Satin Princess(47)

I smile, wishing I had a sweet story like that to tell about my own childhood. But my parents didn’t bother with bedtime stories. One of the rotating nannies they hired sometimes read to me, but neither of the people who gave birth to me stuck around very often for the bedtime routine.

It will be different for my child, I tell myself as I start peeling the potatoes. My child will get bedtime stories every night. My child will get a kiss on their head and they’ll never have to guess if they’re loved.

They’ll know.

Margaret gives me a soft smile. “It’s the best of times, you know? Those years when you first start a family. When you become a parent.”

“What was it like for you?”

“A little scary, of course. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t. But very exciting and a whole lot of fun.”

I smile. “Yeah. I’m scared, that’s for sure.”

“But you know the deciding factor?” Margaret asks.

“Tell me.”

“It all depends on the partner you have,” she says. “If you have the right one, then you’re invincible. Happiness comes easily then.”

My hands tremble on the second potato, but I manage to tamp it down. This would be the moment to correct her. Anton is not my husband.

But somehow, I can’t bring myself to say those words. Because if I do, maybe she’ll ask me why he isn’t my husband. And then I’ll have to explain Marina and the fact that I was a one-night-stand, nothing more.

“You okay, dear?” Margaret asks, looking at me with concern. “Are you cold?”

“Maybe a little.”

She sighs. “This English weather. It’s tough when you’re not used to it. Let me get you a sweater.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary—”

But she’s already gone to get one. She walks down to the end of the kitchen and opens a coat closet next to the back door, then pulls out a gray knit cardigan.

“Here you go,” she says. “I knitted this myself about a decade ago.”

I take it from her. “Wow, it’s so soft.”

“It might be a little big for you, but it should do the trick against the damp.”

She helps me put the cardigan on and I sigh. “That feels good. Thank you.”

Margaret resumes her position beside me and we continue peeling potatoes. I glance at her from time to time, marveling at how content she seems to be in her life.

“Just for the record, you have a good one,” Margaret says after a long stretch of silence.

“A good what?” I ask stupidly.

She smiles. “A good man.”

“Oh,” I say, flushing with color. “Right.”

She gives me an amused little side-eye. “Ahh, the flush of new love. I recognize it well. You and your husband haven’t been together very long, have you?”

He’s not my husband. He’s someone else’s husband.

Still, I can’t say it.

“No, not very long at all.”

She nods. “See? When you know, you know. Tom and I were engaged three months after we first started dating. My parents thought it was too fast, but I always knew he was right for me.”

“And you were right.”

She laughs. “Forty-five years, two children, and five grandchildren later, here we are.”

“Did your parents come around in the end?”

“They did,” Margaret says. “It took nearly a decade, but they did.”

“Ten years?” I exclaim, gawking at her. “That long?”

“They had a hard time admitting they were wrong. But they did bequeath this place to me. Maybe that was their way of making amends.”

I smile. “Well, you’re doing the land proud.”

“Thank you, dear. That means more than you realize.”

A part of me wishes I could have this kind of conversation with my own mother. But I already know it’ll never happen. Our conversations have always been stilted and formal. Like two strangers fumbling around to find common ground but hitting a brick wall instead.

“What was it like becoming a mother for the first time?”

Margaret’s face turns dreamy. “Oh, honey, it’s the best thing in the world.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to make it seem like a fairytale,” she adds quickly. “But I find myself thinking about it like that now. All the hard parts fade away over the years. I haven’t needed to be an active parent in a long, long time.”

“I’m sure your kids still come to you.”

“They’d never admit it as such, but they certainly do,” she laughs. “But the relationship changes a little as they get older. I went from being their mother to being their friend. Which is a different kind of gift. But there’s nothing like the first couple of years when they’re small and they need you. You’re the center of their universe.”

I take a deep breath. “Sounds like a lot of pressure. And responsibility.”

“It is that,” she agrees. “It’s that and more. But it’s also worth it.”

I smile. “I guess I always knew that. I’m just a little scared.”

“I know, honey. And it’s normal to be scared with your first baby. But like I said, you have a wonderful man who takes care of you. It’s so obvious how precious you are to him.”