her mom expression; pursed lips, eyebrows riding high. You know the one, I love you, but I’m disappointed. ‘I’m the person you promised to call.’
‘Sorry. Things have been hectic. I had jet lag, so the times between us were off, then I had to get my visa and stuff. Plus, I’ve moved to two separate apartments since I got here.’ All true. All also excuses. Truthfully, I forgot I’d said I’d call once I got settled. And I’m not. Settled yet, that is. How can you feel settled or secure in the middle of a whirlwind?
‘Good for you I’m a forgiving friend,’ she answers, ‘I’m extra specially forgiving after I googled Monsieur Baguette.’
‘You did. What?’
‘I spelled his name right, for a start. I have to tell you, if that man were a fruit, he’d be fineapple. Pick of the crop.’
‘What does that make me?’ calls Byron out.
‘You’re more like a coconut, babe.’
‘Because I’m hairy, meaty, and milky?’
‘Are you trying to traumatise the children?’ she asks, turning her head.
‘I’m more like a cumquat,’ he adds. ‘Want to know why?’
‘No,’ she replies in a bored tone before she begins to giggle as he appears on the screen behind to whisper something in her ear. ‘Urgh, get off, you Neanderthal!’
The pair tussle for a moment, Byron’s gaze wicked as he tortures her with kisses and tickles and stubble rubs, and she’s still holding the baby who continues to sleep undisturbed. Meanwhile, I experience a pang of longing. I want this. The relationship. A man who’ll love me and tease me and exasperate me in equal turns. A man who’ll take a chance. Who’ll turn his life upside down for me all because he wants to love me like I’ll love him.
‘You are such an ass.’ Her complaining yet smiling face turns back to me, her expression morphing from playful to concern almost immediately. ‘What’s wrong? Why are you crying?’
Urgh, not again! I bite my lip and shrug in response, fighting the welling tears.
Jesus H. Enough with the waterworks.
The phone muffles for a minute. Her baby daughter whimpers as she’s passed to her father’s arms. An instruction is issued for all and sundry to eat their carrots under threat of no dessert. A door closes. Footsteps echo along a wooden floor, and then she’s there again, my best friend’s face filling the screen of my phone.
‘Tell me.’ It’s not a demand but a permission to let go.
Despite feeling bad about interrupting her family’s meal, I do.
‘You remember the French guy back in March?’
‘I’m unlikely to forget the man you nearly killed with your dildo.’
Despite my blubbering, I chuckle at her description. ‘That sounds so much worse than what actually happened, even if he did end up with a concussion. You make it sound like I badly used him.’
‘Okay, the man you whacked with your dildo, not ravaged via the butt. The French hottie,’ she prompts, cutting off my protestations. ‘I get it. You’re hearing nothing but sexy French accents, and you realised you suddenly miss his ass—though not to badly use.’
God, this woman makes me smile. ‘Not even close.’
‘Spit it out. Or am I supposed to guess?’
‘He’s my new boss.’
‘No way.’ Eyes wide, her answer is awe-filled.
‘Well, my boss’s boss’s boss. Several times removed, probably.’ He owns my ass? My work ass, maybe.
‘How? Why? Oh, my God. Did he think the coffee machine wasn’t enough?’ Amber doesn’t bother to hide her disbelief. And why would she? I’m having difficulty believing it myself. ‘Is this why you’re upset? He’s got you there under false pretences?’
‘No, these are just pre-period tears.’ Hormones and overwhelm, I guess. ‘As for this job, Monaco is full of women who look like models. Why would he go to such huge amounts of trouble just to get me out here?’
‘Yeah, I see your point,’ she agrees. ‘Especially as you have a face like a dog butt.’
‘I’m not saying I’m ugly,’ I protest. ‘I’m just not in the supermodel league.’
‘So true. All that luxurious hair, that face, and those boobs. You definitely don’t look like a cross between Sophia Loren and Gigi Hadid or anything. Add in your heinous personality, and I’m surprised Monsieur Baguette, MB now that you’re very particular friends, didn’t pay to send you to outer Mongolia.’
Everyone needs a friend like Amber. A friend who’ll talk you up and talk you out of the biggest funk, even when you know you look like you ate Gigi Hadid.
‘Thank you, my cheer squad of one. But the fact is, I could