Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
“No! I’m only this many years old.” Her hand shoots from under the covers, three fingers held high. “No, wait.” I bite back a smile as Lulu uses her other hand to peel one more finger from her palm with the most exquisite look of concentration. “There. I’m this many now. Four!”
It’s an easy mistake to make when you only turned four a couple of weeks ago. I have difficulty remembering how old I am, though I’m still blaming that on baby brain. I wonder if I’ll still be able to use the excuse when she’s thirty?
“Four years old,” I repeat. “Definitely old enough to get a job. You could wash dishes. With a stool so you can reach the sink.”
“No!” The word is more giggle than anything else. “I hate washing dishes.”
“Then I’d better take care not to die.” I bend to press my lips to her head.
“Mummy? Why do we got to share a bed when this house has so, so many of them?”
“Have to share a bed,” I correct, tucking the duvet around her little body.
“Persactly!” she replies, her palms raised to the ceiling. My child is a touch dramatic. “Why do we?”
“Well, first, Goldilocks, there are only five beds besides this one and—”
“I’m not Goldilocks,” she replies with a giggle. “My hair is brown, not gold like yours.”
Gold is a definite improvement on yellow, which is how she’s described it in the past. But just as my hair isn’t yellow, Lulu’s isn’t brown, and as I run my hand over her head, the silky strands gleam in the lamplight. Her hair is so much more than just brown.
“Your lovely locks are chestnut and honey and toffee and all kinds of colours. Plus, really squeaky clean. Listen.” I make a squeaky noise as I rub the ends, and her giggle deepens.
“My hair isn’t squeaky or made from toffee!”
“It’s the colour of toffee.” I inhale deeply then add, “it smells as good as toffee, too. Better be careful. I might eat it in my sleep and then you’d have to go to school bald.”
“I can’t go to school bald! Where would I put my wibbons? You’re silly, Mummy.”
“Yes, very silly.”
“And silly for choosing this bed.” Her little finger prods the mattress at her side.
“What does it matter, Princess Toffeelocks? We could be living in a castle with a hundred beds—and you might try every one yet still end up crawling into my bed during the night.” Lulu begins to squirm and cackle as I tickle her sides, though I stop when I recall I’ve been suckered into the game again.
“It’s because my sleepy arms miss you,” she answers, wrapping them around my neck. Oh, Lord. How could anyone resist such flattery? “But why do we sleep in this woom?” She throws her hand out in the direction of the drapes; drapes that conceal a window overlooking a brick wall. “I want to sleep in one where I can see the sunshine and the tweetops in the morning.”
It’s hard to ignore the twinge of guilt. Despite Rose’s insistence, we make ourselves at home I’d moved our bags into the staff quarters, even if I can’t ’persactly, I mean exactly, say why. It’s not like staying in this room has prevented me from frisking Lulu every morning before we leave for school. And it’s not like we don’t watch TV in the room Rose called the den. And if we’re not in the den, we’re making use of the fabulous kitchen. But something had prevented me from unpacking our bags in one of the other five much plusher bedrooms. It’s almost like this is a stay in an expensive hotel that I anticipate being unable to settle the bill for, or that I’m expecting to be stuck in the kitchen washing dishes because I can’t afford to pay for my meal.
Like I said, it makes no sense, but here we are.
“Eloise Rose, you know what Grandpa would say about you? You have champagne tastes but beer pockets.” At least, that’s what he used to say about me along with the advice that I get myself a rich boyfriend, funnily enough.
“Beer is yucky. I jus like lemonade.”
“Which you’re not allowed.”
“’Sept when Grandpa gives me some. I don’t like this stinky bedwoom.” She folds her arms across her chest, her bottom lip protruding with extreme sulkiness.
“We’re not going to be here for long.” Though we’ve already been here a little over two weeks. Two weeks and Lulu seems so settled, especially in school, which I suppose proves Rose was right about settling her into a French-speaking school, even one where she’s rubbing shoulders with the children of celebrities. Thankfully, Lulu is more impressed by how many Jellybeans her peers can fit into their mouths at once than who their parents are.
“Welp, I don’t like this room.”