“Shush, shush. Not to worry. Vani and I were just watching Cat People.”
“Sorry,” Eve sniffled, her voice a whisper. Because Jacob could get out of the shower at any minute, and then he might hear her.
“Why are you whispering, my darling little Coco Pop? Cough twice if you’re in a hostage situation.”
Eve laughed, but somewhere along the way her voice got confused and the laugh turned into a sob.
“Shivani,” she heard Gigi say, voice slightly muffled. “I require a recess. Yes. No, darling, don’t worry.”
Oh, God; now her grandmother was interrupting date night to deal with the sobbing granddaughter on the phone. Eve was suddenly mortified by the childish behavior she’d reverted to. Steeling herself, she said quickly, “No, please, don’t let me interrupt you.”
“Sweetness, you quite obviously need to talk. And so, we shall talk.”
“No—that’s not—I’m terribly sorry, Gigi. I suppose I called you out of habit, but I’m a big girl and I can solve my own problems.” She didn’t even have a problem, for heaven’s sake: she was just a bit upset by a decision that made perfect sense.
And slightly annoyed, perhaps, by the fact that it hadn’t been her decision. That Jacob had so cleverly and decisively taken it all out of her hands. It didn’t take two people to decide they wouldn’t sleep together again; it only took one. But it certainly took two people to decide that Eve urgently needed to move out, didn’t it? Surely it wouldn’t kill him to discuss things rather than bossing her about as if they were—well, as if they were at work?
The sadness in her chest became a sudden, unexpected spark of irritation.
“Darling,” Gigi was saying, “are you listening to me?”
Oh, Christ. Not only had she disturbed her poor grandmother in the middle of the night, she’d then completely zoned out of their conversation. “Yes. Absolutely. Sorry, Gigi.”
“Don’t apologize. I know how you get when you’re thinking. But I have to say, my little muffin case, I cannot allow you to behave as if calling me when you’re upset is some sort of childish tantrum.”
Gigi sounded unusually disapproving, her severe tone unfamiliar enough to capture Eve’s attention. “Erm . . . you . . . can’t?”
“No. I’m glad you’re taking life by the bollocks, and what have you, darling, but that doesn’t mean renouncing all human connection to become an invulnerable monk type out in the woods. It’s perfectly reasonable to call someone you trust when something’s bothering you.”
“Oh. Well,” Eve said slowly, “when you put it like that, I suppose it is.” She certainly wouldn’t think her sisters were childish if they reached out to her with a problem or just a dark mood—in fact, she wished they’d do that sort of thing more often. They were very self-sustaining, but they’d also struggled with certain things for far longer than necessary, simply because they refused to ask for help.
Eve rarely did anything other than ask for help. That was on the list of things she wanted to change. But it struck her now that there was a balance to be observed.
“Thank you, Gigi,” she said softly. “I think you’re right.”
“Of course I am, my precious little plum. Now, what’s gotten you into a tizzy at such a disgraceful hour?”
Eve opened her mouth, then realized that (1) she didn’t want to discuss mind-blowing sex with her grandmother, even if said grandmother would thoroughly approve, and (2) she didn’t actually need to. Eve knew how she felt, what she wanted, and what options were available to her. Just talking to Gigi had calmed her down and untangled her frantic thoughts.
“I think,” she said slowly, “that I don’t exactly need to talk about it. I think I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“What a sweet little nugget you are, Evie.”
Trust Gigi to end a depressing phone call by making Eve laugh.
By the time Jacob’s shower ended, Eve had restored her bedroom to some semblance of order, put her dildo in a box and put that box in a drawer so she could never stumble upon it again, and gotten into her pajamas. Order. Routine. All very important things for a woman who felt raw inside, yet wanted to appear ordinary, to observe.
She would pretend to be fine until she was fine—because regardless of her feelings, the facts were clear: she wanted something impossible. If Jacob had wanted the same, she might be brave enough to reach for it, anyway. But he didn’t, so she wouldn’t.
She would go back to the way things had been only yesterday, and she would try to be as satisfied as she’d been then.
Which must be the adult choice, because she didn’t bloody like it. Not one bit.
* * *
Amazing, how quickly Thursday had come despite Jacob’s sleepless nights.
This week, breakfast had continued to go smoothly, as had afternoon tea. Housekeeping had gone less smoothly, at least for him—because controlling himself, even controlling his thoughts, around Eve Brown was a fucking roller-coaster ride. But he’d successfully performed their new, stiff choreography without cracking, never touching her as they worked, talking about nothing but the necessities because any other conversation might see him pulled under the wave of her loveliness. So perhaps he should call that a win.
Now they were walking through the streets toward Aunt Lucy’s to start their tour of local, affordable accommodation, and he should call that a win, too.
He really should.
Less of a win was the fact that he remained utterly fascinated with Eve, and mostly unable to hide it. Like right now; his eyes were staring straight ahead, his feet were obediently walking, step by step, down the street—but his mind was out of control, pouring all its considerable attention onto Eve. He imagined he could feel the warmth of her as she walked beside him, slightly hotter than this mild afternoon. He imagined, every so often, a glittering sensation caused by her gaze on the side of his face. As if she were sneaking looks at him, and he was so in tune with her every move that he could sense it.
But those things were just fantasy; in reality, all Jacob could do was hear her. How lucky for him that she was never silent. After a few awkward moments of quiet at the beginning of their walk, Eve had started up this odd, humming lilt, the same snatch of a tune repeated again and again in slightly different ways. It was a habit of hers, a vocal tic he’d gotten used to. But now, on his way to Aunt Lucy’s—on his way to lose Eve, just a little bit—Jacob found himself desperate to understand everything she did rather than simply enjoying it.
So he asked on an ill-advised rush of curiosity, “What are you doing?”
At his question, Eve looked up sharply. Almost guiltily. “Sorry,” she said. She was so on edge, now. Ever since—well, ever since. It was obviously his fault, and the knowledge squeezed at his lungs.
That tightness, that lack of air, made his next words come out clipped. “I didn’t say to apologize. I said, what are you doing?”
Predictably, his sharpness chased the embarrassment from her eyes. Now she looked pissed off with him, which he far preferred. “You said I could sing. You even said it was better to sing than to wear the AirPods. I told you it would be annoying.”
“I don’t find it annoying.” Which was the truth. He found it . . . familiar.