Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“Absolutely not. I need your opinion. I like the way you think. You’re logical, but you have more understanding of what children need than I do.” I set about getting Guinevere’s car seat out and ferrying her up the steps.
“Happy to help.”
I catch Eira’s eye and smile. That should be her motto. “Happy to help.” I wonder if anyone ever helps her.
The agent meets us at the door.
“I’m Muriel,” she says as we introduce ourselves. “Let’s start in the basement. We can see the pool and the screening room. There’s also a downstairs bedroom. Perfect as an in-law or nanny suite.”
I don’t look at Eira, but I can feel her gaze on me. She’s probably wondering if we’re in the right place. This house is probably ten times the square footage of my place in Marylebone.
“The developer had planned to keep this property for himself and his family, so he’s really thought of everything. No expense has been spared on materials and finishes.”
“But no one’s ever lived here?” Eira asks.
The pool is a good size, and I can imagine Guinevere making a lot of use out of it as she gets older. Maybe I could take her for a dip even now, so she’ll grow up without any fear of the water.
“No, he’s found a new project he wants to invest in and needs the cash,” Muriel says.
I like the idea of being the first person in this place. The first family to create memories here.
“Screening room is in here,” Muriel says. I don’t know if she catches the disinterest in my expression, but she quickly adds, “Great for sleepovers as they get older. And here’s the bedroom. I don’t know if you have a live-in nanny or housekeeper?”
I don’t respond as I give the room a cursory glance.
“This is lovely,” Eira says, stepping farther into the room. “It’s big and has a window. And because you have the butler’s pantry, it’s like a little flat down here.”
She seems excited, which is…uncomfortable.
It’s hard to think of Eira as staff. She’s more than that. Without her, I wouldn’t have a clue what I’m doing with Guinevere. But it’s not just the practical stuff she’s helped me with; I swear, if it hadn’t been for Eira, I’m not sure Guinevere and I would have the bond we do. I’m not sure I would be quite as much in love with my daughter as I am. Eira’s encouraged that, nurturing the two of us—me and Guinevere—as a unit. I’m not sure anyone else would have managed the feat in such a short time, or ever.
I reach out to her and slide my hand up her back. I want her to know she’s more to me than staff. And it’s not just about the sex. I care about her.
“Let’s take the lift to the top floor and then work our way down,” Muriel says.
There are six bedrooms with views across London, and the living areas are bright and spacious. It feels like a family house—the kind of place I always imagined my brothers living in. I never saw my life unfolding the same way, but lately I’ve been realizing a lot of what I envisioned for myself is part of a future that no longer exists.
I’m not mad about it.
I could set up a real office here. Maybe even work from home a day a week. The garden is beautiful, the pool is a bonus. Even the proximity to Jacob doesn’t put me off.
It’s perfect. I think. But I don’t know what children need as they grow.
“Do you have anything to sell?” Muriel asks as we come to the end of our tour.
“No,” I say. “You say the developer wants the cash to invest in something else. Does that mean he’s looking for a quick sale?”
“He’s definitely open to offers.”
I nod and glance at Eira.
“I’ll leave you for a few minutes to discuss things,” Muriel says. When I look up, she’s gone.
“What do you think?” I ask.
She lifts her shoulders. “It’s a lot bigger than what you have now.”
I laugh. “That’s for sure.”
“The garden and pool are wonderful. And the staff room is really nice—natural light, its own bathroom and a kitchen down there too. Not that this is about me, but it’s really nice and I’d be happy to…” She trails off, making a vague gesture that encompasses the house, Hampstead, maybe all of the UK.
I didn’t ask her opinion on the staff bedroom, but she’s clearly picturing herself there. And right at this moment, I don’t have an alternative proposal. I inwardly cringe at the awkwardness of loose ends and unanswered questions. All that—and room configurations—can wait. The need for a family home, a place Guinevere can grow up in, surrounded by people who love her, can’t.
“Muriel?” I call. As she approaches, I say, “I can offer seven percent under asking price. Cash. I can sign as fast as the lawyers can make it happen.”