“I deleted it,” she replies sheepishly. “I’m just not ready to talk to Sandy about this.”
“Because you want to protect him.”
“I need to protect them all.”
“And you will. We will, but you have to give them a reason for not coming home.”
“I’ll call Holland—I’ll say that business has held me up. I am sort of being held up.” She laughs unhappily. “She won’t tell Sandy, not if I tell her I want to …”
“Break the news that you spent the night with me?”
“Plausible deniability,” she adds haltingly.
My darling, we’ll have much more to ask him to forgive you for before this day is through.
“I’ll call and ask if she can keep the boys tonight. I’ll stay.”
“I think that’s for the best. Come,” I murmur, sitting forward. “Let’s get something hot into you.”
The tension suddenly returns to her body, though her response is flippant. “And here I thought a crisis might make you behave yourself.”
“Darling, if there’s ever a time I’m not trying to get you into bed, something will be very, very wrong. But for now, let me introduce you to the other woman in my life. Her name is Julia.”
Is it cruel to tease? Probably. But her expression, as well as a boost for the ego, is a sign that she doesn’t dislike me quite as much as she might like.
28
Isla
I watch the woman move about the kitchen with a sureness born of familiarity. Julia is the housekeeper, though she looks unlike any housekeeper I’ve ever seen. Petite, dark haired, and pretty, she can be barely thirty. Meanwhile, I must look like an old crone, I decide, tugging at my wild hair again.
“Is there anything I can get for you, Lady Isla?” The smile she turns on me is unruffled and serene.
“No, thank you,” I answer, wrapping my hand around my coffee cup.
With a nod, she leaves me alone in the kitchen, slipping out of the door as quiet as a mouse. Van mentioned she lives on the premises, and I find myself wondering if the pair ever sleep together. And by that, I mean, if they fuck. It’s not a word I use often, not even to myself, but it’s the term I choose now. I feel green eyed and slightly sour, even though I sensed nothing between them but a friendly kind of ease.
I can’t ever imagine Van being celibate. Not that it has anything to do with me—nothing to do with me at all. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved to to find myself all alone in the cavernous room.
Not alone but protected, according to Van, because there’s a security detail on-site
What am I going to do? Not stay here, if I can help it. Van and I are like oil and water, and by that, I mean it’s only a matter of time before one of use ends up lying on top of the other. But for now, I wait. And literally twiddle my thumbs, and bite the occasional cuticle, as I glance around the space.
Make yourself at home, he’d said.
What would I do if this were my home? I’d probably be making snacks for the boys and listening to the commentary about their day. Turning my wrist, I glance down and confirm the time. They’ll be home now, probably thundering through the kitchen in the hunt for food. Geordie, Sandy’s chef will have made them something far superior to what I’d usually pull out of the fridge. Ham and cheese sandwiches or fruit and crackers. He’ll probably have made them their favorite; sausage rolls, the pork delicately seasoned with herbs, rolled in buttery, flaky pastry. Most likely, there’ll be freshly squeezed orange juice and some kind of sweet treat to follow afterward, despite my usual protests of it being too close to dinnertime.
I miss my boys so much.
Pulling out my phone, I decide to call. I just need to hear their voices, need to hear they’re okay. I’ve barely pushed connect when I hear Holland’s breathy, “Hello.”
“Is everything okay?” Has she been running? Running away? The worst kind of imaginings begin to flit through my head.
“Fine,” she says, her voice just as breathy. “Everything’s fine.”
Breath leaves me in a gust. “Great. So is this a bad time?” Newlyweds, I think, almost rolling my eyes.
“No, it’s fine. In fact, your timing is perfect in helping me ward off your overly amorous brother.” My overly amorous brother whose deep laughter I hear in the background.
“Right. I think I’ll just take this opportunity to remind you again that girl talk is fine, but not when it involves the topic of my brother.”
“I was just kissing her hello,” comes Sandy’s rumbling tones. “Positively chaste kisses, at that.”
“I doubt you can spell chaste, never mind embody it. I’d been on the school run,” she adds with a chuckle. “I’ve been gone thirty minutes, not for the thirty years’ war.”