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My first instinct was to point out all the things he’d done for me: romantic trips, designer clothing, houses all over the world. But those things weren’t really a sacrifice. He’d already owned the houses, and I could spend a small fortune on material objects every day without making a dent in his considerable wealth. We were standing in an eighty-three-million-dollar house, for fuck’s sake.
As for sacrifices… Neil hadn’t made many for us. If he wanted to do this now, so that we would have more time together without it being shaved from my aspirations, then what was I supposed to do? Argue with him?
“You know…” I nodded. “You’re right.”
“My god.” He lifted my hands to his lips, passion and longing in eyes as he gazed at me. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said that to me.”
I slapped his shoulder. “Jerk.”
His arm slipped around my waist, pulling me up tight. “What do you think of the house?”
“Well, we haven’t seen all of it yet,” I reminded him. “But I’m impressed.”
“Could you see us living here?” he asked.
“I…” I sputtered in disbelief. “I could see us communicating by walkie-talkie, trying to locate each other. This is a lot of house.”
“All I ask is that you keep an open mind.” He kissed my hand for real this time, then released me. “Let’s get back to Tom before he thinks we’re fucking up here.”
The rest of the house was as unbelievable as what we’d seen already. Tom pointed out every luxurious detail and assured us that the buyer would be very lucky because of this or that item the owner was willing to part with. The more insistent the agent was that we love the house, the more resistant Neil came to showing any sign of approval, until he downshifted into a kind of emotional neutral. I watched the interplay between the two of them in rapt fascination. A sense of wonder and joy I hadn’t felt since childhood welled up inside me.
This was exactly like House Hunters.
I’d heard Tom’s tone before, the self-conscious projection of confidence that the potential buyer would find the property amazing. Neil trying to downplay the fact that he was already writing the check in his head, though it was a totally obvious ploy. Which meant I got to step into the role of the spouse who expressed disappointment and dissatisfaction at everything.
It was like some dark and terrifying part of my soul had finally been unleashed. “I don’t like wallpaper,” I said in the fourth bathroom we viewed. In the kitchen, I lamented, “Oh…granite countertops are out now, though.” I expressed concerns about light pollution from the patio area and infinity pool. I wondered if it would be too far a walk for me from the garage to the bedroom, or if the bathrooms had enough natural light. I think for a minute I actually turned into the weird neighbor lady from the Hermés disaster.
If the helicopter crashed and we died on the way back to the city, I would die with my life’s ambition fulfilled. I could not wait to tell Holli.
We left Tom with a “we’ll let you know” when he drove us back to the waiting helicopter. As we strapped in, Neil gave me a wry glance and said, “I hope that’s out of your system now.”
I beamed at him.
When we lifted off, I looked down at the house. The sprawling grounds had a pond and various outbuildings, including an eccentric copy of the Pavilion Français at Versailles. Tom had shown us photos, so we didn’t have to brave the cold again, but I could pick out a few of the buildings now, darker spots against the green-black of the grass and trees. There was a guesthouse Tom had referred to as a “mother-in-law residence,” which had made Neil freeze like he’d just been shot. In no way did I want my mother to come live with us, but it was too funny not to let him panic over the idea.
“What do you think?” Neil asked. His fingers laced through and locked with mine as he pointedly avoided looking out the window.
“I think…” I sat back and leaned my head on his shoulder. “I think we’re going to be very happy here.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Though it was surprisingly difficult to return to real life once we’d put in our offer on the house, there was really nothing left for us to do. After the first two days of jumping every time the phone rang, I had to get out.
Luckily, with the wedding locked down under Valerie’s obsessive attention to detail, Emma had turned her event-planning anxiety to a more pressing date: Neil’s fiftieth birthday party.
She met me for lunch at Hangawi, a midtown Korean vegetarian restaurant where you took off your shoes at the door and sat at booths with sunken floors beneath the low tables. I arrived ten minutes late, to a very familiar expression.
“You know, if we’re going to pull off a surprise party, you will need to be on time,” Emma said with an arched brow.
“I know, I know.” I took a seat on the cushion on the floor and slid my legs under the table. “But you know, if I’m supposed to actually get your father to the party on time, I won’t technically be late. Since the party can’t officially start without him.”
Her pursed lips told me off more effectively than she ever could have with words.
“So, what have you got?” I leaned my elbows on the table and folded my hands beneath my chin. “I’ve never planned anyone’s gigantic birthday party.”
“Good! Then I can do it all.” She rummaged in her Kate Spade bag for her iPad.
“You sound awfully excited about that prospect, for someone who’s getting married in five months.” I shrugged out of my coat, and the passing hostess stopped to take it.
