Page 60 of Born To Be Bad

Happy for you but not happy that you *had* to go. How bad is it?

We were attacked on the road. Fucking Kalashnikovs.

WHAT THE FUCK IVY

ARE YOU SERIOUS RN?

DON’T FUCK WITH ME IT’S NOT F FUNNY

Not fucking with you. It was real and terrifying. I’ll tell you everything over ramen.

Fuck ramen, you’re taking me to a Michelin-starred pub.

Fair enough. That’s a deal. May have to go ahead with that total plastic surgery overhaul we discussed last time.

I’ll start gathering pictures of minor celebs from HELLO mag. What kind of nose are you after?

Ded.

Hopefully the surgeries will prevent this outcome.

I’m chuckling to myself when Brumilde sighs, stretches, and stands. “I guess it’s time for me to take Alex home for lunch and a nap.”

Lunch and a nap in an air-conditioned villa sounds amazing.

Always the maternal one, she hands me a bottle of water. “Don’t forget to hydrate.”

“Thanks Brumilde,” I say. “For everything.”

She winks at me and fetches the baby, draping her thin cotton shawl over his back and shoulders.

“Will we see you for dinner?” I’m so excited to try the local food, my mouth salivates just thinking about it.

“Not tonight, thank you, darling. I won’t have the energy to gallivant. I’m going to curl up with Alexander, a packet of biscuits, and watch Strictly.”

“Sounds pretty darn good.” I smile and kiss Alex’s pudgy hand. “I’ll miss you, little sausage. See you soon, okay?”

Alexander is already half asleep; his eyelids heavy, his body relaxed into Brumilde’s side. She strokes his back as she carries him away to the stroller on the boardwalk, murmuring to him about how well he’s going to sleep, and that she just might cuddle up and join him in dreamland.

I gasp when I feel water droplets hit me. When I look up I have to shield my eyes from the sun.

“Time to take off that pesky bikini,” says Alistair.

CHAPTER 35

Sea Salt & Champagne

ALISTAIR

Seeing Ivy looking dreamily at the baby makes me feel affection and alarm in equal measure. I don’t stop to interrogate my feelings. Instead, I shake some water onto her to snap her out of her reverie. She giggles and looks up at me, squinting and shading her eyes from the sun, which feels stronger than usual, and certainly hotter than anything we experience in the UK.

“If you want me out of this bikini, you’ll have to wrestle me for it.”

“Oh?” I ask, grinning. “Is that how it’s going to be?”

“Yes,” she replies. “That’s how it’s going to be.”

“I’m happy to wrangle you. In fact, it would be my pleasure.”

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