By the time we rose for breakfast some six hours ago, our guest from the sofa had been gone. Beck chugged down the Advil, followed by several cups of coffee, showered and put on a suit, before rushing off to Elliot Corp. for some emergency or other. A meeting with his real estate agent followed. Inspecting our new place had to wait until after lunch. Matías sent a business site over for me to assess so I distracted myself with work. Nice to know his hangover wasn’t too bad.
But back to now. Hard to know exactly how I feel about our new home or his reasons for purchasing it in such a rush. Though a tangled ball of emotions has been growing inside of me all day.
When the elevator arrives, we only go up one floor to the ground level. Beside the shiny elevator is a polished wooden staircase winding up and up with a skylight way up high. But otherwise, we’ve walked into a huge open-plan kitchen, dining, and living room area. Lots of brushed steel with beautiful white stone bench tops in the chef worthy kitchen.
“They’re Silestone,” says Beck, nodding to the bench tops. “Quartz.”
“Huh. Pretty. And your mother would most likely approve.”
Something yummy is cooking. A roast, perhaps. The dining table is wood and antique looking, seating ten people. All of the various sofas and chairs look big and comfortable and are done in navy and white. Minimalist modern art hangs on the stark white walls. It’s not exactly my style, but it’s nice. Beautiful even. Lots of windows and two sets of French doors that let in the light open up onto a back garden terrace type area with outdoor furniture. Hidden away from public view, it’s walled in by the neighboring buildings.
“It’s like a secret garden,” I say, as excited as a child at Christmas.
“Entry and foyer to the side at the front with staff rooms taking up the rest of the front half of this level,” he says doing more pointing. “Powder room is over there.”
“Staff?”
“Smith and the housekeeper.”
“Okay.” I have questions. Lots of questions. But I save them for later.
“Let’s keep going.” His suit-clad ass climbs higher and I follow. He has a nice ass. On the next level he stops, reaching for my hand to draw me alongside him. “Formal dining that seats twenty, second smaller kitchen, bar and wine cellar is at the back. The sitting room that also doubles as gallery space is to the front. Powder room is again straight in front of you.”
“Second kitchen?”
“The previous owners liked throwing parties. She often had artists staying with them and her partner was a hedge-fund manager so business soirees and so on.”
“Got it.”
“Up we go again.” And he’s off. My calf muscles are going to be bomb by the time we’ve lived here for a while. On the third floor, he pushes a door open leading into the front half of the building. “Office and library through here with our bedroom et cetera at the back.”
“A library? Wow.” I say that word a lot these days. I don’t see it stopping any time soon. If anything, probably be on the lookout for an increase in usage.
He nods, leading me back into a large bedroom with a sitting area. Antique-looking blue-and-gray patterned rugs cover the hardwood floor.
“They’re Persian,” says Beck.
“I’m not sure exactly what that means besides them having come from Persia? Wait, isn’t it Iran now?”
“It means fancy, old, and expensive.”
“Okay.” I nod. “All of the furniture and art still here comes with the house?”
“Yeah. I get the feeling that decorating is a passion of the previous owners. She was ready to let this one go and move on to other projects. But as I said, you can change anything you like.”
Another orgy-size bed like at the hotel sits covered in white linens dominating the huge room. You could fit my old apartment about six times in this one room. It’s crazy. Gray chairs, a three-seater sofa, and an ottoman sit in front of the gray marble fireplace. There’s also an antique desk and a discreet bar in the corner. Again, the windows are huge, overlooking the back terrace garden area.
“Bathroom to the left, closets to the right.” He leans against the wall, watching me all the while. Like me, he seems to be running on nervous energy.
“Closets as in plural? We have one each?”
He raises his brows. “Beloved. Dearest. Have you seen the amount of shit you own these