Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
The Palladium is in the West End, the London theater district, and is currently buzzing with theatergoers. But as far as I can see, we’re the only ones dressed for the occasion. And drawing a few funny looks. Some indulgent ones, mostly from the female population. The blokes, however, seem to silently agree Rather him than me.
“Come on, slowpoke,” I say, tugging on her little hand. Apart from feeling a bit of a tit, I’m feckin’ freezing! “Pirate code says stragglers will be left behind.”
“We aren’t pirates!” she answers with a giggle.
“Course we are. Captain Prince Charming and First Mate Belle.”
Clodagh’s expression turns immediately pensive.
“You okay?” I ask, slowing my pace.
“Just thinking.”
“Anything I can help you with?” I know Letty’s doing tough with the divorce, but with Clodagh, it’s harder to tell how she’s feeling. She seems to have adapted well to her new school and country, but she barely mentions her dad. Not that he’d be winning any prizes in the father stakes.
“I’m just thinking maybe next time you can be Gaston.”
“Gaston?” I say instead of Next time? They’ve been staying with me up until recently, but this is the first outing alone for me and Clo. Frankly, the responsibility is terrifying.
“You look like Gaston,” she says, nodding her little blond head. “Not handsomest prince.”
“Oh, really?” Cheeky little shite.
“But you got the same color hair as Gaston. And a butt chin like him.”
I give a hearty chuckle. “So what I’m hearing is this Gaston fella is good looking.” Out of the mouths of babes.
“And he’s good at spitting. Plus, he’s hairy, same as you.”
“He sounds . . . grand.” We reach the line of theatergoers queuing for general admission. If I thought I’d be here, I might’ve made some other arrangements. A box or something, I think, eyeing the group of kids a little way in front of us. I don’t know kids. I also don’t want to know kids. Or sit in among them.
“He isn’t grand, Uncle Matty. He’s a handsome, empty-headed jerk. He doesn’t love Belle. He just thinks she’s the prettiest girl in town, and because he has a very high ’pinion of himself, he thinks she should be married to him. He just wants to own her. That’s what Mommy says. But Beast, he has a good heart.”
There is so much to digest in her little speech.
“Well, that’s what you want, isn’t it? Someone with a good heart.” Though I think it might be a bit early to be talking about men and love. Clodagh is still only five years old.
“You’re not like Gaston, Uncle Matty. You say things that make Mommy laugh when Daddy says things that make her cry.”
“Mommy cries?” I thought she was done with all that.
“Only when she thinks I can’t hear her.”
My heart gives a little twist. I’d finish that shitebag off, physically and financially, if I didn’t think that would give him something else to bleat about. Some other thing to blame her for. Waste of fucking oxygen that he is.
“You have a heart like the Beast.”
“Well, that’s . . .” Enough to bring a lump to my throat. “Very lovely to hear. But, you know, Clo, when you get to be a big girl, and you date?”
“I gotta be at least thirty-five before I do that. Mommy says so.”
“Good. I like that plan.”
“Aunt Lola says Mommy should’ve taken her own advice.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Feckin’ Lola. “Anyway, what I was trying to say is that it’s not up to you to find the prince within the beast.”
“What do you mean? Inside like he ate him?” She looks horrified.
“No, nothing like that.” Jesus. How to put this? “Well, the Beast, on the outside, is all rough and tough and growly.”
“But he has a good heart.”
“Yeah, I know. But you shouldn’t have to dig for it. He should be able to show you it, shouldn’t he?”
“Like, under his fur?”
“No, not quite like that—”
“Hey, Matt!”
I glance up to find Mila standing in the line ahead of us. The Lord works in mysterious ways, his miracles to feckin’ perform! Why the hell did I think it was a good idea to give dating advice to a five-year-old, again?
“Excuse me,” Mila murmurs, smiling in apology as she makes her way back along the line toward us.
“Hi!” I think I might be smiling too much or too weirdly, judging by Mila’s expression as I press a kiss to her cheek. I’d be happy to see her any time, but I’m feckin’ ecstatic not to have to dig myself out of that. “How are you?” And bless you for saving this poor, wretched fool. I’m hardly fit to give dating advice.
“I’m good, and kind of surprised to see you here. Aren’t you supposed to be with Fin and Oliver?”
“I’m meeting them later.” So I’m a soft touch because, yes, I had plans of my own, but after Seb’s selfishness, what could I do but step in? Letty has had so little time to herself since she came back. I mean, I offered to get her help—a nanny or an au pair—but she says it’s too much. It’s like she thinks she can negate her ex’s lack of parenting by overcaring or something.