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)
I throw my die and the game begins. Dax’s fingers move decisively around the board. He’s quick to make awkward moves, not lingering too long when it’s his turn. Does he want this situation to be over as soon as possible? It was his idea to play.
This game is more interesting. He takes me. I take him. He gets all his counters home and when he blocks me from getting back on the board, he gives me a look that says, I’ve won. It takes everything I have not to slide onto his lap and kiss him.
I don’t know if he’s a closet mind-reader on the side, but without looking away, he sits back in his seat, sliding his legs out, grazing mine.
My heart boom, boom, booms in my chest, but I don’t move away. Can’t move away.
His lips curl into a smile and finally he throws his dice.
I lose. I lose monumentally.
“I guess you got your dignity back,” I say.
His gaze flickers from where he’s setting out the counters again to meet mine and then back again. “That’s a relief.”
The deciding game is quick and close. I beat him by a tiny margin.
I grin. “That decides it then, I’m backgammon champion of the world.”
He shoots me a full, unreserved grin and my breath catches at how warm it is, how beautiful he is, how good it makes me feel.
I move my legs so we’re no longer touching and as I stop feeling his heat against me, it hits me that we’ve crossed a line. It was just legs touching, but it’s more than that. That doesn’t happen if you’re not attracted to someone.
I stand, a little confused and unsure whether I just messed everything up. I don’t want to lose this job.
“I look forward to a rematch,” he says. “Tomorrow night. I’ll take your crown.” He holds my gaze a little too long. I can’t tell if it’s gamesmanship or something else.
Whatever it is, I look away and stand, ready to retreat to the safety of my bedroom.
ELEVEN
Dax
I wake up, open my eyes and Guinevere is staring back at me through the see-through sides of her crib.
Is that normal? For a baby just to be lying there, awake but not crying? I sit up. Is she alive? She blinks, and I let out a breath.
“Are you okay?” I ask. What am I asking her for? I’m losing my mind. “Shall we change you?” Again with the questions. I pull my fingers through my hair and swing my legs over the bed. “I’m tired,” I say. I didn’t go to bed late last night, and I didn’t have a beer like I normally would on a Friday night. There’s no real reason to be tired, but I am.
I check the clock. It’s just before eight. Has she slept all the way since midnight when I went to bed? Maybe she’s just been awake staring at me all night.
The sound of the front door closing gets my attention. “Mum?” I call out. She’s the only one who would let herself in without knocking. Then I realize. It was probably Eira. She said she’d be out early. Something about going to see her brother.
“Do you like your new nanny?” I ask, reaching into the crib. Eira said I should talk to Guinevere so she can get used to my voice. I’m not a big talker, but Eira suggested narrating whatever I’m doing. Maybe it will mean that Guinevere is less fussy.
It’s my first weekend alone with Guinevere and I’m regretting not hiring a weekend nanny. I really should look into it. I just can’t bear the thought of even more people in my space. My brothers are coming round—there’s no way I’m leaving the house. I need to get Eira to write me a list of things to take if I’m going out with the baby. But being here where I know where everything is seems more manageable than spending the day out.
I check the time on my phone. I have two hours and sixteen minutes to get us both washed, fed and dressed, while not causing any permanent damage to this kid.
I lift Guinevere and place her down on the floor, where Eira set out a changing mat, along with nappies and wipes and creams in a basket. I suggested that we change her on top of the chest of drawers. She told me that there was too much of a risk of Guinevere falling. But Guinevere doesn’t move. Not really at all. But Eira’s the expert. She spent two years training to be an elite nanny and she’s already helped me so much. I need to listen to her.
And maybe I should have agreed to the changing table she suggested. There’s just not enough room in this flat for more furniture.