Page 129 of The Stranger

It’s not that I don’t trust him and more that I don’t trust myself should I run into him. Alone, in the dark, where everything is amplified.

But I still see him all the time. At breakfast, by the pool, at the stables. Then I’m invited (required?) to spend a day on the boat with the family, swimming and fishing and watching as his children dangle from him like earrings.

It’s a good thing I already decided he was off limits because here’s something especially attractive about a man whose children adore him. It was an inconvenient discovery, and not one I’d ever had reason to consider before.

Two weeks. I have two weeks left from the original four, and the days feel like a molasses spill. I find myself wondering if this is what it’s like being in prison (a prison with amazing food, tennis courts and pools, a movie theatre, a helicopter pad, and a yacht floating from a pontoon at the edge of a private beach) and how long it’ll be before I’m carving the days into my bedroom wall with a shiv.

And the days roll on, so Lord send me all the strength.

After dinner that evening—can’t avoid them all, not without making the children think I’ve taken the hump with them—I join the family in a game of cards. The four of us sit on the terrace, and I try to concentrate on gecko watch rather than give in to the effect their father’s proximity has on me.

“Your turn.” Felix looks his sisters way expectantly.

I take a decorous sip of my rosé, courtesy of one of the estate’s previous delicious yields. Beyond the terrace, olive and almond trees turn silver in the fading light as the sun dissolves into the horizon, setting the ocean ablaze in hues of molten copper and rose gold.

Felix makes a noise of frustration.

“I’m thinking,” she complains before putting down her card.

Felix places his own card with an entirely self-satisfied, “Uno.”

Nope, that didn’t sound like he was crowing at all.

Luc plays his card immediately, and I shift my disintegrating hand, matching color to color before staring it for a beat.

“We’re not playing poker,” Felix grumbles.

“What do you know of poker?” his father demands.

I take another sip of my wine before sliding my card into the pile with a sly wink Sylvie’s way. This is a little pocket of unexpected bliss, I think. It’s little wonder this place is Sylvie’s favorite slice of paradise.

I slip off my sandals and press the soles of my feet to the sun-warmed stone. Can’t do this in London. But I’m not going to think about London right now. Not about work or family or what’s in store for me when this strange little interlude ends. My tummy is full, I have a tiny wine buzz on, and the view is heavenly.

Oh, and the view is looking right back at me.

Okay, so I confess, I wasn’t looking at the landscape anymore. I was looking at my boss man, and now he’s looking at me. His eyes are bold and kind of possessive as they sweep over me. Dark and full of… naughty things.

I duck my head and adjust my strapless sundress, confused why that thought feels like a tongue licking my belly from the inside. Lord, my nipples would put an eye out.

I blame the wine. Drink in, wits out.

Or as Lavender says, drink in, tits out. And that wouldn’t be too difficult to co-ordinate in this dress.

“My turn.” Sylvie lays down her card and, before her hand has the chance to retract, Felix slaps his last one down with a shout.

“I win!” He leans back in his chair as though he’s just conquered a country, not a card game.

Sylvie scowls and folds her arms. “I hate Uno!”

“No, you hate losing,” he replies.

“Who likes to lose?” she demands, seemingly to the tune of are you stupid?”

“You should be used to it,” he responds, his tone one of superiority. “After all, you are a loser.”

“Felix,” Luc warns.

“Well, she is compared to me.” He gives a belligerent-looking shrug. “I’m bigger and faster, and not a girl.”