Pitter-pattering feet scurry along the corridor. Frommyroom.
‘What are you two doing in my bedroom?’ My hands fly into the air and my eyelids flutter closed.
Oh shit.
Is this where Isla gets her dramatic streak?
Me?
No. I’ll blame Stuart and Steve. The quicker they get back from their Mediterranean cruise, the better. I might only be back from a night away, but I’m in desperate need of another.
Preferably with the hot swimming instructor I’ve been obsessing about all day. The one whose hands and mouth I’ve been reliving all over my body. The one who texted me good morning at seven o’clock this morning with a winky face.
Isla jumps, flanking her sister, shoulder to shoulder, both the pictures of innocence, trying to block my view of whatever havoc they’re wreaking.
The overpowering stench of my favourite Jo Malone peony perfume assaults my nostrils. ‘Why does it smell like a florist’s in here?’ My gaze narrows, darting between the two of them, both looking guiltier than a monk in a brothel.
Even sweet people-pleasing Eden.
Perhaps I needn’t be so worried about her meekness after all.
I scan the room to find my favourite bottle of perfume smashed to smithereens. A million tiny particles of glass are scattered across the floor.
‘Seriously?’ I exhale a long, weary breath.
‘Sorry, Mam.’ The two of them perch on the edge of my bed, faces tilted downwards, eyes to the floor. The only positive is that they’re clutching hands, fingers entwined. They’ve clearly put their differences aside to form a united front.
It’s not even the fact they’ve smashed my favourite perfume.
It’s the fact I have to clean it up when I have a million other things to do.
‘Go and wash your hands, then sit quietly at the table while I hoover this mess up.’ My tone is beaten. Not angry, just beaten.
I’m wrecked from the weekend. Wrecked from lying awake last night thinking about Ronan. And wrecked from fighting the urge to call him and invite him over.
When I’m with him, I feel calmer. I feel like I’m part of something bigger than myself. Like he’s as invested in the girls as much as he’s invested in me.
‘What are we going to do about the girls?’
‘Let’s get the girls and spend the summer here.’
‘I’m obsessed with you.’
Could it be true? And if he is seriously obsessed with me, what does that mean for us?
For my career?
Relationships are exhausting and I’m not even in one.
Though I did have sex with the man I’m mutually obsessed with, and I did have dinner with his family yesterday.And if I were to find out he was out with another woman tonight, I’d feel cheated on.
Gah. “Just one night” just got complicated.
The girls traipse down the stairs. The silence is golden for about five seconds before the high-pitched shocking wail of the fire alarm sounds through the house.
Fuck. My. Life.
I’ve burnt dinner. Again.
