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I lift the heavy box marked ‘Kitchen’ and carry it toward the east wing, Talia trailing behind me. As we walk, she talks about the new paint colors and turning one of the formal living rooms into an area for all the children to have quiet time. My lips twitch.
Since we made it past the first month with the new baby, Talia seems to have bounced back from the severe sleep deprivation. Now, she is at her personal best, planning and executing her own ideas.
The move to the estate has been better for her and I can't say I regret a moment of it.
We reach the kitchen and set down the box. Talia smiles up at me, radiant as ever.
"Thank you." She smooths my rumpled t-shirt down over my pec. Her eyes shine with mischief. "This shirt looks incredible on you. You might have to wear it to bed tonight."
"Is this some kind of blue collar fantasy fulfillment for you? Do you secretly wish you had married someone else?" My words are teasing, but I want to hear her say that she chose correctly when she married me.
"Absolutely not." Talia grabs a fistful of my shirt and pulls me down to kiss her. "You know I'm crazy about you."
We kiss again, this time more gently, but more passionately. She truly believes our love can overcome anything, even my family's sordid past. I cup her face in my hands, wishing I shared her faith.
A crash echoes from downstairs, followed by childish arguments. Talia pulls away from me with a sigh, mindlessly bouncing to keep Hope asleep.
"Let's go see what that was," I say.
As Talia and I head back downstairs, the foyer is even more chaotic than before. Children dart between movers carrying heavy furniture while staff members shout instructions.
In the center of it all stands Magda, looking for all the world like a stern-faced general commanding her troops. Her usual blue uniform is missing and in its place is a bright pink tracksuit. She marshals the movers like soldiers, directing them where to place each item.
"That box is labeled ‘Main Bedroom'. It goes in the main bedroom, not the living room!" She snaps at one bewildered mover in her thick Eastern European accent. "And be careful with that cabinet, it is an antique!"
I'm impressed by how Magda takes charge. She's weathered countless Morgan family dramas over the years yet remains unflappable.
A loud crash makes me wince. Two young boys have knocked over a lamp while play-wrestling. Before I can react, Magda swoops in, scolding them in her native tongue. They freeze under her harsh gaze.
Satisfied they've been cowed, Magda turns and assigns tasks to the other staff. A new maid will unpack the kitchen, while two of the movers will arrange the furniture. They spring into action.
In the whirlwind, I've lost track of the children. But then I spot Clive, the family butler, gathering them together.
"Let's go discuss the rules for your new home," he says in his smooth voice. "Anyone who's good will get a treat..."
The rambunctious children surprisingly listen as he leads them away. Clive was like a father to me growing up; perhaps he can instill some discipline in this unruly bunch.
I let out a breath as some semblance of order takes shape from the chaos. If anyone can transform this circus into a functioning household, it's Magda and Clive.
I make my way through the controlled chaos, sidestepping movers hauling furniture and boxes. I spot Talia directing traffic in the foyer, one hand on Hope's sleeping form.
"Have you seen Solana and Remy?" I ask.
"I think they were in Remy's study the last time I saw them," Talia replies, flashing me a smile before returning her focus to the movers.
"And you left them there?" I ask.
"Remy was being sweet. Solana knows that she can shout for us if something happens that she doesn't like."
Narrow my eyes and shaking my head, I hurry up the grand staircase two steps at a time and walk down the long hallway lined with ancestral portraits. At the end is Remy's study, all leather and mahogany and old books.
I pause in the doorway. There sits my grandfather in his wingback chair, Solana curled up in his lap. Her dark hair spills over the armrest as Remy reads aloud from a book.
He doesn't seem to notice me, enraptured by the story. I observe the tender scene, struck by the vulnerability in my grandfather's expression.
When I was a kid, I wasterrifiedof Remy. He cut an imposing figure then, though now he seems like a mellow, doddering old man. Where was this attitude when I was growing up?
I stand in the doorway and watch them. Solana looks utterly content and Remy more at peace than I've seen him in years. Solana interrupts his story to ask a question. I flinch, but he doesn't even blink. He just answers her question and moves on with his reading.
