“The villa?” Our family owned a villa—a large farmhouse—in the south of France. We usually spent a few weeks there together in the summer, but, of course, it didn’t happen last summer, and it wouldn’t happen next.
“Yes, the villa. He has it for Christmas and three weeks in the summer. I want it for spring and September. But he’s arguing that he should have it in spring since I don’t like the mild rainy weather then, which is utter nonsense. Anyway, Juno has claimed a few weeks in the summer for herself, so I thought to spite your father, you could claim it for your spring holiday. You could invite some friends with you.”
Frowning as the steep descent of Victoria Street came to an end on the Grassmarket, I clarified, “You want me to have the villa for a week in spring? All to myself? To spite Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.” Who was I to argue with that? “Is that all?”
“You’re rather abrupt this morning. Did you get my texts about Amelia? Have you seen her yet?”
“Mother, I have no interest in an eighteen-year-old fresher, whether she’s Lady Amelia or a pop bloody princess.”
“You’re saying she’s too young?”
“Yes, she’s too young. Also, I have no interest in a serious relationship, so please stop foisting women on me.”
“Would you prefer me to foist young men on you because you know I love you no matter your sexual orientation?”
Affection softened my tone. “I know you do. And I appreciate it. Though my interest does only lie with females. My interest also only lies with females who aren’t looking for monogamy or love.”
“That’s because you haven’t met the right one.”
I groaned.
“And I met the Viscount Wellmount’s daughter, Margaret, and she was quite lovely. Perhaps when you’re next at home, I can?—”
“No,” I cut her off. “Mum, I’m really not interested.”
“Fine.” She sniffed haughtily. “Who is this friend you’re meeting? A loose woman?”
“Oh, for God’s sake. When you and Dad decided to separate, did you stumble into a time machine and travel back to the nineteenth century?” Indignation filled me. Lily was far from a loose woman, whatever that meant.
“Bastian—”
“Mum, I love you, I do. But please don’t become one of those women who judges other women. You never have before, and I’d really like it if you didn’t start now.”
“You sound like your sister.” She was silent a moment. “I don’t mean to come across as judgy. I merely want you both to end up with the right sort of person.”
“I happen to think the right sort of person is the one you’re in love with regardless of their background. Not because they have a page inDebrett’s. I used to think that’s who you were too, or you wouldn’t have married my father.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe I should have married the man my mother wanted me to marry.”
At her sad tone, I dared to ask, “What really happened between you and Dad?”
“Nothing for you to worry yourself over, my darling. I’ll let your father know the villa is yours next spring. I must go. I’m meeting Mummy for afternoon tea.”
“Tell Granny I said hello.”
“I will. Love you, Bastian.”
“Love you too, Mum.”
Melancholy threatened to cloud my thoughts as I continued toward the coffee shop. I wanted to fix things between my parents, but they stubbornly refused to discuss what had happened to create this split.
It was maddening and depressing.
However, the sight of Lily standing outside the coffee shop made all those dark feelings crumble away. Warmth radiated through me at the sight of her texting someone, her head bowed over her phone. She’d tied up her hair in a messy knot that was falling over to one side, a loose strand caressing her cheek. She wore a T-shirt knotted at the waist and skinny jeans that accentuated her narrow waist and lush hips.
