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)
“It is very hot today. Are you sure you will not swim?”
Why did that sound like a threat? I’m momentarily distracted as, at the far side of the pool, Luc stands, grabs his towel, and begins to dry himself off. Lucky towel, I think as the snowy white cotton rubs over his pecs.
“Primrose?” she pipes up again.
My attention slides back. “Why is this family insistent on me getting weaaah!” With a shriek, I jump to my feet as the little darling shoots me with a water gun so huge, she needs both hands to hold it. “You little—argh!” Felix surfaces next to his sister with an even bigger smile and a larger weapon. “You need to cool down,” he says.
Within seconds, the front of my tennis dress is soaked, and their father is laughing and, no doubt, enjoying the view as he rounds the pool.
“Traitors—both of you!” I complain, flicking the water from my face.
“But it is too warm!” Sylvie squeals, almost collapsing into a fit of giggles.
“You wouldn’t come to the pool, so we made the pool come to you,” her brother adds.
“So kind,” I snipe, dripping water onto the sandstone terrace. I pull the wet cotton from my torso as la famille regard their handiwork. Two members look delighted, and one is gazing at me like I’m naked. Drowned rats must be his thing.
“You,” I say, pointing at their father as he draws closer. “This is your fault.”
All innocence, he asks, “Mine? What was my part in this?”
“You didn’t stop them,” I assert.
“I merely declined to interfere,” he says, far too calmly.
“Same difference,” I mutter, ignoring how his mouth curves. My attention slides to the children. “You know I believe in payback, right?”
Sylvie laughs and Felix? Well, he just looks smug.
I glance at the water guns still in the children’s hands. Then I glance at Luc. And Sylvie, she picks up what I’m putting down.
“Do it,” she whispers, her face lighting up. She slides the gun across the tiles. “
“Do what?” Luc’s smile slips.
“Oh, dear.” I draw the words out into a taunt. “Is someone frightened of getting a little wet?”
“Why would I be? I’ve just gotten out of the pool.” All the same, he takes one cautious step back.
I pump the handle.
“Primrose.” My name sounds like a warning. “Consider your next move very carefully.”
I smile so sweetly. I probably look like an evil Chuckie doll. “You know, I don’t think I will.” I turn to the children and yell, “Run!” which is a little ridiculous considering they’re waist deep in water. But it has the desired effect as one shrieks and the other yells, both diving under the water as my watery attack streams after them.
Then I turn to their father. “You look so bloody smug.”
“I can’t help my face,” he says with a tremorous laugh.
I give a quick glance over my shoulder, making sure little ears aren’t nearby. “Your face is so infuriatingly smug,” I say, raising the gun. “I think I would come on your face; just cover it up.”
He looks taken aback, though I see the moment he forms his retort. Not that it matters as I squeeze the trigger and cover his face in the next best thing available to me.
31
PRIMROSE
Lord, give me the strength to survive this…
For the past few days, M. LDH hasn’t left the estate. There have been no helicopter trips, no business deals, and no hanging out in his office. Zoe says the man is smiling more, and that the break from the pressures of running an empire must be doing him some good. But I can’t say I’ve noticed him smile more, mostly because I’ve tried to avoid looking at him.
I’ve also tried to avoid eating all meals with the du Beaumont clan, citing headaches and allergies and other ailments. My attention has been needed for (fictitious) phone calls home, and paperwork I ‘need’ to file online. Anything and everything to get a little reprieve from that man’s laser beam blues. And not only do I stay out of the kitchen late at night, but I confine myself to my room whenever I’m not required by my little charges.
It’s not that I don’t trust him and more that I don’t trust myself should I run into him. Alone, in the dark, where everything is amplified.
But I still see him all the time. At breakfast, by the pool, at the stables. Then I’m invited (required?) to spend a day on the boat with the family, swimming and fishing and watching as his children dangle from him like earrings.
It’s a good thing I already decided he was off limits because here’s something especially attractive about a man whose children adore him. It was an inconvenient discovery, and not one I’d ever had reason to consider before.
Two weeks. I have two weeks left from the original four, and the days feel like a molasses spill. I find myself wondering if this is what it’s like being in prison (a prison with amazing food, tennis courts and pools, a movie theatre, a helicopter pad, and a yacht floating from a pontoon at the edge of a private beach) and how long it’ll be before I’m carving the days into my bedroom wall with a shiv.