the soft sound of footsteps followed by conversation. One half of the conversation, however, isn’t soft or discreet. It’s loud and strident.
“Where are you two?” yells a familiar female voice.
“Having a romantic dinner on the first night in our new house,” yells Beck. “Fuck off.”
Emma marches in with Matías close behind and Mrs. Francis trailing in their wake.
“I tried to explain to her that this might not be the best time,” says Matías.
Our housekeeper just stands there looking mildly flustered.
“It’s all right, Mrs. Francis.” I say to the flustered lady with a smile. “Thank you.”
“No matter what this woman says”—Beck points at his sister with a stern face—“never give her a key or the security code, Mrs. Francis. Promise me on your life.”
Emma scoffs. “Like I can’t strong-arm Smith into giving them to me.”
“He’s twice your size,” mocks Beck.
“Doesn’t mean he’s not afraid of me.”
“Whatever you say, Mr. Elliot.” The housekeeper disappears once more. Having staff is odd. I bet she’s great at getting rid of door to door salespeople, but feisty Elliots are a different kettle of fish. Whether she’ll want to put up with us long-term is the next question.
“This is nice.” Emma turns in a circle, inspecting the place. “Never been a big fan of modern art, but the black on white brush style in that piece is interesting. Love the high ceiling. And you can’t hear cars or the city sounds at all; the soundproofing is excellent.”
“You already own a perfectly fine mansion.” Matías protests, slumping into a seat beside me. “Emma, you don’t need another property.”
“An inner-city apartment, though. Wouldn’t that be cool?”
“It’s not even a twenty-minute drive from where you already live, Em.”
She sighs. “I suppose so.”
“She never did like it when other people got new toys,” mutters Beck. “Christmas can be all-out war.”
Emma also pulls up a seat, inspecting our dinner. “Pot roast?”
“Would you like some?” I ask. Because one of us needs to act vaguely hospitable.
“No.” She sighs. “I’m still in the I want to hurl twenty-four/seven stage. It’s like being constantly seasick without having the joy of being on a yacht in Ibiza.”
Beck points toward the kitchen with a fork. “Dinner’s in the fridge if you want any, Matías.”
“Already ate. Thanks.” Though the man is on his feet heading toward the kitchen and opening cupboards. “I’ll have a glass, though.”
Emma pouts. “You’re just drinking because you know I can’t.”
“I meant a glass of water,” says Matías. “And I’m getting one for you too.” Can’t tell if he’s lying or not.
“I’ve decided we’re having the baby and Matías is going to be a stay-at-home father,” announces Emma. “We’re going to give both therapy and marriage another go. It’s not like we were really into the whole divorce thing anyway. Otherwise we would have actually finalized it at some stage and stopped sleeping together.”
“Don’t get us wrong, the separation was fun while it lasted.” Matías returns to the table with two glasses of ice water. “But we’re ready to move on and get back together now.”
“Stay-at-home dad, huh?” asks Beck, setting down his cutlery.
Matías nods. “Yep.”
“Cool.”
“We’ll have a nanny too, of course,” says Emma. “What if Matías goes out or something? I can’t be expected to change diapers like an animal.”
Beck just blinks.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m more than prepared to love and interact with the baby. I’m not Giada or Dad…or Grandma, for that matter. Did you know she never even fed, burped, or bathed our father? Not once. Like ordering a silver rattle from Tiffany’s and dressing the kid in ugly lace frocks to pose for family pictures actually counts as making an effort.” Emma folds her arms across her chest. Her boobs do look bigger. Not that I generally notice other women’s breasts. But in the low-cut white sheath she’s wearing, it’s kind of hard not to notice.
“The tit fairy has been,” she comments, noticing the direction my gaze has taken.
“Sorry,” I say. For the tits or for looking, I don’t know.
Matías leers. There’s no other word. “They’re wonderful.”
“Whatever.” Emma looks to heaven.
“Back to a topic that’s not my sister’s breasts,” says Beck. “We definitely descended from generations of warm and loving people setting us the ultimate example in quality parenting.”
Emma shakes her head. “Thank God for Mom.”
“Thank God for Rachel,” agrees Beck.
“You’ll make a great mother too.” Matías sits down and takes Emma’s hand.
“I hope so.” She frowns. “Oh, by the way, Giada has been spotted in London on the arm of an elderly lord. It’s quite the scandal