Page 13 of Always Alchemy

I lift my head and blow out a breath. ‘He seems okay, right?’

‘He’s fine. More than fine. I was watching him when he went over to stuff his face with mince pies—they were all laughing and joking together. They look like decent boys.’

‘I know—he’s so quiet, though.’

‘With us. He’s quiet with us. He’s a teenager, for God’s sake. He was happy as Larry with those kids when I was spying on them.’

‘Okay.’ I nod, more to convince myself than for any other reason.

He smiles at me, those brown eyes glowing with the warm light of affection. ‘My trophy wife is looking particularly beautiful tonight.’

I roll my eyes, but I don’t mean it. Thetrophything is kind of a joke between us. He knows I want to hate it, and he also knows I fucking love it.

Fuck my life.

‘My trophy husband is hot as fuck,’ I whisper back, letting my teeth snag on my bottom lip in exactly the way I know drives him wild, and his eyes narrow in response.

‘Nah. I’m no trophy tonight. This isn’t my crowd. Too pompous.’ His fingers make circles over my biceps. ‘But they’ve all got a hard-on for you. Even the women. And I thought that old bore would never let you go.’

I laugh. He’s referring to some dad who cornered me about my interview with the Chancellor last week. ‘He was fine,’ I say. ‘It didn’t bother me.’

‘Yeah, but it bothered me.’ He takes a step closer, his voice dropping. ‘You know how it makes me when everyone goes feral for you.’

I do know. I know very well. When I get attention, my husband gets a kick out of it. He gets all smug and possessive, and it’s slightly obnoxious and extremely hot.

‘Tell me,’ I say. I lick my bottom lip, and his eyes track the movement.

‘How about I show you?’

My eyes flit nervously around the room and back to him. ‘Can’t you at least pretend to be appropriate for one night? We’re atEton.’

‘And where’s the fun in that?’ he asks. ‘Humour me. Let’s just go for a little wander. Explore these fine buildings.’

Someone needs to be the grownup here. ‘No way,’ I tell him. ‘I know what your definition ofa little wanderis.’ I really do. He’ll find the nearest disabled bathroom, or worse, someone’s study.

He huffs, and it’s the huff of a little boy who’s been toldno.‘Fine,’ he says. ‘The car it is. Why don’t you go powder your nose and follow me out? I’ll get the seat heaters cranked up.’

CAL

It’s not the first time I’ve been to Eton. I played rugby here enough times when I was at school. And God knows myown school, St Ignatius of Loyola College, was pretty spectacular.

But this is something else.

My heart broke this evening, seeing how much Aida misses Pip. At thirteen, I was raring to go away to board, and I know Kit will be exactly the same. He’s fucking dying for it. At breakfast this morning, he was full of chat about how cool it was to see Pip’s dorm last night. He’ll be fine when he comes here in two years’ time.

But Pip’s a different matter. He’s bookish and cerebral, like his mum, but without her confidence. I didn’t know thirteen-year-old Aida, but I bet she had swagger. I bet you didn’t mess with her, even then.

Every instinct I have tells me Pip’s as close to thriving as we could hope for, given we’re only one term in. I watched him like a hawk tonight. He had colour in his cheeks and a spring in his step—all the clichés that tell a parent their kid isn’t drowning. And I’ve really rated his housemaster the couple of times we’ve met him.

This parenting shit is weird. To say I was apprehensive was an understatement, but I made a decision not to overthink it endlessly. I approached being an adult in Pip and Kit’s lives, and then being their stepfather, in the same way I approach most things: optimistically and enthusiastically.

I thought the painful part would be the obvious stuff. You know, dealing with tantrums, having arguments about homework, giving up lazy mornings in favour of Saturday football. And yeah, some of that is fucking dull, but some of it is actually very cool. Especially taking Kit to football. He’s seriously fast.

But what I mean is that the parts I find the most painful are the emotional tugs. Obviously, I’m not their parent. But I love their mother, and I’m committed to spending the rest ofmy life with her, and part of that means loving her boys and being a positive force in their lives. A bonus adult, if you like.

So when we drove Pip to school for the first time in September and helped him unpack in his dorm and then waved goodbye to him?

Fucking brutal.

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