Page 12 of Always Alchemy

It’s crazy. But it’s fun, too.

My husband is standing beside me, holding my hand and running the pad of his thumb over my wedding and engagement rings like they’re stress toys. Over and over. I don’t think he’s even conscious of doing it.

Reminding himself that I’m wearing his rings seems to be his favourite thing.

One of his favourite things.

I can’t believe Pip’s first term at Eton has almost drawn to a close. Next week, we’ll drive back out here to take him home for the holidays. I can’t wait to hug the heck out ofhim later, even if he’s taller than me now. But first, carols. Readings. Reflections.

As the school choir singsOnce in Royal David’s Cityso hauntingly, so perfectly, I allow myself a glance around this space. The stone vaulted ceiling is exquisite, as is the immense gilded organ. Pip is singing along with the rest of them in the choir stalls, reading glasses glinting faintly in the candlelight and his red and white cassock pristine.

He looks so handsome, and not a little like his dad. Happily, John and Kit came along together for last night’s service, so we’re saved the presence of my ex this evening.

My gaze flits, as it so often does, back to my husband. He’s gorgeous in profile, with his raked-back hair and sexy broken nose. I now know it was indeed a rugby injury. He’s absorbed in the beautiful carol, but he must grow aware of my eyes on him, because he glances down at me and grins. The love in his eyes has me squeezing his hand harder, because I just cannot with this man.

If you’d told me two years ago that I’d be willing to give holy matrimony another shot, I would have laughed you out of town. But Cal is one persuasive guy. He’s totally shameless about using every trick in the book to get his own way. Often, those tricks involve body parts, but usually, he just goes on and on and on until he’s broken his victim down.

Callum Sinclair always gets what he wants.

And he wanted me.

I’m the luckiest woman alive.

It turns out,Pip is less excited about hugging his poor old mom than I am about hugging him. I get a couple squeezes when we hang out after the service in a beautiful hall, butthey’re not enough. They never are. Cal, though, gets a great big man hug—probably because he’s way cooler than me.

‘How are you enjoying it so far?’ he asks, putting his hands on Pip’s skinny shoulders and bending a little to look him in the eye. ‘They treating you well?’

‘Yeah. It’s great.’

‘Food good?’

‘It’s fine. Breakfast is good.’

‘How’s your housemaster?’

‘He’s nice.’

Good. Nice. Fine.

I try not to sigh. Two-word sentences of single syllable words are par for the course with thirteen-year-old boys.

‘Glad to hear it. You think you’re finding your tribe?’

Cal had a pretty long heart-to-heart with Pip before he headed off to Eton in September. By the sounds of it, Cal’s time at school was hugely successful. I’m sure it helped that he was sporty, good-looking and easy to get along with. Pip’s a lovely kid, but far more introverted, and Cal’s been well aware of how much my maternal heart has broken at sending him away to board.

If I had my chance, he’d be at a nice London day school so he could stay home with his mom, where he belongs. But Pip wanted this—badly—and Cal was determined to set him up to succeed. To persuade him be true to himself and his interests and to find his people.

‘Yeah.’ Pip’s face brightens. ‘The guys in my house are nice, and I’ve made some friends onThe Florentia.’

‘Bloody awesome!’ Cal says. He holds up his hand for a high five and Pip smacks it hard. ‘Those journalism genes run deep.’

I smile, becauseThe Florentiais Eton’s environmentalmagazine, and I love on so many levels that he’s gotten involved with it.

After the boys have been rounded up to head back to their houses, I sigh and allow myself a moment to lay my head on my husband’s shoulder.

‘My heart hurts.’

He runs his hands down my upper arms, and I can feel their warmth through my dress. ‘I know, baby. I know.’

---