Luc #2
“Because my children have already lost their mother!” I yell, taking her by the arms. This is not an embrace. I hold her when I want to shake. “I will not put them in a position where they lose you—and they will lose you, Primrose.”
I force my fingers loose and turn away. She wrecks me and I can’t tell her because the moment I put into words what she does to me, this stops being a summer, a handful of stolen moment, and she becomes something I might not survive losing. I will not allow that.
“Luc.” She soaks my name in regret, but I don’t turn.
“You will leave, and we will carry on. The woman is their aunt, their family,” I reiterate, putting some distance between us as I move to the unmanned bar.
I throw a couple of ice cubes into a glass and grab the first bottle within reach.
“She wanted to see the children, and they weren’t there.
What would you have me do? Push her out the fucking door? ”
“Of course not.”
“Then I should tell her about us?”
“I didn’t say that.” Because Primrose also knows we aren’t destined to be together.
“I made a mistake. I’m sorry you were hurt, that I hurt you, but I won’t apologize for trying to keep my private life just that.
” My wife’s family treats my single status as proof of my devotion to Allegra.
I don’t want to invite their opinion, their worry, or their judgement for the sake of my children.
“You should’ve said. Let me know somehow. I would’ve stayed out of the way—I would’ve known how to react.”
“I tried to tell you. I sent you a text.” I twist the top from the bottle of whisky and splash a little into the glass.
“But I didn’t give you my number.” No accusation this time.
“I have it just the same.” I don’t turn as I reach for a bottle of vermouth. Bitters next.
“My phone’s flat.” Her answer sounds like a statement of fact. “It almost always is.” She gives a pause before adding, “What did it say?”
“Just what I’ve told you. That the children’s aunt was downstairs.
” Grim amusement flickers to life on my face, though I keep my back to her.
“That I would prefer that she not know about us.” I turn, and she watches me warily as I close the space between us again.
“I didn’t imagine she’d react as she did.
She was worried that I was home but that I’d sent the children away.
” I might often be away from home due to work, but that is apparently different.
“You would never send the children away.”
“She was worried for my mental health, apparently. That parenting had become too much.”
I see her answer flicker across her face. With a nanny and an army of staff?
“I told her the children were excited to be spending a night sleeping under the stars, that they were looking forward to it. That they were in the grounds and safe and she should come back tomorrow. But it seems she was genuinely worried my state of mind.” Initially, at least.
I give a bitter little laugh as I recall her words. You should’ve called me. I worry about you. After everything we’ve been through together. Only now I hear how damning they sound.
“Then you came down the stairs.” I hand her the glass.
“I didn’t expect her to react as she did.
One look at you. And another at me watching you.
” I blow out a breath. “She’s always been…
affectionate.” My children’s favorite aunt.
“But that was something else. But I swear to you, she is resolutely into only women.”
Primrose’s gaze dips to the contents of the glass now in her hand. “Roofies?” The echo of a previous joke falls flat.
“A Manhattan,” I answer, sliding my hands into my pockets. If I put my hands on her again, who knows where this will end.
She lifts the glass to her nose. “You treated me as though I was nothing,” she says, the fight gone from her words.
“I treated you like I treat all my employees. The way I treated Emmy. I’m sorry. It was a mistake. You’re not nothing to me, Primrose. And that’s the problem.” I force myself to hold her gaze. “You are so much more than you imagine.”
“French again?” She takes sip of her drink and grimaces.
“That bad?”
“Just… don’t give up your day job.” She makes a valiant attempt at a smile as she sets the glass down.
“Are we fine now?” My tone is as tentative as the knuckle I slide down her cheek. Please say yes. Let me hold you, let my heart regulate.
She nods and I step closer, her lips parting as she releases a trembling breath against the base of my throat.
The knot in my stomach loosens. I think I’d half-convinced myself it was permanent.
She leans into my palm, her damp, warm cheek pressing against it, then gives her head a tiny shake as if to clear away the last of her disbelief.
“We’re fine,” she says softly.
I brush my thumb across her chin as the bass from the dance floor below seems to beat once more in my blood. “Good.”
“That’s two fines and a good,” she whispers as I coil my hand around the back of her neck and pull her mouth to mine.
As our lips meet, she lets out a quiet breath that sounds like relief. This kiss, it’s everything I want, everything I crave. Everything I worried I’d never experience again. I slide my lips down her neck, wet and open-mouthed, tasting the salt of her, the aftershocks of our quarrel ebbing away.
“Did you think so little of me?” I’m almost afraid to ask, but I do anyway.
“Luc, don’t.” Her arms come up, winding around my neck like vines as she buries her head against my chest.
“How could you think I would dishonour you like that?”
“It’s what men do.” The words are muffled, but I hear their tone. Fait accompli. A proven fact.
“Non, Primrose.” I pull back a little and take her head in my hands. “Not all men.”
A look flitters across her brow in silent disagreement.
“What men?” Who does she know who’d do this?
Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. “Just men, Luc. Boys even.”
All in her experience? I gathered she’s had selfish lovers, but this? “Tell me, Primevère. Who made you think this way? Who did this to you? Because I would not.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
But she’s wrong, and as I slant my lips over hers, I try to tell her so silently as though I could apologize for every feckless man who ever made her doubt herself.
As though I could press every thought I have of her into her head—beautiful, brave, precious—and make her absorb them until they drown out every cruel word she has ever believed.
The world narrows around us, the dull thud of the music fading, the taste of whiskey on her tongue sharpening. Kissing isn’t enough, not for either of us. There is no logic in staying in this room, but when have we ever followed its dictates?