“Where’s the master of the house?” he asked Thomat, who was over by the stove.
The chef bowed. “I believe I am looking at him, sire.”
Boone wanted to roll his eyes but stopped himself. “Marquist, I mean.”
“He is upstairs, being attended to by a trainer and then a masseuse. Then it is my understanding that he has a tailor coming by, followed by a cobbler.”
“Getting himself all done up. Guess my father’s clothes didn’t go far enough for him and he’s given up his nights of shining shoes, huh.”
“It is an abomination.”
Boone let that one lie where it landed. “I’m taking my car out—oh, and this is Helania. My friend.”
As Thomat bowed in the direction of the female, she tucked her hands under her arms, and said, “Pleased to meet you.”
“It is my honor.” The chef straightened. “If there is aught that you require, mistress, please let me know.”
“Thank you.”
When Helania glanced at Boone, he gave her a subtle thumbs-up.
“We’ll be back in a couple of hours, Thomat. To pick up some of my things.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
It was on the tip of Boone’s tongue to suggest the male not use that term anywhere in Marquist’s earshot, but he figured that went without saying. Or perhaps the chef didn’t care.
Might be an interesting grudge match, Boone thought. Former butler versus current chef?
All things being equal—and they weren’t—he’d bet on Thomat.
Leading the way out into the garages, Boone flipped on the caged lights that hung over the lineup of half a dozen cars. As Helania inhaled sharply, he was reminded that he should be impressed by the display of wealth. But it was what he was used to.
“The Bentley’s mine,” he said, pointing down the row.
“Which one is that?”
“The gold one. Four down. It has all-wheel drive.”
The Continental GT Speed was owned by him, and as he got behind the wheel and double-checked that the keys were still in the center console, he realized he could sell it and get some money out of the thing. It had to be worth over a hundred thousand, which was enough to put a down payment on something small on the outskirts of town.
Of course, in this fantasy, he had Helania moving her stuff in with his, and the two of them waiting out the eighteen months before their young arrived in the kind of mating bliss that books were written about.
Ah, fiction. So much better than reality.
Helania got in next to him and shut her door. “Wow.”
As she ran her fingertips over the burl ash panels on the dash, he wondered why he’d never particularly paid attention to them. It was really nice wood, and it should be noted.
Instead, he’d only gotten the car ’cuz he’d needed wheels and his cousin knew a guy down in Manhattan who could get him one delivered in twenty-four hours.
The color hadn’t mattered. Nor the interior. Nothing about it had seemed particularly significant . . . when in reality, it was a beautiful car, expensively made.
Rich people had a knack for ignoring the wealth that surrounded them, didn’t they.
Hitting the garage door opener, Boone craned around and reversed out into the snow. “So where should we start?”
Helania stared out the window at the mansion as they K-turned in the courtyard and he headed them out to the road.
“It’s just a house,” he muttered. “And I don’t mean that like I’m criticizing you for looking at it like that. It’s more a case of my not liking what the place represents.”
“I don’t mean to be . . . agog, I think the word is. I’ve just never seen anything like this outside of the movies. I mean, it’s way bigger than Jake Ryan’s parents’ place.”
“Whose?”
“Sixteen Candles. The movie. He’s the love interest.”
“We need to watch that together someday.”
“Yes, someday,” she murmured as she bent forward to keep looking at the house.
Out on the road, he took them down to the little center of ritzy, locally owned shops where he imagined all the ladies of the houses on his street went to get their nails done, buy presents for each other, and see their decorators and hairstylists.
“Can you recall which neighborhood the house was in?” he asked. Seeming to shake herself into focus, Helania eased back in her seat.
“I wish I had paid more attention that night. But I distinctly remember us passing by Temple Beth Shalom. Do you know where that is?”
“You mean out toward the satellite municipal library? On Sheffield?”