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It takes Mia and I all night to sort and pack my clothes, accessories, toiletries and knickknacks. I’m only taking a few family photos, some trinkets from memories with my siblings or Luna, my favorite books and cookbooks. It’s a bit pitiful, really, how little I want to take with me. Twenty-three years and only a few suitcases to show for it.
Mark doesn’t greet us at his house. His housekeeper, Carmen, shows us around. Mia and Luna were both correct, it’s new and gorgeous. The mansion is in a gated neighborhood with smaller acreage, versus an estate like each of our parents have.
His house is done in naturals, creams, and whites, but his decorator incorporated a lot of warm tones and interesting textures. It’s not cold, but it is lifeless. It’s silent like a tomb and untouched like a magazine. I’d be afraid to hang my coat and purse in the spacious, empty mudroom off the garage.
The first level of the house has the kitchen, which is jaw-dropping. All of the appliances are not top of the line, but the aesthetics are to die for. Everything is warm whites and natural woods and mixed metals. I look through cupboards and drawers without permission and Carmen doesn’t seem too pleased. Too bad. This is my kitchen now. Finally, I find it in what should be a pantry, but is really almost a second kitchen.
The coffee.
Wall-to-wall beans, mugs, storage containers, machines. It’s like a coffee museum. Not only is it curated and organized…it’s completely unused.
“Mark doesn’t use this stuff?”
“Only the machine in the kitchen. He makes a cup in the morning that he takes with him when he leaves.”
Well. That won’t do.
We move on. The downstairs has a grand dining room, a sitting room with a picturesque library wall, and a hall that apparently goes to Mark’s wing. Carmen doesn’t show it to us, but she says it holds his bedroom suite, gym, office, and receiving room, whatever that is.
Upstairs, there is a loft living room space with a hall on each end. One hall goes to guest rooms, one of which Mia claims as her room, the other side has my wing. I have my own receiving room, which is a small formal living space with a fireplace and a wall of built-in shelves. I also have my own gym. I frown, since I don’t really lift weights. But when I open it, I’m pleasantly surprised. It’s a dance studio with a treadmill in the corner and a small en suite bathroom.
“Holy cow, this is perfect for you.” Mia whispers.
“See what I mean? Like why would he remember that I dance? Why would he do this?”
“Happy wife, happy life?” Mia says too loudly and Carmen chuckles.
After those rooms, I have my own small office, for what purpose I have no idea, and then there’s a secondary master suite. And it is a suite, with tons of walking room around a king bed and dresser, chest of drawers and vanity table. Everything is bright white, dainty, airy, neutral and romantic. Except for the deep ruby red throw blanket on the overstuffed chair in the corner. Mia and Carmen have moved on to the impressive modern bathroom, but I must go over and touch the blanket, as if compelled by unseen forces. It’s the softest thing I’ve ever felt in my life.
The movers begin with the boxes and clothing racks. Carmen introduces the kitchen staff and gardeners and explains how the house runs. She walks me through the usual menus, laundry protocol, and even things like where to find a charger cord and which trash bins are recycling only.
It’s clear that she’s the queen of this house. That is going to have to change. In time. First, I’ll let her show me the very well-organized ropes. I can tell efficiency and brevity are highly valued here. Everyone is serious and focused. That’s fine, I suppose.
But this is a house. Mark and I need a home. When Mia and I head back to my parents’ estate, I get out my phone.
Eleanna: Thank you for the gym
Mark: My mother put that in for you.
Eleanna: And the blanket?
Mark: What blanket?
Mark: Also, this is not an emergency.
I sigh loudly.
“You okay?” Mia asks softly.
“Yes, just tired.” I answer somewhat honestly. I’m okay. Not great, not happy. Not hopeful or excited. I was over the moon about a simple blanket purchase. We haven’t kissed, haven’t even hugged! And I’m swooning over a blanket - that wasn’t even from him. I knew I would never be a normal bride, but I was hoping for a bit better than this.
She takes my hand. “Tonight will be fun at least, all of our favorite people together for one big dinner!”
“True.” I smile.
“And your dress! Dresses, plural! Tonight and tomorrow. I can’t wait forThe Senatorto see you in them. And he’llsee yousee you, Ellie. I promise you that.”
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