Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 183663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 918(@200wpm)___ 735(@250wpm)___ 612(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 183663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 918(@200wpm)___ 735(@250wpm)___ 612(@300wpm)
I sit forward with a groan. She’s right, and I know she sees the comparison between how I behaved last night and how I was back then, but this isn’t the same. But I can hardly tell my sister the only woman I’ve fucked in months is Holland, just as I can’t tell her I didn’t stop fucking other women when I married Leonie. That my wife actually joined in. Ours was an open relationship centred around Thornbeck Hall. Unfortunately, there’s no easy way to tell your sister that was the bargain she struck before I’d promised to love and honour her. Love, honour, defile.
“Do you know Holland has an Instagram page with over ten thousand followers?”
“No,” I answer warily. “What kind of page?”
“Oh, relax. It’s not bikini shots and pouting posts. It’s mostly of her travels and quirky observations, as far as I can tell.”
“I’m not sure why you’re telling me this.”
“Because you hate the media. Instagram is social media,” she adds unnecessarily. “But also to point out how utterly wrong you are for her.”
I note but ignore the distinction. You’re wrong for her, Sandy. Not the other way around.
“I didn’t even know Holland was here,” I reply tiredly.
“So you did meet her before. Don’t tell me,” she adds tartly, holding up her hand. “But I suppose if you had, you wouldn’t have brought Portia. What I can’t believe, however, is how you still have that woman hanging around.”
I press my elbows to my knees as I drop my shoulders, refusing to be drawn into the many cockups of my life. “How did Holland come to be here?” I find myself asking. “What was she doing wearing that apron last night.”
Isla huffs audibly, though she doesn’t remind me there are children nearby. “She was working, clearly. My question is, how do you know her, and how did Sarah Houghton come to recommend her to me?”
“I met her before. On my birthday.” Isla falls quiet, digesting this. “And yes, she’s the reason I didn’t turn up to your birthday dinner.”
“Oh.” She folds her arms, her fingers grasping her elbows.
“It’s a long story.” And yet a very short one. “I met her in the afternoon, and by the time the evening rolled around, I had no intention of being anywhere else but with her. But it was only ever meant to be for that night.”
“And she didn’t know?”
“She didn’t know who I was, if that’s what you mean.” So many lies. And I’m still telling them.
“And—”
“She had no idea what she was coming to, and I had no idea she’d be here. Where are the boys this morning?”
“Out,” she answers crisply, reading my intentions.
“Out. The same as Holland, I take it. She doesn’t need saving from me.” It might even be the opposite way around.
Doesn’t she? seems to say my sister’s speaking look.
“Look,” she begins, taking a seat on the arm of the chair neighbouring the sofa. “Last night, Chrissy told me Mari called in sick and that Holland offered to fill in for the girl. That was after I’d invited her to the dinner as a guest.”
“But she’s not a guest, is she? She works here.” I swear, if this works out how I hope it will, it’s the only way George, my assistant, will keep his job.
“She’s been such a big help these past few weeks, and the boys love her company. Quite honestly, without Chrissy and Holland, I don’t know where I’d be.”
“You’d be here, where you belong,” I answer immediately. “This is your home as much as it is mine. More so even, but I think it’s time you told me why you’ve decamped during the tourist season.”
“Because I’ve left Thomas.”
At the tiniest of wavers in Isla’s voice, I sit straight, then lean over the arm of the chair to take her hand in mine. “When?”
“Don’t you mean why?” she asks with a wry smile.
“I assumed you’d tell me when you’re ready.”
“I’ve been here a few weeks.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me.” I try to keep the offence from my voice. It’s not that she hadn’t confided in me that makes me feel this way, but rather that I hadn’t felt it. We’re twins, and though I would never admit it aloud, there’s some truth in the talk of the bond between a pair of children who share a womb. Of course, I knew there was something wrong. I just didn’t care to ask. Or didn’t think to.
“You already have so much to look after. Besides, I needed to be sure I was absolutely done with him.”
“And you are?” I ask carefully.
“Yes. Which brings me neatly to my next point. I was in need of a new nanny. Because he—” Isla’s words break off in a swallowed sob. My first instinct is to comfort her, but I know better than that. I like my head where it sits.