ME: Ah yes. Reminding me of our martial obligations
ME: Very romantic
VICTOR KADE: Hard to translate fake romance via text
ME: You’re hard to read in general.
The typing dots appear, then then disappear, then return.
VICTOR KADE: Also, Rasputin mailed something to you.
ME: …what?
VICTOR KADE: You’ll see when you get home.
Home.
I close my eyes. Because Rachel's right.
Victor Kade is complicated. And so is the flutter in my stomach when I realize I'm excited to see what Rasputin sent me.
Not because of the cat. But because of the man who texted about it.
A second later, I grab my coat, my heart beating faster at the thought of walking through his door—our door—for the surprise. But first, a drop-in to Margot's for Thursday Crochet night.
I need yarn. Wine. Sisterly intervention.
Because whatever this thing is with Victor—this warm, inconvenient, increasingly real thing—it's getting harder to pretend it's just business.
And I'm running out of reasons to try.
Forty ridiculously long, New York traffic-laden minutes later, I'm sitting in Margot's living room in Queens, surrounded by yarn, alcohol, and the comfortable chaos of my sisters.
My older Margot's house is everything mine isn't—warm, lived-in, full of evidence that humans actually exist here. My niece and nephew’s drawings on the fridge. Her husband Philippe's collection of vintage records. Photos everywhere. A worn couch that's seen better days but fits perfectly in this space.
A place where my two siblings interrogate me as expected.
“So, he has housekeeper arrive later, because he likes to make his own coffee? That’s a special brand of Upper East Side anal, don’t you think?”
“And if remakes his own coffee, does he also fold his laundry with his bare billionaire hands?”
“Okay, so he likes Mission Impossible movies. Guess he’s not all robot, after all.”
“Does he sleep in a coffin?”
“Does he snore in Morse code?”
“Has he seen you in those crazy cat pajamas?”
I deflect as usual. But then my phone buzzes again, and both sisters lean in like vultures.
VICTOR KADE: Babushka just called. She's coming over tomorrow to hang the arcade cartridge frame.
VICTOR KADE: She insists it's "modern wedding portrait."
VICTOR KADE: She also asked if we're trying for babies yet.
VICTOR KADE: I told her no. She said I'm "wasting your good eggs."
