Page 116 of The Stranger

“You are,” she insists, ignoring my sarcasm in favor of a narrowed and very piercing gaze. “Excellent!” She sits back, suddenly delighted. Clapping her hands together and everything.

“I am not!” I sound like a toddler on the verge of a tantrum. “You know that’s not me.”

“I know you date duds for some reason.”

“What?”

“That you play your cards close to your chest. I mean, I get it. You’ve got to in this family because everyone has an opinion.”

“Is that your way of saying the fam have been talking about me?”

“Why should you be any different? Our lot are like a team of investigative journalists who think they know you better than you know yourself.”

A truth bomb right there.

“I sometimes think that’s why Mum wanted such a big family,” she muses. “So if anyone ever started talking shit about her behind her back, she’d have enough spies to report it straight away. Yet we’d never be without them.” Her attention refocuses on me. “But don’t tell them I said that. Except El. I could very easily adopt him out. I’m sure I wouldn’t miss him one bit.”

“He’s in his thirties. No one’s adopting him.”

“No one’s marrying him either.” Her expression twists. “I keep introducing him to women hoping one of them will take pity on me, but he’s so obnoxious. Raif has offered to let Antonio take care of him, but I think he’s joking. Mostly,” she says as she twirls a lock of her hair.

“You are so savage,” I say with a grin.

Antonio is Raif’s… well, I don’t know what he is. Assistant? Driver? Enforcer? Do I really want to know? Probably not. Although my brother-in-law is a very wealthy and legitimate businessman, there is definitely a shady side to his dealings. And though he does come across as a bit frightening, once you’ve seen your sister twist him around her little finger, it dims quite a bit.

“Anyway, we all have our theories about the enigmatic Miss Primrose. But stop changing the subject and tell me who the lucky fuck is.”

“There isn’t anyone,” I retort, surprised by her take.

She leans in, and in a singsong tone adds, “I’ve got all day.”

“I’ll just hang up.”

“I’ll get Raif to fire up the jet.”

“You don’t even know where I am.”

“You know Raif would be able to find you.”

“Urgh! You are⁠—”

“Spill the tea. Dish the delish,” she demands, making a give-it gesture with one hand.

“I’m in Mallorca,” I mutter unhappily.

“And?”

“I’m doing Emmy’s job,” I say, my tone flat.

Her brows pull down. “But Emmy’s a nanny and you’re…”

“Too nice for my own good?”

“You’re nannying? Your summer escape before you start your new job looking after adults who can’t toilet themselves, and you’re looking after a bunch of snotty kids?”

“They’re not snotty, they’re French, and there’s only two of them. It’s an easy gig, even if it was only meant to be for the weekend.” I pick a piece of lint from my shirt. “But shit got complicated.” I flick the lint away.

“Well, the fam will be de-lighted. Especially as you could be looking after their snotty kids.”