Page 53 of The Stranger

“Yes.” At least, that’s what the church would have us believe. But it’s hard to believe in a benevolent God when he’s responsible for tearing out your heart.

“Maman will know that Sophia is a virgin. Because she’s watching over her, too.”

I clear my throat. “I’m not sure this is a topic for the dinner table, mon chou.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Primrose puts in, a little of the devil in her eyes. “Though I do wonder, Sylvie, if that’s the correct word.”

Tension immediately drops from my shoulders, and I smile her way. Good thinking.

“Well, we do speak in English together,” she replies, her forehead creasing. “My Spanish is not so good. But her English is almost as good as mine, and my English is excellent, right Papa?”

“Your English is excellent.” Felix’s too, largely thanks to the children’s nannies over the years. Allegra spoke exclusively in French to the children, and I in English. When she passed, I reverted to their mother tongue for comfort, I hoped.

“But do you think you might’ve misremembered what she said, poppet?”

“I am not a puppet!” my daughter scoffs, dangling her arms as though she is.

Primrose gives a chuckle.

“Non—Sophia is a virgin. She told me so.”

Mon dieu. I glance Primrose’s way, hoping for more input. More perception—something! But she merely shrugs as though to say, No idea.

“Well, I’m sure Maria will be very to hear it,” I mutter, lost. I’d lost my virginity by the time I was fifteen, but those were different times.

“But I’m not sure Maria was pleased.”

My attention whips back. “She told her grandmother?”

“When we had le gâteau du Dimanche, I mean, Torta Dominguera. That’s Sunday cake,” she adds, glancing at Primrose. “Sophia refused to eat it, and Maria got cross. And because Felix was already in a bad mood with Sophia, he also got cross. He said that he is not a virgin⁠—”

“What?” Doesn’t mean it’s true, I remind myself. It’s just his age. Maybe a form of locker room talk that adds inches that aren’t there and embellishes everything.

“—but that if he was a virgin, he wouldn’t go on and on about it in the kitchen of his grandmother. So what do you think of that?”

“I think that my head is about to explode.”

“Silly Papa. It was mean of him to say so, wasn’t it? And all because Sophia the virgin couldn’t eat Sunday cake.”

“I am officially lost,” I say in French, reaching for my glass.

“Papa, en Englais! It is unpolite.”

“Impolite, mon chou.”

“That’s what I said. But do you know what I think?”

“I’m very afraid you’re about to tell me,” I say under my breath. My eyes slide Primrose’s way. She looks quite entertained.

“I think that Felix is in a bad mood because he said a mean thing to Sophia when all he really wants to do is kiss her.”

“That seems… frightening.” And possibly a little close to the truth. To my truth. “I’m not sure that’s how things work,” I say, unable, it would seem, to prevent my gaze catching on the nanny’s mouth again. Fucking hopeless. I’ve built an empire from my family’s name, but I cannot seem to stop myself from imagining kissing her again.

“You don’t know the ways of love, Papa.”

“I’m beginning to think I don’t know a lot of things.” Though I’m certain my twelve-year-old son doesn’t yet have carnal knowledge of anyone, let alone Sophia.

“Sophia is a vegan!” Primrose announces. Her smile is spontaneous, real and rare. Or maybe the rarity is that it’s bestowed in my presence.