“What’s gentiles?”
“I’m not sure Mr Hayes doesn’t know, sweets. But if he had any, he’d be at risk of losing them this morning.”
“Okay.” I hold up my hand. Message received and no further action necessary. Topics of conversation and language are hereby moderated for so long as there’s a minor in the room.
“I bet he knows what a kick in the gentiles can do.” Fee purposely keeps her gaze from mine, but I, and my balls, get the point loud and clear.
“Yes, but what are they?”
Should I point her in the direction of a Ken doll? Do they even still make those?
“I meant to say gentle, honey. But I’ll speak more carefully from now on.”
“My name isn’t honey.” The little girl giggles. “I told you already. My name is Lulu. And I bet you don’t know that my mummy’s name means wild?”
“That I did not know.” But I can believe it. I turn my consideration to Lulu because I can’t look at her mother right now. Not without wanting to take her shoulders in my hands, though whether to kiss her or shake some goddam information from her, I’m not so sure. What I do know is the only wild thing about her this morning is her hair. The rest of her is solemn and determined to remain serious. Aloof.
“It’s funny because she’s not the wild one. I am.”
“I don’t know. Something tells me your mommy can be pretty wild sometimes.”
“No, she isn’t. My granny calls me bold. She says I’m a bold girl and not like Mummy at all. Oh! S’cuse me.” Lulu clambers down from her stool quite suddenly. “I gots visit the little girls’ room,” she yells over her shoulder, her feet rapidly pitter-pattering on the tiles as she leaves the room.
“The girl I met in Saint Odile was bold.” My voice is lower than I intended it to be, smoother. Something warm licks at the pit of my belly as her cheeks turn rosy again. “She was wild. And like fire, she couldn’t be controlled.” Her eyes widen as I step closer, bracing my hands against the island countertop, my shoulders popping and my biceps flexing as I bring my gaze level with hers. “There’s a little wildness in everyone, angel. I guess it just takes finding the right person to bring it out.”
“I-I should keep an eye on Lulu,” she says, as she begins to slide from her own stool, but not before I reach out and catch her wrist.
“I still see the wildness in you. I saw it shining in your eyes last night.”
“I have a daughter to tend to.” The muscles of her arm taut, she utters the words through gritted teeth.
“A daughter that’s gone in the wrong direction for the nearest bathroom.”
“No, she hasn’t.” When she pulls, I let go, but she doesn’t leave the room. Rather, she stands just out of my reach. “We’re staying in the room just on the other side of the kitchen.”
“There isn’t a room. . . the maid’s room?” What the fuck?
“It’s perfectly adequate,” she replies, cutting off any question as her expression firms. She might not think she’s wild, but she’s seriously stubborn. What kind of guest chooses to stay in the maid’s room when there are five other far superior rooms available? “It’s very kind of you to allow us to stay here, but we’ll be moving into a hotel today.”
“I get it. It’s kind of embarrassing to bump into an old flame, let alone find out you’re staying in their home.”
“We are not old flames,” she mutters.
“No? I don’t know about you, but that night undoubtedly burned itself onto my memory.” Nights when it rains. Nights when it doesn’t. Sometimes when the moon is just right. I remember it all.
How could I not have realised this was her?
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“You might like to think that, just as you’d like to think you’ll be staying somewhere else tonight.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Easy, angel. I just meant you’ll have difficulty getting a room without a reservation. Not without paying big bucks, I mean.”
“Don’t call me angel.”
“It’s how I’ve remembered you. Though I might’ve gone with Cinderella after finding your shoes in my car the next morning.” The only trace of her that morning but for the raw scratches on my back and the lingering trace of her perfume. “How have you remembered me?”
“Who says I have?” She raises her chin a fraction higher.
“Maybe you didn’t need to. Maybe every time you look at Lulu you see me.”
A thousand emotions flicker and fade across her face, none of them making much sense. Pain? Sadness? Resignation, I recognise.
“No.” She shakes her head, the muscles of her neck moving with her deep swallow. “The answer is no. You’re not Lulu’s father.”
“You know that for sure?” My words are firm but not hard, and my relief? Non-existent. Which is fucking weird.