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Honey gives me a meaningful glance. “Right. It’s for your naughty little pet. Got it.”
I study Bunny warily. “Why is he staring like that?”
Honey follows my gaze. “No doubt fantasizing about the panicked screams of a creature he’s slowly and luxuriously torturing to death.”
How cheerful.
“Well.” Art eyes the cat. “I think we’re done with his services.”
“Yeah,” I say. “He’d better leave so Fluffer doesn’t smell homicide in the air when he gets back.”
Honey glances at this room’s air purifier. “I doubt even you will smell Bunny in a few minutes, but fine.” She bends down and carefully picks up the cat—whose gaze doesn’t leave “the mansion” throughout. “You guys probably need to settle in anyway.”
“Thanks, sis,” I say.
“No problem.” She walks to the entrance, and we follow. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Art.”
“The pleasure was mine,” he says.
Hey now. Better not have been too much of a pleasure.
“I’ll see you both at the reception,” Honey says. “Speaking of which, I have two plus-ones. I hope that’s okay.”
Before I can explain to her what plus-one actually means in English, Art waves his hand. “You’re not the only one.”
Great. And here I thought we’d have a small shindig. Whatever. It’s outside, so the perfume and cologne smells will be less potent.
Honey sticks Bunny into the carrier. “Bye.”
I wave to her, and when she enters the elevator, I turn to Art. “So what now?”
He suggests we start nesting, so that’s what we do. Soon after, the movers arrive, and Art helps me unbox my stuff and find good places to keep it all.
“This closet is all yours,” Art says, opening a door in the bedroom.
Oh, my. It’s a walk-in closet that reminds me of the one Carrie had in the movie version of Sex and the City. It’s so huge it might just lead to Narnia, but one with fashionistas instead of talking beasts. Not that there’s a big difference between the two.
It takes me mere minutes to hang all the clothes I own, and they take up less than one percent of the insane storage space.
“Hey!” Art calls from somewhere. “Can you come here for a second?”
I locate him in the kitchen, holding a cake.
“The movers brought this,” he says, lifting his eyebrows.
Skunk. I forgot to get rid of the evidence.
“Isn’t this the cake that came with the fruit?” he asks.
I sigh. “You know it is.”
He grins. “Is there anything you want to say?”
“Like this?” I curtsy. “You were right, dear. My sweet tooth is totally a craving for fruit. I bow to your infinite wisdom.”
He shakes his head, looking torn between stashing the cake in the fridge and tossing it. Unable to decide, he just hands it to me. “I’m going to my place to get more of my stuff. Want to join?”
“No. Let me keep sorting things out here.” I pointedly stick my finger into the cake and lick it.
