a team of investigative journalists who think they know you better than you know yourself.”
A truth bomb right there.
“I sometimes think that’s why Mum wanted such a big family,” she muses.
“So if anyone ever started talking shit about her behind her back, she’d have enough spies to report it straight away.
Yet we’d never be without them.” Her attention refocuses on me.
“But don’t tell them I said that. Except El.
I could very easily adopt him out. I’m sure I wouldn’t miss him one bit. ”
“He’s in his thirties. No one’s adopting him.”
“No one’s marrying him either.” Her expression twists. “I keep introducing him to women hoping one of them will take pity on me, but he’s so obnoxious. Raif has offered to let Antonio take care of him, but I think he’s joking. Mostly,” she says as she twirls a lock of her hair.
“You are so savage,” I say with a grin.
Antonio is Raif’s… well, I don’t know what he is.
Assistant? Driver? Enforcer? Do I really want to know?
Probably not. Although my brother-in-law is a very wealthy and legitimate businessman, there is definitely a shady side to his dealings.
And though he does come across as a bit frightening, once you’ve seen your sister twist him around her little finger, it dims quite a bit.
“Anyway, we all have our theories about the enigmatic Miss Primrose. But stop changing the subject and tell me who the lucky fuck is.”
“There isn’t anyone,” I retort, surprised by her take.
She leans in, and in a singsong tone adds, “I’ve got all day.”
“I’ll just hang up.”
“I’ll get Raif to fire up the jet.”
“You don’t even know where I am.”
“You know Raif would be able to find you.”
“Urgh! You are—”
“Spill the tea. Dish the delish,” she demands, making a give-it gesture with one hand.
“I’m in Mallorca,” I mutter unhappily.
“And?”
“I’m doing Emmy’s job,” I say, my tone flat.
Her brows pull down. “But Emmy’s a nanny and you’re…”
“Too nice for my own good?”
“You’re nannying? Your summer escape before you start your new job looking after adults who can’t toilet themselves, and you’re looking after a bunch of snotty kids?”
“They’re not snotty, they’re French, and there’s only two of them. It’s an easy gig, even if it was only meant to be for the weekend.” I pick a piece of lint from my shirt. “But shit got complicated.” I flick the lint away.
“Well, the fam will be de-lighted. Especially as you could be looking after their snotty kids.”
“Which is why I’m not telling them. And neither are you.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because I’m asking you not to. Because it sounds weird,” I add, feeling all kinds of uncomfortable.
“But on brand for you.”
My mouth flattens into a thin line.
“You are weird.” She grins. “That’s part of your charm.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, sounding anything but gratified.
“But why don’t you want to tell them? It would get them off your back.”
“They’re not bothering me.”
“Only because you don’t look at your phone, which means they’re bothering me. I bet you have dozens of messages waiting, and that’ll just be from Mum. You’re the only twenty-something in the world whose phone isn’t permanently glued to their hand.”
“Is it any wonder? I just don’t understand how people can’t live without the stupid things.”
“I say again, weirdo.” She pauses. “Just tell them what you’re doing. Send a group text.”
“I’d rather not invite their opinions. And then there’s the part of me that feels sort of inadequate compared to my siblings.
By the time Whit was my age, he was already a billionaire.
Heather had her career and her love-life sorted, and Lavender had her art gallery and Raif.
Meanwhile I went gung-ho into psychology before deciding it wasn’t for me, which meant I was one of the oldest medical undergrads on my course.
“Box of rocks,” I’m sure she mutters before her eyes suddenly shoot as wide as saucers. “Wait, doesn’t Emmy work for that du Beaumont dude?”
“How do you—”
Her expression takes on a devious edge. “I’ve met him, you know.”
“Lavender, you talk more smack than a nun with a ruler.”
“I have. In Berlin.”