Never Say Forever

“Who? You and Remy?”

“No, me and you,” she says as she untangles a dozen or so gift bags from her fingertips. Hershey’s Chocolate World, M & Ms, the Disney Store, and more. “Now I see why Remy said he had meetings. I bet he’s really gone for a massage,” she says, her eyes narrowing.

“You were the one that thought Ellen’s might be a good idea for lunch,” Rhett murmurs, his tone not so much betraying his disgust as vomiting all over it. He drops his share of the booty onto the coffee table between us before asking, “Where do you want this?”

This being my daughter, asleep in Rhett’s arms, her dark head resting against his shoulder.

“Put her on the sofa, would you?” I wiggle very carefully to the other end of the cream sofa, careful not to disturb a sleeping Rocco. The pair had gone to sleep in the car—the hotel’s chauffeur driven Bentley, thank you very much, on the way back from a fun-filled, kid centric day.

“I thought it would be nice for Lulu,” Rose retorts, sending Rhett the briefest of glances. “She loves a sing along, especially if it’s a Disney one.”

“That was before she became a New York diva,” I say with a quiet chuckle, marvelling at the weight of Rocco and his sleeping, snuffling, musky smelling boy charms. “Thanks, Rhett.” The cushions dip as he lays my daughter down. I know he likes to pretend to be the big hard soldier boy, but not even he can resist smiling down at a sleeping child.

“It’s like a creche in here,” he says, almost coming back to himself. Reputations to protect and appearances to uphold, I suppose. “Where’s Helga, anyway?”

“Her name is Arianne,” Rose replies snarkily. “Rocco loves her, so you’re not allowed to upset the nanny, you big lug.”

“Manny, more like,” he mutters under his breath. “The woman has a hairier chin than me. I notice you didn’t make her traipse around Time’s Square.”

“Yeah, because it’s a touristy nightmare and she’s a little mature.”

“Old as f—flock, you mean.”

“Stop that,” she protests. “She’s an excellent nanny!”

“Flock,” I snicker quietly entertained. Ah, the joys of being around children.

Rhett harrumphs. “I’m going to go and see if Remy has finished with his meetings.”

“Rhett, you and I both know he’s hiding out at the gym,” Rose teases.

“Not true. We worked out this morning while you lot were still sleeping.”

“I didn’t say he was working out. I said he was hiding out.”

“I don’t blame him,” he mutters as he leaves the room before calling back, “The butler’s here. Want me to ask him to get you two ladies of leisure a coffee?”

“Wine,” Rose replies with a snort. She turns to me. “Did you notice how he used the word ‘ladies’ kind of ironically?”

God, I’ve missed her face. “As if he’d even dare.”

She and Remy are only in New York for a few days, but she certainly seems to be hell bent on making them memorable for us. I wasn’t surprised to learn they’d rented out several suites at the St. Regis, but I’d been moved to find there was also one reserved for Lulu and me.

We’re not here long enough to waste time travelling backward and forward from the hotel to your place, so you’ll stay at the hotel with us, okay?

A suite. A motherfluffin’ suite. Maybe not as fancy as this one with it’s Art Deco furnishings, chandeliers, crown mouldings, and parquet but it’s still pretty ritzy. Or St Regis-y, as the case may be. Lulu, who was clearly born for better things, had run straight to the windows overlooking Central Park, proclaiming it to be ‘just like Uncle Carson’s ’partment’, while also leaving the glass sticky with fingerprints.

But that’s my friend. So generous. And I’ve missed her so much, and the heating is still on the blink in our place, so for once, I wasn’t about to argue with her about the cost of keeping us here with her.

“I can’t believe how much Rocco has changed,” I say, nestling my lips against his hair. Dark like Rose’s but wavy like Remy’s. My heart gives a little ache. There’s just something about little ones that does this to me. It’s a reminder, I suppose. Probably biological.

“He’s such a sweet boy.” Her smile is almost radiant before she comes back to herself. “Seriously though, I’m coming back, and you and me are flying to Bermuda for a few days. It’s just a ninety-minute flight away. We’ll pack light—”

“What? With kids?” I scoff.

“Oh, they aren’t coming. Remy and Rocco can do a little bonding and you know your mom and dad will jump at the chance to come over and look after Lulu. So, packing light; sunscreen and bikinis. No kids, no Times Square, no show tunes, or carousels, or noise, or M & M’s. Just cocktails, the beach, you, me, and a little bliss.”