Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
“A likely story.”
“That was my immediate thought. I hope I did right in taking it from him.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
“It’s under the towel.” He gestures to the table on the other side of the sunbed. “Just a suggestion, but you might like to think about returning some of those calls.” The corner of his mouth quirks. “You might also need to explain to Hugh what Stockholm syndrome is?”
“Sandy,” I fume.
“I’m not sure how many of his uncle’s texts he read,” he says, rubbing a finger to his brow.
“How many did you read?”
“Only that one,” he says with a deep chuckle. “It was already open.”
I harrumph, not at all mollified or sure I believe him, come to that, when his face is suddenly level with mine.
“I’m a lot of things, and not all of them good. But ask me for the truth, and I’ll tell you.”
Ask me who I love.
“Kolya.” This time, Sergei sounds slightly exasperated.
Niko mutters something in a language I don’t understand, but a tone I do. A brief press of his lips against mine, and then he’s gone.
Well, I have six texts from my brother. Less than I’d imagined, but each is increasingly terse in tone. The last is my favorite.
Just come home. All of you. We bloody well miss you.
Oh, Sandy. You great big softy.
I flick through Holland’s missive, my cheeks positively burning as she’d listed the reasons she’d packed what she did and hints to the fun she hopes we’re having.
I sincerely hope neither Hugh nor Niko read any of these.
“Mummy, where did Van go?” Hugh calls. I note he’s dropped ‘uncle’ which is probably for the best now that their relationship has officially change. Officially and fundamentally. He’s so good with them both and, whatever else happens, that has warmed my heart.
“He’ll be back in a little while,” I call back.
Both boys are voluble in their complaints when my phone suddenly buzzes in my hand. I have no intention of answering it, not yet, using it instead to point at my eldest son.
“I have a bone to pick with you about this.” In reply, Hugh dips under the waterline.
“You little…oh!” I fumble and accidentally hit the wrong button.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” a familiar purr curls down the line.
“Tamsin? This isn’t your number,” I say, bringing the phone to my ear.
“New phone, who dis?” she drawls. “You’re more original than that, Isla. Come on.”
“Am I supposed to know what that means?”
“You will. Give Hugh a couple of years. I’m using Toby’s phone.” Toby, Tamsin’s eldest, is thirteen. “I thought you might be screening my calls.”
“I’m screening everyone’s calls today,” I hedge. Today? More like all week.
“So how’s life treating you?” she says, far too airily.
“Oh, you know,” I reply in the same tone. “There isn’t much to report since we spoke last.”
“Oh? That’s a surprise. It must be a misprint, I suppose,” she says sounding thoroughly unconvinced. “Or a prank.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Haven’t you seen it?” smug. That was definitely smug. “Let me read it to you. ‘Mr. N Vanyin to Lady Isla Dalforth,’” she intones. “That’s the heading, by the way.” My stomach flips. What the hell is this? “‘Nikolai Vanyin and Lady Isla Dalforth were married on Wednesday on the island of St Lucia, the ceremony was conducted by—” I am unprepared for Tamsin’s (uncharacteristic) squeal. “You sly bish! You married him! All these years later and you married the blond hottie from way back when!”
“Er, yes. I suppose I have.”
“Have you two always had a thing, or was this some kind of post-divorce hookup on steroids? Tell me all the things!” she demands, practically yelling down the phone. “Because, clearly, you haven’t been keeping me fully abreast of your life.”
“Since when have you been a fan of other people’s lives?” I ask, suddenly realizing that it’s one thing to feel like I’m coming to terms with my change in situation (and finding I might actually quite like it) but another to announce it to the world.
“Since I was there at its inception. Stop stalling and tell me! It all sounds so romantic.”
Is it romantic to be forced into marriage? Some might think so. Some people like me. It’s not like he tied me up. Yet. It’s also not like I used to complain when he did.
“Well, we got married on Wednesday—”
“I already know that bit. Is that the boys I can hear in the background?”
“Yes. They appear to be drowning each other in the pool.”
“You took them on honeymoon? That’s great. I liked him before but he’s already going up in my estimation.”
“Maybe I insisted on taking them.”
“Izzy, you’re a single mother of two boys. You and I both know you would leave them to God and good neighbors if it means a few days of peace. You don’t have to admit it. I know.”