“I’m down with doing this,” Margarita called back. “I won’t be long, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
“You’re not in my hair,” Sixx started with a loud voice but ended it normal when Margarita came back. “And, uh…” How did one do something like this? “If you, well…”
Margarita stopped moving and looked to Sixx after pulling two bottles of Hendrick’s out of a burlap bag.
Two bottles.
Guess she didn’t want them running out.
Or Sixx was enjoying too many of Stellan’s excellent mixology skills.
“If I what?” Margarita prompted.
“Need me to … you know, do anything. To make things easier on you. What with me being here with Stellan now and—”
She interrupted. “It’s my job to make things easier on you.”
“It’s that for Stellan but—”
“No, Sixx. I take care of Stellan, and this household. In other words, I take care of anything important to Stellan that revolves around this household. And since you’re here, and you would not be if you weren’t important to Stellan, I take care of you too.”
That was sweet.
But …
“I can make the bed in the morning,” Sixx offered. “And he told me you, well … get on him about it, so I can make sure Stellan hits the laundry hamper, which I noticed he’s not wont to do.”
Or even get close.
The man dropped his clothes where they hit and that was that, even if it was rooms away.
She didn’t get all she said out before Margarita shouted with laughter.
Sixx didn’t know what made her laugh so hard, so she just stood there, smiling that confused smile people who weren’t in on the joke smiled, waiting to be let in on the joke.
“Querida,” Margarita began after she quit yukking it up, “the only thing I beg you to do is not take care of the things I do for Stellan … and you. What excuse would I have to keep an eye on him if you made the bed and got him to hit the laundry hamper, which could grow to you doing his laundry and then the shopping and then where would he be? Considering the state of the individual who calls herself his mother, someone has to…”
She trailed off when she took in the look that hit Sixx’s face.
The state of the individual who calls herself his mother?
When Sixx had done her deep dive, she’d seen pictures of Brigette Lange. Older ones where she was startlingly beautiful and hanging on the arm of the then-handsome Andreas Lange—the heir to a hotel empire and the beauty who’d caught his eye.
She’d also seen pictures that were not recent but were more recent than those. Pictures of a woman still retaining her beauty even if it looked like a veil that did not conceal the haggard wasteland of the grief of a woman who’d lost her young daughter to suicide.
She hadn’t dug deeper than that into Brigette. It was enough to learn what befell Silie Lange and the public disintegration of any kind of relationship Andreas had with his son after they lost Silie and it came to light precisely why.
“He hasn’t spoken of her,” Margarita noted in a horrified whisper.
“We’re still getting to know each other,” Sixx replied, saw the expression on Margarita’s face and quickly assured, “There’s much that’s difficult for both of us to share. We’re … it’s too much, Margarita. We’re parceling it out. But he will tell me. He’s honest about everything. So you shouldn’t worry you broke a confidence. It’s just that we’ve known each other for years, but what we have is relatively new, and we haven’t gotten around to certain … details.”
Margarita was nodding repeatedly, but Sixx could still see she was shaken.
“I’m glad he has you,” Sixx said quietly, and Margarita’s troubled gaze came to her. “I won’t make the bed, and I’ll let him drop his clothes to the floor, so he’ll be sure to keep you. But honestly, I hope you know he’d do that anyway, even if he had to unmake a bed I made so he’d have the excuse.”
Margarita’s head tipped to the side.
“Did you ever expect to have a woman thanking you for not making your bed?” she asked unsteadily, trying to inject humor into what had become heavy.
“No. Then again, I never expected to live in a house where someone comes in every day to make the bed, so lately, my life has been full of surprises.”
Margarita gave her a tremulous smile.
Sixx’s return smile was steady.
“If there’s anything you’d like … I know what Stellan likes, and he has Susan call with any additions. But if there are things you want to have around or things you like to cook…” Margarita offered.
“I hate to give you a poor impression of me, but I never learned to cook because I never had the desire to learn, and thankfully, God offered frozen dinners and microwaves and fast food, so I don’t go hungry.”
Margarita looked alarmed until Sixx finished what she was saying.
“But the only thing I want around is Stellan, and since he lives here, does the cooking and likes doing that, I’m good.”
“Can I admit something to you?” Margarita asked abruptly.
“I’m feeling like breaking open the gin, getting us both sloshed, but before that texting Stellan to warn him he’s going to have to drive you home. So since we’re here, we might as well go for it.”
“If I were to have guessed who he’d pick, it would not be a woman like you.”
Damn.
Sixx fought stepping away or even turning away to hide how deep that stung.
“But after I saw you, I thought about it, and now that I know more about you, I think you’re perfect,” Margarita went on. “He is nowhere near your average man, so why on earth would he choose an average woman?”
Why on earth would he choose an average woman?
“Margarita,” Sixx whispered, not knowing what to say, not even knowing how she was feeling.
Just that it was good.
The woman nodded smartly. “She’d need to be unique. Individual. A force onto herself and him. Exciting and daring and beyond the pale. Someone who has an interesting job and wears leather shorts in Phoenix in the summertime, looking like a Hollywood starlet.” She kept firm hold on Sixx’s gaze. “And someone who would also offer to make the bed to make things easier on me.”
“When I saw your car, I was worried coming in here,” Sixx admitted. “When Stellan talks about you, I can tell how much he cares about you, and I really wanted you to like me.”
“Well then, mission accomplished, Sixx,” Margarita replied, back to her bright smile.
“Simone,” Sixx blurted.
Margarita appeared confused. “I’m sorry?”
“People I … I mean, I’m known by everyone as Sixx. Except Stellan. He … I’m Simone to him. That is, I’m Simone. That’s my name. But…”
Saving her, Margarita said firmly, “Simone.”
Sixx cleared her throat, then asked, “Do you drink gin?”
“I drink wine and I drink tequila, and I have a husband who will come and get me if I drink too much of either. So you send your pictures, and I’ll finish up here, and we’ll share a drink. And if that becomes two, I’ll call Ernesto, and all will be well.”
Sixx grinned at her. “Cool. Be back in a bit.”
“See you in a bit.”
Sixx grabbed her workbag and camera and headed for Stellan’s office, pulling her phone out as she went.
She sat at his desk and texted, I invited Margarita to stay for a drink when she’s done doing her thing. Cool?
She’d powered up and was loading the pictures on her laptop when his reply came back.
Cool. X
Stellan was not a verbose texter. He got the job done and that was it.
But that was his thing.
X.
Sometimes that would be his only reply.
X.
Sending her a kiss.
So Sixx thought he really didn’t need to say much else.
That was all she needed.
*
“I’m not sure how Ernesto feels about my girlfriend liquoring up his wife.”
Sixx was sitting at Stellan’s island, watching him cut up cucumbers that he was apparently going to throw into a salad made of corn he’d grilled on his restaurant-quality stove, chickpeas, mint, oil, lime juice and, obviously, cucumbers.
“I’ll admit, things got out of hand,” she mumbled into her muddled gin. She took a sip, swallowed, and finished, “But only because she’s a lightweight.”
Stellan shot a megawatt smile at her.