Page 73 of The Stranger

“So secretive these days.” He gives a pause. “Man, I remember being Felix’s age. Talk about being a slave to hormones.”

“Felix is twelve. The only thing he’s interested in is Pokémon.”

“And Sophia. One minute, it’s Pikachu, I choose you! Next, it’s damn, girl, I wanna Squirtle on them Jigglypuffs.”

“I don’t even want to know what you just said.”

“We were all jerking off to hotter, older girls at his age. And if we say we weren’t, then⁠—”

“I’m not ready to have this conversation.” Not when I feel like a ball of raging hormones myself.

“Fine. How about this instead? You could do worse.”

“Than what?”

“She’s smart and beautiful. From a similar background.”

“Sophia?” I jerk upright, the poor girl’s name out of my mouth before I can correct my train of thought.

“Primrose.”

“Stop talking.” I reach for the bottle and splash more into my glass.

“She’s kind of ideal. You’re both rich. At least, her family is. You have the commonality of an English mother. And she’s here temporarily.”

“You are my assistant, not my priest.”

“That’s true. I help cover up your sins, not absolve you of them.”

“She’s far too young for me.”

“She’s twenty-eight, not a kid.”

“Do you think I don’t already know that?” I almost explode. “Enough.” I make a cutting motion in the air to signal enough. “Primrose is the nanny and nothing else.”

“She’s no nanny. I don’t even know how you got her to come to Mallorca.”

“I’m sure she has her reasons. Reasons we’re not privy to.”

“I’d hate to think you were taking your dark dealings elsewhere.”

“Meaning?”

His mouth turns down and he makes a motion with his hands. “You don’t usually dig up your own dirt.”

“There is no dirt in this instance, no manipulation,” I lie. She tried it first. I just happen to be better at it. “As far as I’m aware, she’s here because of Emmy. Because of her friend.”

From the corner of my eye, Jacques’s expression twists. “Must be some friendship,” he huffs. “A weekend, sure. But a month?”

I can feel him staring at me as I swirl the contents of my glass. “You want her reasons, you ask her.” And if I know her, she’ll tell him exactly where to shove his questions. But I don’t know her, I remind myself.

“Maybe I will.”

“Your prerogative.” Your funeral, more like. She’ll cut him down with that tongue of hers. As sharp as a knife. In a mouth as lush as⁠—

“I like her. She’s smart and funny and easygoing. Helpful, you know? Obliging, I guess. Nothing seems to be too much of a problem.”

I feel my lips flatten.