The Bride (The Boss) (39 page)

Luckily, there was an intercom on the wall. Out of all the complicated buttons, I picked the one labeled “HOUSE” and said tentatively, “Hello?”

It took a moment, but Neil answered with his own uncertain, “Hello?”

“Um, I am totally lost.” I giggled into the speaker.

“Christ, so am I. Where are you?”

“In that loft thing I was going to use as an office.” I looked around. There would actually be room for two desks. I wondered if we could share the space without driving each other crazy and destroying our relationship. “Although it would be pretty inconvenient to keep my office in a room I can’t actually find again.”

“I’m in the basement, in the cinema. But I’m sure I can make it out, with some trial and error.”

“Me too.”
 

“Meet me in the bedroom, there’s something I’d like to show you.”

I snorted. “I’ve seen it, baby, it’s very impressive.”

“Cheeky. Get your cute little ass down there.”

I let go of the button and squealed like a girl, then heard laughter in another part of the house. Oh, shit. We’d been broadcasting our conversation into every room.

I hoped the movers were entertained.

Neil was waiting for me in the bedroom, standing with his hands on his hips, looking out at the ocean. Twenty minutes, tops, and we were already in love with the place.

“Okay, what is it that you want to show me?” I leaned on the door and got my smirk ready.

He kissed the top of my head and nudged me into a walk, his arm around my shoulders. “You haven’t seen the very best part of the house yet, Sophie.”

He led me to the door of the master bath.

My breath caught. My heartbeat sped.

I’d forgotten all about Neil’s promise to me. He pushed the door open with one hand, allowing me to enter before him.

The bathroom is beyond awesome. There was an electric sauna, which had really impressed Viking Neil, and a shower tucked away behind a curved wall tiled in sand-colored stone that matched the airy neutral design of the room. The roof sloped up into a point truncated by a the biggest skylight I’d ever seen, and there, standing in the place of what was once a two-person Jacuzzi tub, was my perfect, simple, elegant bathtub. Like a steampunk glass slipper, it was a vision in porcelain and copper, from the peak of its curved back to the gentle slope of its sides, right down to the knobby claw feet. Neil had even installed new plumbing to accommodate the antique set up, and he’d included a European-style showerhead on a long hose.

Gotta love a man who understood a woman’s need for easily accessible water pressure.

I gasped a little “Oh!” of delight and whipped my shirt over my head.

Neil barked a startled laugh. “What are you doing?”

“I am getting in this bathtub.” I kicked my boots off and shimmied my jeans down my thighs.

“You don’t want to wait and help with the unpack—”

“Nope!” I cut him off and bent down to catch my panties from around my ankle.

“Would you like to run some water, at least?” He stepped over to the tub and flipped up the taps.

“And bubbles,” I said wistfully. “Next time.”

Neil went to the wall of cubbies on the back of one of the shower walls. A slender bottle was already there. He took it down, turned it in his hand as if reading the label. “I had a feeling bubbles would be required.”

“Awwww!” I unhooked my bra and tossed it aside.

“Trees were not the only things I planted.” He kissed the top of my head as I took the bottle from his hands. “I’ll go and supervise the movers.”

“Okay. Don’t do everything. I promise, once I’ve been in here an hour, hour and half, I’ll help.” I leaned against him and tilted my face up for a proper kiss.

He obliged me and headed for the door.

“Hit the lock, so no sexy mover accidentally comes in here and seduces me!” I called after him.

Alone with my bathtub, I sank to my knees and trailed my hand through the water. “Oh baby. I’ve missed you so, so much.”

When the warm, bubbly water enveloped me, I swear, it was as close to a religious experience as I’d ever had. I leaned my head back on the rim and sighed happily. Though it was still strange knowing I was going to live in a seaside palace, wherever I had my bathtub, that was home.

* * * *

By the time the house was mostly unpacked and the movers had left, Neil and I were exhausted. We’d made up our new bed with the sheets from the apartment that I had refused to wash—I was hoping the familiar scent would put me at ease, much like a dog being boarded—we lit the natural stone fireplace in the den and collapsed on the couch that was newly ours.

“It feels totally bizarre. This is someone else’s furniture.” I ran my toes over Neil’s big bare foot and relished the feeling of his arm around my back, his chest beneath my cheek. Even though his sweater was kind-of scratchy, there was no place else I would have rather been.

“Trust me, it’s ours. We certainly paid enough for it.”

That was weird. Another time, Neil might have said, “I paid enough for it,” and the change jarred me into a realization. One of the reasons I had been feeling so strange about spending “our” money was that while he insisted over and over that it really was “our” money, he only ever talked about paying for stuff himself.

I sat up a little. “You know, I think this is the first time you’ve ever said that ‘we’ paid for something?”

He sighed. “I know. I’m sorry, I’m trying to break that habit.”

I leaned up and kissed his cheek. “You’re doing fine. It doesn’t help that I’m constantly saying, ‘don’t call it
our
money.’ And you really did pay for it. And I love it.”

“Yes, like a terrier, I become easily confused at conflicting commands. But I’m very glad you like the house.”

I sat up, remembering, “Hey! Do you know what I read on Fetlife this morning?”

“Oh, I’m glad you were on Fetlife this morning, rather than helping me with the move,” he grumbled.

“Help with what?” I rolled my eyes at him. “All you did was stand around and glower at them.”

“What did you read on Fetlife that was so fascinating?”

“This thing about jelly sex toys. They’re apparently gross and unsafe.” I scrunched up my nose. “I’m going to really miss that big purple one.”

“Well, I’m sure we can find safer toys.” He kissed the side of my head and snorted. “Now, whether or not we’ll find a wealth of sex shops in the Hamptons…”

I giggled. “Life is going to be so different out here, isn’t it?”

“A slower pace, most definitely.” He pulled me a little closer.

I didn’t mind the idea. “After the year we just had, I’m ready for slow. Like, stationary. Not moving at all.”

We sat in silence, me all snuggled up at his side, him idly stroking my hair against my back. Then he said, “It doesn’t seem real yet. I keep thinking we’ll go home. But we are home.”

My stomach grumbled, loudly.

Neil groaned. “We’re home, in a house that has no food. Groceries will be delivered tomorrow, but I didn’t think of tonight.”

“Ugh. I really do not want to get cleaned up for a restaurant,” I moaned. “I miss New York already. There is plenty of food in New York.”

“I’m sure they have food here, as well, I just forgot to buy any.” He eased me up and sat at the edge of the couch, his elbows braced on his knees, hands limp between them. “Your caveman failed at the hunt.”

“My caveman?” I stood and faced him with my hands on my hips. “I don’t want to starve to death. Let’s go to the grocery store.”

“Do you know where a grocery store is?” he asked, as though I were going to tell him where to find the Golden Fleece.

“That’s what cell phones and Google Maps are for.” I slid my phone from my pocket. “There may not be a sex shop on every corner, but I am confident there is at least one grocery store. But I feel kinda bad asking Tony to drive us.”

“Then we don’t have to.” Neil was warming to the idea of grocery shopping, and it took me a second to figure out why.

“Oh, no. No, no. We are not going out for food in a Ferrari.” I shook my head firmly.

“We’re not?” he sounded amused. “Are you planning to walk?”

He had me there.

We bundled up and headed out to the enormous garage he’d had constructed on the grounds. It was really more like an airplane hangar, with dozens of painted lines on the floor.

“And you need all this space for
cars
?” I said with a laugh, and Neil looked away uncomfortably. My jaw dropped. “I know you have a lot, but you don’t really have
this
many.”

“Let’s just get in then, shall we?”

The car shone like a candy apple under the fluorescent lights, and I couldn’t help trailing my fingers lovingly over the hood. It was just so sexy, I had to. “So, it’s a Ferrari. What kind of a Ferrari?”

“A two-thousand-ten, four-fifty-eight Italia,” he said as we climbed into the tan leather seats. “Five-hundred sixty-two horsepower, nine-thousand RPMs—”

My stomach was dissolving itself for nourishment, and he wanted to talk about horsepower. “Forget I asked. All I care about is the lack of space for food. How much are we getting?”

“Enough to fit in your lap and on the floor between your legs?” He winked at me. “Come on, Sophie. I want to take you for a drive in a very fast, very cool car. It will make me feel young.”

“Make me feel unhungry, then I’ll worry about making you feel young.” I buckled my seatbelt, wondering if we wouldn’t be safer in harnesses or Hannibal Lecter-style restraints. Then again, thinking of cannibalism was probably not a great idea when I was so hungry. “I can’t believe I’m letting you do this.”

For the most part, Neil drove responsibly, and I had to admit, there was something sexy about a man downshifting to go around curves. He bemoaned the fact that there wasn’t room to “open it up properly,” but after he’d hit a straightaway and gunned it to demonstrate the quick pick-up—to ninety miles per hour—I was glad he didn’t get the opportunity to go any faster.

We found a supermarket about thirty minutes from our house, one my mother would have referred to as “fancy.” Due to Neil’s insistence on taking a ridiculous sports car, we really could only bring home what would fit in my lap.

He looked around a bit sheepishly as we walked through the doors. “Listen…you’re much better at this than I am…”

It had never occurred to me that Neil had probably had someone who shopped for him his entire life. “You’ve been to a grocery store before, right?”

“Yes, before,” he said, a bit uncomfortably. “Not in the past twenty-five years, that I can recall.”

“You haven’t been in a supermarket since before Emma was born?” This was serious. “How did you even get food?”

“Delivery services,” he said, as astonished as though I’d started talking out of my ears. “You fill out a list. Or, my housekeeper does. I suppose since we don’t have a housekeeper anymore, we’ll have to fill it out ourselves.”

He seemed overwhelmed by even that most basic task.

“Okay, how about…you do the wine,” I suggested. “Just follow the signs.”

He gave me an irritated glance and muttered, “I do know how a shop
works
, Sophie. I just don’t do my own shopping.”

We headed home with the bare essentials—a bottle of red wine, a head of broccoli, a jar of pasta sauce and some spaghetti noodles, a big loaf of crusty bread, with coffee and a carton of soy milk for the morning.

“I can’t believe you remembered bubble bath for me, but not food.” I laughed as we pulled up to the front door.

“I remembered what was important. I’m sorry if naked, wet, and soapy Sophie is higher on my list of priorities than well-fed Sophie.”

“Jerk.” I passed the bag from the floor off to him and grabbed the handles of the one in my lap. “We’re going to have to get a sensible family car, you know? In case we need things like food or toilet paper—”

“Oh no.” His eyes went wide, and for a moment I panicked, until I remembered that I’d used the bathroom twice already, and there had been plenty of paper. He grinned at me, and I tried to kick him in the butt as he punched the security code in to unlock the kitchen door.

The kitchen was lovely and spacious, with beautiful reclaimed hardwood floors evenly sanded and varnished to a glassy shine. A hexagonal breakfast nook with a lovely round table for six had high, symmetrical arched picture windows that matched the larger one that looked out over the gorgeously manicured lawn to the east. The warm beige walls positively glowed with sunlight during the day, and inset lighting burnished them at night. Large squares of copper ceiling nestled between the dark wood beams overhead. The center island was topped with one giant oval slab of black, brown, and white marble, with a long rectangular inset bar sink, appropriate for filling with ice and lodging beer bottles in.

You can take the girl out of the UP, but you can’t take the UP out of the girl.

I set the paper bag on the island and unpacked the contents with demented speed. I’d been sorely tempted to rip into the baguette on the drive. I did so now, taking a huge bite from the very top with a moan of lusty relief.

“Hey!” Neil laughed, smacking my hand.

I giggled around my mouthful of bread and dropped the loaf on the counter. Covering my full mouth with one hand, I managed, “I wa ungy!”

“You’ll be thirsty in a moment, and I don’t have the wine open.”

Damn. I had to admit he had a point as I swallowed a very dry mouthful of crusty bread.

We ended up eating cross-legged on the floor, out of exhaustion and because there weren’t any stools or chairs in the kitchen; they were one of the few furnishings the previous owners had retained. Considering the huge collection of Stickley they’d left behind, it seemed like a weird detail.

“Maybe they had some family significance,” Neil suggested, taking my empty plate and stacking it atop his on the floor beside him. “I had the most horrible ottoman, probably the ugliest piece of furniture I’ve ever owned, or seen, for that matter, and I kept it for years because Emma was sitting on it when she lost her first tooth.” He paused and got that sentimental look he always had when he talked about Emma’s childhood. “She was chewing on the end of a pencil and one of her bottom front teeth just popped right out.”