even a little of the accidental baby-making kind.
“The three Rs of the house Durrand? Imagine the confusion with their mail.” At least she’s trying to process this insanity with dignity. Meanwhile, I’m spouting garbage while trying to remember the failure statistics of condoms. “It’s kind of ridiculous that they gave the kid the same initials.”
“Ridiculously cute,” she asserts, her words short and her diction sharp as she tightens her arms around her daughter as though I’m some sort of threat.
Is that another sign? Might I be—
Or maybe I was more of an ass last night than I thought.
I push my hand through my hair and sigh. “I’m really only Rocco’s honorary uncle but close enough that his parents trust me enough to be in his company.”
“I’ve never seen you before.”
“No?” I quirk a brow, my tone calling her out. I know you remember it. No one could forget a night like that.
“I-I meant at their house. You weren’t at their wedding,” she adds quickly.
That’s right because there’s no way that night could be a one-way remembrance.
“You could say Remy and I were estranged at that point.”
“You weren’t at Rocco’s first birthday, either.”
“That’s not—” My style, I was about to say. “That is, I wasn’t in the country at that point. I try to spend as little time on the Riviera as I can,” I answer truthfully.
“None of this alters the fact that you don’t know Lulu. Or me, for that matter.”
“True. I don’t know you as well as I’d like.” That might’ve sounded a little suggestive, judging by the widening of her eyes. “That goes for both of you.” Damn. I’m not at all sure that was any better.
“And you,” she adds firmly, tightening her grip on her daughter, “you should’ve stayed in the bedroom with me.”
“But it’s Saturday, and Uncle Carson said he’d make me pancakes.”
“If I overstepped the mark, I’m sorry,” I add soberly, not truly sure if I mean I’m sorry for feeding her daughter an illicit breakfast or for suggesting I feed the naked woman in my tub last night something else entirely. Maybe sorry for the way I looked at her, for the things I said, sorry for the later imagined acts of depravity inspired by the sight of her in my tub. “Blame the angels,” I find myself muttering.
I see now what I should be sorry for is not recognising her.
“I’m Grandpa’s little angel, aren’t I, Mummy?”
Fee doesn’t answer, her eyes as wide as saucers, her gaze fixed on mine as her whispered words fall in a rush. “Don’t. Please don’t say anything else.”
The things I want to say to her aren’t meant for our little audience because the things I want to say to her would only lead to the things I want to do.
To her. With her. And then start all over again.
“Can we start again?” Fee nods quickly because we can’t go back. “I was making coffee when the kid came in, and I saw no harm in making her breakfast.” How the fuck can my voice sound so completely normal when inside my head is complete chaos?
“I’m not the kid,” the little girl complains. “I’m Lulu. Kids belong to goats. Children belong to people. Norman belongs to me, and Norman needed pancakes because his tummy was noisy!”
“That’s very true. I could hear it from all the way over here. Which, by the way, is where I’ve been since Lulu came into the kitchen. Her and Norman on the stool and me over here.” I gesture to the granite countertop between us. No physical contact, inappropriate or otherwise, has been made.
“I’m not suggesting . . .” Her words trail off, her fair eyebrows drawing together before she begins again, her tone a touch more even. “I’m not suggesting anything. But Lulu couldn’t have known for certain that you were familiar with Rocco and his parents.”
Stranger danger for real. I thought for a minute she was concerned the kid had been inadvertently introduced to a parent. Or vice versa.
I can’t be.
No.
Can I?
“I, er, showed her photos.” I slide my phone out from the pocket of my shorts, my thoughts pinging around like the contents of a pinball machine. “You’re welcome to view the proof.” I swipe open the first photo of Rocco I find. We’re on Remy’s yacht, and I’m holding Rocco on my shoulders, who looks to be fifty percent lifejacket and fifty percent grin. I find myself smiling down at my phone before I remember who’s supposed to be looking