I love the house. It’s chic and elegant without being ostentatious, although you’d have to be an idiot not to realize how much care and money went into the whole structure and the surrounding gardens.
My favorite is the water garden. The pond is quite shallow, and done that way specifically because Ivy nearly drowned once. I think Ivy’s gotten over it, but Tony hasn’t. The fact that he gets more triggered than she does about it just goes to show how much he loves her.
When he stops the Cullinan in front of the main entrance, I see other cars.
“When did you buy all these?” I ask. “And wow, that’s a pretty Bugatti.”
“They aren’t mine. The Bugatti’s Nate’s.”
“He didn’t c
ome alone, did he?”
Nate’s fun, but I’d love to see his wife, too. She’s also adorably pregnant at the moment.
“Nope. Evie’s with him,” Tony says.
I count the number of vehicles. Four.
“Court, Edgar and Kim are here, too?” They’re the most likely suspects.
“Yup. And Pascal, and Jo and Wyatt.”
“They aren’t here because of me, are they?”
I wonder if they made a special trip to hear my story. It’s so irritating that I’m in this ridiculous situation, and all because I don’t want to marry a corporate profile. It isn’t like me to have to borrow money for anything, much less literally flee a country.
Damn Eugene.
“Don’t worry. We were planning a group dinner anyway, and you happen to have arrived just in time. Everyone’s excited to see you again.” Tony takes my suitcases out of the car, and we head into the vast mansion.
Tony hands my bags off to one of the staff, then takes me to the huge dining room. The table is already set up to entertain with lots of Thai food. A bright Mozart sonata comes from speakers at low volume. Women are seated next to their men, all of the latter dark, handsome and accomplished.
And I’ll bet none of them thought about their women’s portfolio or market cap when they proposed, I think sourly. That makes them the world’s absolute best guys. Gives me hope that I’ll find someone like that who’s still single.
Ivy spots me first and stands up, a hand at her back. Her strawberry-blond hair is pulled into a ponytail, and pleasure flushes her face.
Before she can take a step, I rush over to hug her. Then I place air kisses on her cheeks and on her baby bump, one on each side, so both twins can get my love equally.
“Oh my God! Ivy! You are glowing!” I say.
She laughs. “Yeah, glowing like wet white bread dough.”
“Hey, glowing is glowing. And that dress looks fantastic on you.”
The empire style flatters her, and the purple chiffon is a good material, flowing over her like a waterfall.
“Thanks. Jo helped me pick it out.”
I hug the gorgeous brunette next, who is pregnant with Tony’s brother Edgar’s baby. She’s a fashion consultant and personal shopper, and I love her sense of style.
“That sky-blue Armani is stunning on you,” I say.
“Thanks.” Her eyes gleam. “If you want, we can go shopping.”
She isn’t letting her own pregnancy get in the way of quality time together. Normally, I’d say yes with the exuberance that all good shopping excursions deserve. But right now, all I feel is minor depression. My poor, poor credit cards…
“Maybe later.” After I show Eugene he’s wrong and get my accounts back. Or make enough money to buy them on my own.