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“Um—” I consider the question. “We did it in a steam room? I blacked out again.”
She frowns at me. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing. I think it was just the combination of the heat and the mo—”
“—No, you twat,” she growls, gaze flicking from me to Julian and back to me. “You had sex with him while BJ was in the same house?” She shakes her head at me. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“He did it too.” I give her a look.
Her face softens but she still rolls her eyes.
“He said we could stop,” I tell her as I glance at Julian to make sure he’s not listening, “if I waved the white flag first.”
“What did you say?”
“I said no.”
Her face falls.
I lower my whisper to a quieter one still. “I told him I loved him, I had sex with him—” I shake my head. “I waved the flag. He took it from my hands and used it as a blanket to have sex upon with Jordan.”
Bridget sighs.
“How is this ever going to resolve?” She sighs.
I shrug, my nose in the air. “Maybe it won’t.”
Even the thought of that feels like a wave knocking me over and under the water. Like something in me is choking, kicking to the surface for an air that I can’t reach.
“Sorry—” Marsaili sighs. My mother and grandmother in toe. Julian stands to greet them. He extends his hand to my mother.
“Well—” My mother’s chin drops to her chest as she eyes Julian blearily. “Look at you!”
She takes his hand, yanks him towards her and kisses him merrily on the mouth. His eyes go wide and his face still.
“Mother!” I jump up.
Julian pulls back a bit, surprised, but mostly unbothered. “Alright.”
“They’re both drunk.” Marsaili blinks. “Completely sauced.”
I eye her. “I should think so—”
“My turn!” Bushka comes in with her two hands towards Julian’s face.
“No, no!” I fend her off, shielding him from my grandmother’s kissy face.
“Would you look at you!” Mum says, staring at Julian. She sloshes down into a chair. We didn’t know she was coming so it’s not her chair, it’s just a chair she’s pinched from the table next to ours.
I give them an apologetic smile. “Every family has one…”
And regrettably, all of England knows who ours is.
“You must be Julian—” Marsaili extends her hand.
He shakes it with both of his, smiling warmly.
“The infamous Marsaili.” He gives her his best smile. “You’re much less terrifying than Magnolia described you.”
