Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 740(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 740(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Plums, more like.
“So what do you think?”
“About the good doc or your boobs?”
“Primrose,” she growls.
So I assume my doctor’s face. Serious. Competent. Caring. Or in other words, I try to stop my eyebrows from shooting off the top of my face as the screen blurs again.
“Oh, yes. I can totally see now,” I say quickly, worried she might be about to pull off her T-shirt. “Your boobs are much bigger. Huge. Massive, in fact.”
“No need to overdo it,” she mutters mulishly.
“Lavender? It feels really weird talking to your boobs. Any chance we can continue this conversation face-to-face?”
“They’re the same size, aren’t they?” Her unhappy expression comes into focus.
“I don’t flippin’ well know!”
She narrows her gaze. “You’d better come back to London. I’m going to need you to make sure Raif doesn’t really die when I murder him. I bet he had La Perla swap the labels on my new bras.”
That sounds exactly like the kind of thing Lavender’s husband would do if he thought it would make her feel better. Pretty sure he’d find a way to pull down the moon if she asked for it. While she’s always had a chip on her shoulder over being a member of the itty-bitty titty committee, it doesn’t seem to bother Raif. Weirdly, neither does her personality. The man is absolutely besotted.
I mean, he’d have to be to put up with her, an uncharitable little voice pipes up from somewhere. Don’t get me wrong, she’s my sister, and I think she’s amazing. She’s always known what she wanted and just gone for it—gone for it and gotten it. But the mold was broken when she was born, and that’s probably a good thing for the world because, by God, she can be a pain in the arse when she puts her mind to it.
“I didn’t know La Perla did maternity bras.”
“Did you know they did bikinis?”
“I knew that was you!” I exclaim. “What did you do with my one-piece—and my shorts?”
“I donated your swimsuit to the British Museum. They’re going to use it in a Roaring 20s exhibition. And your clothes, well, I tried to donate them to Oxfam, but they wouldn’t have them.”
“Mean! What’s wrong with the way I dress?”
“Nothing at all. If you’re a pensioner. Come on, Prim. Knee length linen shorts?”
“I like them!”
“Thank you, Lavender,” she complains. “Thank you for spending time thinking about me and thank you for sneaking some stylish pieces of clothing into my summer wardrobe.”
I make a noise of displeasure but mutter thanks anyway. Not just because it’s the right thing to do but also because I look better in the clothes than I ever could’ve imagined.
“God, Raif was so miffed that I hadn’t bought the bikini for myself.”
“It’s defo more you than me,” I say, ignoring the tiny pang of something that’s not quite jealousy. I’m happy she’s found her champion, but I can be a tiny bit dejected that my own Prince Charming is still imaginary. Not that lust is terrible. Just terribly inconvenient.
Raif is twelve years older than her.
The thought pops into my mind, though I quickly push it away. So M. LDH is older than me too. Big deal! How much older, I don’t need to know, because our connection has been chasing happy endings, not a happily ever after.
Except, come to think of it, he hasn’t once… Wow. The pleasure really has been all mine.
Maybe that’s his kink. And maybe mine is being with an older, slightly dominant man. The forbidden aspect of it all, the windows and being watched. The heady allure of being seen. Desired. Coveted. Or maybe my kink is being shagged by a man I actively dislike.
“I might get a boob job after I’ve had the baby.”
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.