“It’s not a book. Tamara makes up stories. They’re the best stories in the world.” He grinned at them as Tamara led him away by the hand. “Goodnight!”
“Night,” they responded in unison.
“Are your parents coming back?” Anna asked, looking at the plates which still had food on them.
“I doubt it,” he said, taking their dishes to the kitchen and loading them into the dishwasher.
“Leave it,” Rachel growled when he went back for the rest of the dishes at the table. He raised his hands and exchanged anamused look with Anna. “Thanks for dinner,” he called across the room. “It was delicious.”
“You’re welcome,” Rachel replied.
Warren picked up the decanter of wine from the table and tipped his head along the hall. “It’s comfier in the library.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
The library turned out to be the room they’d looked into earlier, which Anna had assumed was the living room.
“What’s the deal with Rachel?” she asked, sinking into the plush, dark green couch. “Does she always cook for your family?”
“Yes. She’s worked for my parents for years.”
“Does she live-in?”
“When they’re here, she does. In London, she has her own place and comes in every day.”
“Wow.”
Warren topped up her wine and relaxed back into the couch cushions. He didn’t flinch when she pried more into his childhood and his upbringing. He chatted away as though growing up with staff and multiple homes was all completely normal. Apparently, to him, it was.
“It must be weird for you when you spend time with my family,” she remarked as she neared the bottom of her wine.
“No.” He stretched his legs out and rested his head back. “Not at all.”
“But it’s very different,” she said.
His lips twitched upwards. “A different kind of crazy. But I prefer your family’s crazy to mine. Your family cares about people.”
“I’m sure yours do too,” she said, setting her glass aside and pulling her legs under her as she turned sideways.
“Maybe,” he mused. “They’re definitely not good at showing it.”
“No.” The food and wine were making her sleepy, and it crossed her mind to bring up the sleeping arrangements again, before thinking better of it. She didn’t want to remind him of his insistence on finding another bedroom.
In the silence, her mind drifted back to her conversation with Carla.
“I have a question,” she said, feeling brave.
“Why does that sound ominous?”
“It’s not.” She smiled. “What happened the night my sister wanted you to remove the spider from her flat?”
His features scrunched up. “What do you mean?”
“Did you just go over there and remove it, or…?”
“Or what?” His eyebrows lifted slightly.
Her stomach lurched, and she wondered whether the conversation was a good idea. “It just seems a little odd that she’d call you late in the evening to get a spider out of her flat.”
