Page 193 of The Stranger

“Fabulous, but back to you.”

I give a deep sigh. “Things were said⁠—”

“Love things. Things he wasn’t ready to tell you. But would’ve. Eventually.”

There’s a reprimand in there somewhere. “I suppose I thought we were going to try to make a go of things. But then he sort of turned everything on its head.”

There is no way I’m bringing up what happened in Nice. I’ll die first.

“Cold feet,” she mutters. “But he came to the hospital to apologize. To throw himself on his sword.” She stares at me. “And I’m not going to ask any other questions about his sword, though I’m guessing he knows how to use it, or why else would you be⁠—”

“Lavender!”

“Did he at least try to explain what turned him into a fuckhead and beg forgiveness?”

“I didn’t need an explanation. It was stupidity.”

“Like pretending you don’t speak French?”

“He said he was afraid.” My gaze dips to the linen napkin on my lap. “And yes, I suppose he did try to say sorry. Not that sorry is enough.”

“A man who admits to being afraid? Well.” She lets the word sit in the air between us. “And now he’s sending you flowers. Because he wants you back.”

I say nothing.

“Would you move to Paris?”

“He hasn’t asked me.”

“But would you?”

It seems academic now. I did think about it back in Mallorca, but the topic never came up. He had no intention of asking me.

“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. My job is here. My family. But there’s no way Luc could live anywhere else. Not with his business and the kids. Maybe we were just doomed from the start. Urgh, so melodramatic.

“Do you want to tell me what he did? What heinous act he committed to make you so sad?”

“I’m not sad.” I help myself to more garlic bread, and she doesn’t complain this time.

“Primrose,” she says. “I know you’re hurting. You haven’t been yourself. We’ve barely seen you because you’ve been hiding away, and now I know why.”

“I’ve just been busy settling into my new job.”

“Busy moping, more like.” She clasps her hands together and presses them to her cheek. “This whole conversation is giving ‘But daddy, I love him’ vibes. And you do.”

“I can’t turn the feelings off,” I mumble.

“That’s shit, Prim,” she says reaching over to clasp my hand. “Shall I tell Raif?”

“Thanks, but I don’t think I’d feel any better knowing Luc is sleeping with the fishes.”

“We could just frighten him a little?” She scrunches her nose and gives a tiny shrug.

“How?”

“I could tell him this beauty is his,” she says, caressing her bump with both hands.

“Evil wench.” I give a smile and feel it dim as I think about how much Sylvie would love that. “Not so sure Raif would be pleased with that plan.”