“I’ll buy you a house with an orchard,” he promised, setting me gently down on the ground next to his car, his hand opening the door and holding it open for me.
“Now?” I asked dumbly, stepping up into the cab, watching his face as he shut the door and moved around to the driver’s side.
“Now.”
“I thought I’d just move into your house.” House was really the wrong word for it. Mansion. Fifty thousand square feet of space he barely used. A basement lab he had spent ten million dollars outfitting. He couldn’t move. Wasn’t possible.
“It’s my house. I want our house. A place to build our future. A place you pick out.” He shifted into gear and tossed his phone into my lap. “Call Jill. Find out which realtor I should use, then get them on the phone.”
Our house. I dialed Jillian and wondered how well this would go over with Lee. Maybe I was making a mistake.
I bought my first house a week after my twenty-fifth birthday. Had a budget of three million dollars. Went crazy and spent four. Looked at twelve different homes before coming to the difficult decision of choosing one. With Brant, I expected even more of a production. It turned out to be ridiculously simple.
In my prior, paltry price range, I’d had to make decisions. Did I want the outdoor kitchen or the sun porch? The indoor theatre or a library? An oceanfront office or spare bedroom?
In Brant’s price range, every house had everything. And there were only three to choose from. The realtor offered a limo, but we drove Brant’s Aston Martin, winding toward the coast, the homes fifteen miles apart. Everything we could ever want for thirty million dollars.
It was an easy decision. The first one was a palace of ostentatious details, hand-painted ceilings, and heavy velvet drapes. It screamed old wrinkly money, and came complete with maids’ quarters and an entire floor dedicated to formal rooms we would never use. It did have a ballroom, a huge expanse I envisioned using in a variety of ways, the foremost being a skating rink for our future children. But the consensus, a look shot between Brant and I upon our exit, was that it was a no.
Windere was the second property, an estate high on the cliff, owned at one point in time by the Kennedys. It had four gated acres, nine bedrooms, tennis courts and an elevator that carried us the 42 stories down to the beach. It also came with a two-bedroom beach house, at the base of the elevator, a twelve hundred square foot gem with an attached spa and second pool. It had privacy, needed a staff of at least eight, and was a good half hour from Palo Alto, but it was comfortable. Modern. Us. It also had a six-thousand square foot basement. We were sold.
“This is it.” Brant clapped the realtor, a small woman with a large overbite, on the back. “Good work.”
“I have one more property to show you… in Santa Cruz… it’s a beautiful house…” Her voice faltered, and she looked to me for help.
“This one’s perfect,” I echoed Brant’s opinion. Looped my arm through his and beamed up at him.
“Draw up the contract.” He slid an arm around my shoulder, leaned down and kissed my mouth. “I love you,” he murmured, the realtor stepping away to give us privacy.
“I love you too.”
“First steps, right?”
I grinned. “First steps. Baby steps.”
He growled against my mouth. “Don’t say baby. I’m already wanting to see you pregnant, kids running through this house.”
The light in my heart faded slightly, and I pushed myself up, stealing a kiss before the emotion hit my eyes. “Let’s get one last look at our future home.”
Chapter 47
“What’s going on?”
I looked up from my place on the floor, mid-wrap of a picture frame. Lee stood in the doorway, hands out in confusion. He looked around the empty living room, half the furniture removed last week and sent out for consignment. I leaned back. “Frank?”
A moment later, a shaved head stuck its way into the room. “Yes ma’am?”
“Can you round up the guys? Take them to lunch? I need some privacy.”
“Sure.” He nodded a hello to Lee and exited the room.
I hopped up, setting down the frame, and brushed myself off. “Hey babe.”
“What’s going on?” he repeated.
“I’m moving. I tried to call you. Been trying to call you. You should get voicemail.”
He looked around like he didn’t understand the concept, taking a few steps into the kitchen before returning. “Almost everything’s gone. When are you leaving?”
“Friday.”
“So, where’s your new place?”
“Not far.” I stepped forward, wrapping my hands around his body, my body flush with his, his reaction immediate.
He looked down, leaned over and pressed a kiss on my mouth. “Show it to me.”
“Now?”
He shrugged. “Sure. You look like you could use a break.”