Pushing herself up off the floor, she turns to the stove, where she turns on the gas. Cynthia then turns around and heads the fridge behind where I'm sat on the floor.
"Come on, get up off my floor."
Slightly intimidated, I stand up and smooth down my blouse, watching as she cracks the eggs into a jug.
Before either of us can say anything else, Molly begins to cry in the front room. Cynthia makes eye contact with me, silently asking "aren't you going to help her?"
Dashing into the room where Molly's sat in her travel cot, her face is wet with tears, although her eyes light up when they see her mother.
"What's wrong baby?" I whisper, lifting her out and resting her on my hip.
Molly rubs at her eyes, sniffling.
"She's tired." A voice informs from behind me. I turn to find Cynthia wiping her hands on a teatowel.
"How would you know that?"
"I've done a lot of research."
We stand there for a moment, looking at each other, not knowing what to say.
"Well, looks like someone needs to go to beddybies, don't they?" I coo to my daughter, tickling under her chin.
"Where's her cot?" I smile.
"John's put you all in the room, upstairs, second on the left." She states non-chalantly.
"Thank you." I edge past her, not wanting to seem rude by pushing and take my daughter upstairs.
.........
I watch as her eyes drift closed and her mouth twitches around her thumb. Stroking her head lightly, I think about his grateful I am to have such a beautiful daughter, who's already so intelligent.
Observing as her chest rises and falls with each breath, I vow to myself again, never to let anyone harm her, or there'll be hell to pay.
Knowing if I stay my longer I'll wake her up, I stand up and exit the spare room, descending the stairs.
"Hey, Cynthia." I greet, wanting to remain civil with her for everyone's sake.
"Sit down. Dinner's ready." She demands. I note that she doesn't look like the kind of person to boss people around, so I must really be the low of the low.
Cynthia drops a plate in front of me, holding two omelettes, and some chips on the side. I pick up the knife and fork gingerly and begin to take small bites, feeling incredibly small with Cynthia's eyes on me from across the table.
"So New York. What's it like there?" Cynthia asks, trying to remove some of the tension.
"It's quite cool, I mean there's shops, restaurants, everything really..."
"Hmm. I can't think why John would want to move there. Sounds just like here."
"What?"
"John's been on about getting a house over there, so he can be closer to Molly and...you." she informs me with noticeable disgust.
"Oh...I had no idea."
"Mm."
We continue to make small, tentative conversation while picking at our meal.
"Don't you fancy New York then?" I take my turn to ask a question now.
"Not when it's you he's moving there for." She says matter-of-factly, infuriating me to the full.
"Listen, I know you and I are never going to be friends-"
"There's one thing I agree with you on."
"But, these personal digs aren't making you look particularly angelic either. What we did was wrong, but I swear I didn't know you existed, otherwise I would have said no from the outset. Yes, I love John, but I'm not the one he's marrying, so can we please stop all these little insults because otherwise I'll tell John just how much of a bitch you really are!"
She's sat there, eyes widened and mouth slightly open at my outburst.
"And then see if you'll be walking down that aisle in two days time." I say one last thing before walking out of the kitchen.
.........
Checking that Molly is still fast asleep, I shuffle into the ensuite, picking up my toothbrush and toothpaste. As I clean my teeth, I reflect on the evening, and how hostile Cynthia was. I honestly can't wait to be back at home, out of sight from her.
But, we still have three days here. The night of the wedding, Brad, Molly and I'll be sleeping in a hotel nearby, so John and Cynthia can enjoy their wedding night together.
We leave the day after, with John wanting to see us to the airport personally so he can see Molly and I off with a proper goodbye.
I just need to get through these days.
Spitting the toothpaste out and wiping my mouth, I head back out and climb into bed, which is infinitely more luxurious than mine back home.
Sinking and smiling into the silky sheets, I turn over to look at my gorgeous daughter, who's fast asleep, facing away from me. Pushing all thoughts of what Cynthia said aside (although they keep threatening to force themselves to the forefront of my mind), my eyes drift shut, and finally, the jet lag kicks in, sending me into a deep, golden slumber.